Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The world had a different rhythm in the 90s- grunge was blared by cassette players, gas was cheap, and internet cafes were a novelty. But that night, the eerie stillness in the air was unlike anything you’d ever felt.

You had been walking home from your friend’s house after a late-night movie marathon. The streets of your small Iowa town were quiet, only the distant hum of a car engine occasionally breaking the silence. You quickened your pace, the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine. Something was off, but you couldn’t quite place it.

As you rounded the corner, you caught a glimpse of an old, beat-up van parked on the curb. It hadn’t been there earlier. The windows were blacked out, and even though your instincts screamed at you to walk the other way, you pressed forward, hoping it was just someone visiting a neighbor.

That’s when it happened.

Before you could react, strong arms grabbed you from behind. A burlap sack was thrown over your head, your muffled screams lost in the fabric. Panic surged through you as you kicked and thrashed, but it was no use. Whoever had you was stronger there was more than one.

You felt yourself being lifted, and then the sensation of being thrown into the back of the van. The doors slammed shut, and the van roared to life, tearing down the street with you helpless inside.

Everything was a blur after that. Hours passed, maybe days. The sack over your head had been removed, but you were kept in darkness. The cold, damp air suggested you were in some kind of basement or warehouse, the scent of mildew and oil clinging to your clothes.

You’d lost track of time when the door finally creaked open. Footsteps echoed on the concrete floor, and the fluorescent light flickered on, revealing eight figures standing in the doorway, each one wearing a mask.

You blinked against the harsh light, heart pounding in your chest as you took in your captors. They stood still, watching you, their presence suffocating.

“Who are you?” You asked, your voice shaky. The one closest to you-a tall man wearing a grotesque clown mask- stepped forward, the sound of his heavy boots reverberating in the room. He tilted his head slightly, examining you like a specimen. “We’re going to be your worst nightmare,” he growled, his voice deep and guttural. But there was something else in his tone-something that suggested this was all a game to him.

Another figure stepped forward, this one wearing a mask with long spikes protruding from it. “Shawn, stop scaring them,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm.
The clown-masked man-Shawn, you now knew out a low chuckle and backed off. The spiked-mask man knelt beside you, his hands resting on his knees as he looked at you. You couldn’t see his eyes, but there was something familiar about the way he moved. “We’re not here to hurt you,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Not unless you make us.”

Your heart raced as you looked from one masked figure to the next. There was the one who had spoken-his name still a mystery-and then there were others: a tall hulking man in a mask that looked like it was made of human skin, a wiry guy with a gas mask, and a figure whose face looked like a mesh of leather and wire.

“What do you want?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “Company,” the calm one replied. “We’re not really… social, you could say. But we figured it’s a time to have a guest.” A figure with a mask that resembled a jester’s face twisted into a cruel smile crossed his arms. “More like a hostage, Craig,” he muttered.

Craig-the spiked mask figure-shook his head. “Not a hostage. They’re… our guest. Right?” His voice softened as he turned back to you. “You’re going to stay with us for a while.” Fear prickled at your skin as you realized what was happening. They weren’t going to let you go. Not anytime soon.

You sat there, stunned, trying to make sense of what had just been said. “Stay with us?” Your voice cracked a mix of fear and disbelief. There was no way this was real-it couldn’t be.

The man wearing the clown mask- his heavy boots made the floor vibrate with each step-broke the silence. He seemed to be the one in charge, looming over the others with a sense of authority. His mask was chipped, the red and white paint faded, and his voice, gravelly and low, sent chills down your spine. This was Shawn.

“We’re not asking,” Shawn growled, his dark eyes hidden behind the cracked eyeholes. “We’re telling you. You’re staying with us.” The words hung in the air, thick with menace. Before you could protest, a figure with a metal-looking mask-its cold, silver sheen catching in the dim light-shifted closer to you. He was silent, towering over the others, his presence almost suffocating. He didn’t speak, but the way he crossed his arms said enough. You weren’t going anywhere.

“Don’t look so scared,” the one with the jester mask-brightly colored and grotesquely distorted-said with a sneer. While his voice was lighter than Shawn’s, something was mocking about his tone. “You might even enjoy it. Who knows?” You swallowed hard, glancing from one masked figure to the next. The room felt smaller now, their imposing figures making it impossible to think clearly. The one with the pig mask-it’s plastic snout dirty and scarred-stepped closer. His massive frame blocked the light, casting long shadows over you as he crouched down, inspecting you like you were some kind of animal caught in a trap (let's be honest, you were).

“Doesn’t look like much,” the pig-masked man muttered, his voice thick and slow like he wasn’t in any rush to speak. “But they’ll do.” Suddenly, a sharp laugh echoed from the back of the room. The sound came from the one with the long-nose mask- bizarre and exaggerated like something from a twisted carnival. He tilted his head, the oversized nose of his mask making the gesture even more unsettling.

“You think they’ll make it? “ he asked, his laughter cutting through the tension. “I give it a week before they crack.”
“No one asked you, Chris,” came a cold toner from the corner. The man wearing spiked mask-sharp metal rods jutting from the surface like some medieval torture device stood motionless, his presence eerie and silent. You couldn’t even see his eyes, but you felt his gaze burning through you, piercing through the metal spikes.

“Enough,” another voice interrupted, calm yet authoritative. You turned (as best as you could) towards the man with the gas mask, the tubes hanging from it making a soft hiss with each breath. He had been silent up until now, his mask hiding his expression, but there was something about the way he spoke that made the others fall quite. Sid walked forward slowly, crouching down to meet your eyes. “It doesn’t have to be this hard,” he said softly, the mechanical sound of his mask distorting his voice. “We didn’t choose you by accident. We’ve been… observing you.”

Your stomach churned at his words. Observed? How long had this been going on? Before you could ask, Sid stood up again, glancing at the man beside him shorter than the rest, but with an air of command. His blank Japanese noh mask, white and expressionless, concealed any hint of emotion. His gaze was unreadable beneath the smooth, featureless surface of the mask. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His silence was more unnerving than anything anyone else could have said.

And then, finally, the last man stepped forward, his dreaded mask shifting slightly as he moved. His hair, twisted into locks that hung just below the mask, framed the mask’s carved features, which seemed to be perpetually locked in a grimace. His voice was low, barely audible, but it cut through the thick air like a blade.

“We’re going to have a lot of fun, you and us,” he said, his tone laced with dark promises. “But don’t worry-we’re not going to kill you. Not yet, at least.”

You shivered, your hands gripping the cold chair beneath you as the weight of their words sank in. They weren’t planning on letting you go. And whatever they had planned… you didn’t want to find out. As the minutes stretched on, the group began to move, breaking their ominous stance around you. Shawn motioned for the others to leave the room, but before he could step out, he turned back, his eyes glinting behind the clown mask.
“We’ll see how you handle being part of our family,” Shawn said with a smirk (that you couldn’t see). “Don’t disappoint us.”

The door slammed shut, leaving you alone in the dark room. Your mind raced, searching for any way out, but the reality of the situation began to settle in These men were serious you were trapped.

Chapter Text

The heavy slam of the door echoed through the empty room, sealing you into the darkness. For a long moment, you just sat there, your heart pounding against your ribs like it was trying to break free. The silence that followed was deafening, filled with the overwhelming weight of what had just happened.

The light above flickered erratically, casting fleeting shadows across the concrete walls. The cold air bit at your skin, reminding you how far you were from the safety of your home, your normal life. Everything felt foreign now. It was as if the world outside had slipped away, leaving you in this place that felt like a nightmare.

You pushed yourself to your feet, though your legs wobbled under the weight of your fear. For a moment, you considered pounding on the door, screaming for help. But deep down, you knew it wouldn’t make a difference. They wouldn’t come back unless they wanted to—and you didn’t want to attract their attention right now.

There had to be a way out. Your eyes scanned the room, adjusting to the dim light. The walls were bare, the only furnishings a rickety metal chair and an old, stained mattress in the corner. A single bulb swung from the ceiling, creaking as it moved with the draft that crept through some unseen crack. It was clear this place wasn’t meant for comfort. This was a holding cell.

You moved slowly, testing the door, but it was solid metal, bolted shut. The small slit at the bottom allowed only a draft of cold air to slip through, reminding you just how trapped you were. A shiver crawled up your spine, not just from the chill, but from the realization that you were entirely at their mercy.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by the creak of the door’s hinges. You froze, your body tense as you spun around. There, standing in the doorway, was Paul, his pig mask catching the dim light. He stared at you for a moment, his massive frame filling the space as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Feeling cozy?” Paul grunted, his voice low and rough. He stepped into the room, his boots thudding against the concrete floor.

You didn’t respond, your throat tightening as you watched him move. Every instinct told you to stay still, like a rabbit trying to avoid the gaze of a predator.

Paul chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting behind the mask. “You’re quiet. Good. It’ll make things easier for you.”

He walked over to the chair in the corner and sat down heavily, the old metal groaning under his weight. He watched you for a moment, his head tilted slightly as if sizing you up.

“What do you want from me?” you finally managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Paul let out a deep, slow breath through his nose, leaning forward. “It’s not about what we want from you,” he said, his tone casual but laced with something more sinister. “It’s about what you’re going to do for us.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion, fear bubbling up in your chest. “What does that mean?”

Before Paul could answer, the door swung open again, and Shawn stepped into the room, his clown mask grinning grotesquely in the dim light. He looked at Paul, then at you, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Paul,” Shawn said, his voice filled with amusement. He walked over to you, towering over you as his presence filled the space. “We’ve barely even begun to break them in.”

Paul grunted but leaned back in the chair, clearly deferring to Shawn. There was a strange hierarchy between them—one you didn’t fully understand yet, but it was clear that Shawn held the reins.

Shawn tilted his head, examining you closely. His mask might’ve been smiling, but there was nothing warm in his gaze. “I bet you’re wondering why you’re here.”

You nodded slowly, your heart thudding in your chest as Shawn circled you, his footsteps echoing through the room.

“Truth is,” Shawn continued, his voice low, “we’ve been watching you for a long time. And we decided you’re the perfect fit for what we need.”

Your skin prickled as his words sank in. “Watching me?” you echoed, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why?”

Shawn stopped in front of you, his eyes narrowing behind the mask. “Let’s just say we have a certain... lifestyle. One that not everyone can handle. But you? We think you can.”

Before you could question him further, Jim stepped into the room, his jester mask catching the light. He chuckled as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms casually over his chest.

“Shawn, you’re going to scare them before they even have a chance to settle in,” Jim said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “We can’t have that, now can we?”

Shawn rolled his eyes behind the mask but didn’t argue. He seemed to enjoy the game he was playing, taking his time to explain things as cryptically as possible.

“You’ll learn soon enough,” Shawn said, waving his hand dismissively. “But for now, just focus on surviving.”

Surviving. The word echoed in your mind like a death sentence.

As if on cue, Sid entered the room, his gas mask hissing with each breath. He didn’t say a word, but the air shifted when he appeared, his presence unsettling even the others. He moved to the back of the room, leaning against the wall, his eyes never leaving you.

Shawn and Jim shared a look before turning back to you.

“You’re gonna want to behave,” Jim added, his voice dropping slightly as he pushed off the wall. “Trust me. Things will go a lot smoother if you don’t fight us.”

Panic clawed at your throat as the reality of the situation began to sink in. There was no escape. No way out of this twisted game they were playing. You were stuck here, trapped with these men who seemed to relish in the fear they instilled in you.

The minutes stretched on, tension thickening in the air until finally, the door creaked open again. This time, Corey stepped inside, his dreaded mask shadowing most of his face, his voice calm but authoritative.

"Enough," Corey said, his voice quiet but commanding. The others fell silent as he walked over to you, standing just a few feet away. "We’re not here to scare them," he said, his eyes locked on yours. "Not yet, anyway."

Shawn snorted behind his mask but didn’t say anything. He seemed to defer to Corey, at least for the time being.

Corey’s eyes softened slightly as he looked at you, and for a brief moment, you wondered if he was the one you should be afraid of the least. But then he spoke again, his voice dark and low. “You’ll learn to live with us. But whether you survive is up to you.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and all the air seemed to leave the room. You wanted to run, to scream, to fight, but you knew none of that would help you here. These men had complete control. You were at their mercy.

Without another word, Corey turned and left the room, leaving you with Paul, Shawn, Jim, and Sid. For a long moment, no one spoke, the silence hanging thick in the air.

Finally, Jim broke the tension with a shrug. “Well, that was dramatic.”

Shawn chuckled darkly. “You should get comfortable,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. “We’re just getting started.”

Paul pushed himself out of the chair, walking over to the door. He paused before leaving, glancing back at you with an unreadable expression. “Don’t make it harder on yourself than it needs to be,” he said quietly before stepping out.

One by one, they all left, until you were alone again in the dimly lit room. The air felt heavy, thick with fear and uncertainty. You sank back down onto the mattress, your mind racing as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

They had plans for you. Dark, twisted plans that you couldn’t begin to understand. But one thing was clear: you were in their world now, and if you wanted to survive, you would have to play by their rules.

The silence was a companion you hadn't asked for, but it had grown familiar in the passing hours—or was it days? Time was impossible to keep track of down here in the damp, dark room where the walls felt like they were closing in more and more with each minute.

You sat on the worn mattress in the corner, knees pulled tightly to your chest, trying to make sense of what had happened. Their faces—no, their masks—kept flashing in your mind, each one more menacing than the last. Every movement, every word they’d spoken had left a scar on your psyche, and you felt yourself slowly unraveling with the weight of it all.

You were alone. Terrifyingly alone.

Or at least you thought you were.

The room felt empty, save for the flickering light that hung from the ceiling and the distant sound of your own heartbeat, pounding loud enough in your chest that it might as well have been a drum.

But that was when you heard it.

Footsteps.

You bolted upright, your body immediately stiff with fear. The distinct thud of boots on concrete sent chills down your spine. Someone was coming. You didn’t know whether to move or stay still. Running was impossible, and hiding... there was nowhere to go.

The door creaked open slowly, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. And then, Corey stepped into the room. His dreaded mask cast an eerie shadow on his face, but you could still feel his gaze fixed on you. He moved slowly, deliberately, his presence commanding the space.

“Get up,” he said softly, though his voice carried a weight that was impossible to ignore.

You hesitated, frozen with fear. Corey didn’t move, but his posture shifted slightly, his head tilting as though he were waiting for you to comply. When you didn’t, he let out a low, almost disappointed hum.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he added, his voice hardening.

Reluctantly, you pushed yourself to your feet, your body trembling as you stood. Corey stepped aside, motioning for you to walk out the door. Your heart hammered against your chest, but you didn’t dare disobey. With each hesitant step, you felt the knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach. What were they planning? Why now?

The hallway outside was just as grim as your cell, dimly lit with exposed concrete and cold metal doors lining either side. Corey walked behind you, his presence looming like a shadow, though he said nothing more. As you reached the end of the hall, he opened another door, and you stepped inside, unsure of what you would find.

The room beyond was larger, but not by much. A long, scarred table sat in the center, and around it were the others—Shawn, Mick, Sid, Jim, Paul, Chris, Craig, and Joey—each one seated in silence, their masked faces turned toward you as you entered.

The tension in the room was palpable, a heavy, suffocating presence that hung in the air like a storm about to break. You felt your pulse quicken as their eyes—or at least, the blank stares behind their masks—settled on you.

“Sit,” Shawn ordered, his voice rough and guttural as he gestured to the chair in the middle of the room. His clown mask was chipped, the painted-on grin twisted into something malevolent under the dim lighting.

You swallowed hard, moving toward the chair. The room felt too small, like the walls were closing in. As you sat down, your hands rested awkwardly in your lap, trembling slightly as you tried to avoid making eye contact with any of them.

Shawn stood from his seat and began to pace the room, his heavy boots echoing in the silence. The others remained still, their attention focused entirely on you.

“We’ve been thinking,” Shawn began, his voice dripping with a kind of dark amusement. “About you.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words hung in the air. What did that mean?

“You see, you’re our guest,” Shawn continued, his eyes glinting behind the mask. “But being locked up all alone... well, that’s no fun, is it?”

A sick feeling twisted in your stomach. You didn’t know where he was going with this, but you didn’t like the sound of it.

Shawn stopped pacing and leaned over the table, his hands resting on the surface as he looked at you. “We’ve decided that you need something to keep you company. You know, so you don’t get too... lonely.”

Your mind raced, trying to make sense of his words. What kind of twisted game were they playing now?

That’s when the door opened again, and Chris entered the room, holding something in his arms. At first, you couldn’t see what it was, but as he approached, the sight of it became clear.

A cat.

A small, black cat, its fur slightly matted and its eyes wide with curiosity. It meowed softly, a sound so innocent and out of place in this horrifying situation that it made your head spin.

Chris set the cat down on the table, and it immediately padded over to you, rubbing its head against your arm. The warmth of its body, the softness of its fur, was so foreign in this cold, unforgiving place that it left you stunned.

“There,” Shawn said, grinning behind his mask. “Now you’ve got a friend.”

You stared down at the cat, your heart pounding in your chest. This was a joke, right? Some kind of cruel prank? But the cat was real—its soft purring vibrating against your skin, its gentle nudge against your hand urging you to pet it.

The room was silent as the cat continued to rub against you, its presence oddly comforting, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something deeply unsettling about this whole thing.

“You’re welcome,” Jim added with a smirk, his jester mask making the statement sound even more sarcastic than it already was.

“Don’t say we never give you anything,” Sid chimed in, his voice muffled by the gas mask.

You looked up at them, your mind racing. What was this supposed to mean? Was this their twisted way of showing mercy? Or was it just another way to mess with your head?

Shawn let out a low chuckle, clearly amused by your confusion. “Take care of it,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “It’s your responsibility now.”

You glanced back down at the cat, which was now curled up in your lap, purring contentedly. The softness of its fur under your fingers was a strange comfort, but it did little to ease the growing knot of anxiety in your chest.

Corey, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. “You’re going to need it,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of a warning.

Your stomach twisted as his words sank in. Need it? For what? What were they planning?

“Enjoy your new friend,” Shawn added with a grin, stepping back from the table. “We’ll be watching.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine. Watching? Were they going to leave you with this cat and monitor you like some kind of experiment?

One by one, they began to file out of the room, leaving you alone with the cat in your lap. The door clicked shut behind them, and the silence that followed was almost unbearable.

You stared down at the cat, its small, black body curled up against you, completely unaware of the horrors surrounding it. It was just a cat—innocent, oblivious. And yet, the weight of the situation made it feel like something more. Something sinister.

What were they planning? What did they want from you?

For a long time, you just sat there, petting the cat absentmindedly, your mind racing as you tried to make sense of it all. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something far worse.

The cat stirred in your lap, stretching out before hopping down to explore the room. You watched it as it padded across the cold floor, its small paws silent against the concrete.

As strange as it was, you couldn’t deny that the cat’s presence was a small comfort. It was the first thing in this place that didn’t feel like a threat. But even that was overshadowed by the creeping dread that gnawed at your insides.

You weren’t alone anymore, but somehow, that made everything even more terrifying.

---

Back in your cell, the cat followed you closely, its soft meows the only sound in the empty room. It seemed content, its wide eyes taking in its surroundings with curiosity.

You sank back onto the mattress, pulling the cat onto your lap. It purred softly, its warmth seeping into your skin. For a moment, you allowed yourself to feel something other than fear. The simple, innocent presence of the cat gave you a fleeting sense of normalcy, even in this twisted nightmare.

But as the hours stretched on, the unease returned. Their words echoed in your mind—Corey’s warning, Shawn’s cryptic threats. What were they really planning?

Chapter Text

The cat stirred against your lap, its warmth a strange comfort in this cold, unfamiliar world you’d been thrust into. It was the only thing here that felt real, grounding you even as the darkness around you threatened to swallow you whole. Days had blended into a blur, each one marked only by the periodic visits of one of them—Paul’s intimidating silence, Shawn’s unsettling grins, Corey’s piercing eyes. The tension was a constant, oppressive presence.

But this time, something was different.

The heavy click of the door unlocking filled the room, snapping you out of your thoughts. You tensed, holding your breath as the door creaked open, revealing Corey standing in the doorway. His dreaded mask cast his face in shadow, but his posture was relaxed, almost casual—if that was even possible for someone like him.

"Get up," he ordered, his tone softer than before but carrying the same authority.

You looked at him warily, your fingers gripping the cat’s fur as it squirmed slightly in your lap. Corey tilted his head, his gaze unreadable behind the mask, but his stance suggested he was waiting for something—your compliance, maybe, or perhaps a sign of resistance.

“You’re coming with me,” he said, stepping back to allow you to exit. The hallway beyond the door stretched out, dimly lit and unfamiliar. This was it—the first time you were being allowed out of the cell.

Hesitantly, you rose to your feet, the cat meowing softly as it hopped down from your lap. It stayed close to you, rubbing against your leg as if sensing your hesitation. Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and dread wash over you as you crossed the threshold.

The hallway was cold, the walls lined with dark wood paneling that seemed to absorb the limited light. Corey walked beside you, silent and watchful, his presence a constant reminder of the danger you were in. His gaze remained fixed ahead, and for a moment, you dared to glance up at him, trying to read his expression beneath the mask. But there was nothing there—only the cold, unyielding exterior he always presented.

You walked in silence, the cat trotting along at your feet. The house—or rather, the mansion, you now realized—unfolded before you with each step. The dim lighting revealed high ceilings, intricate carvings along the walls, and thick, heavy drapes that hung in the shadows like silent sentinels. The air was thick, heavy with a mix of dust and something else you couldn’t quite place. It was clear that this place had a history, one that was as dark and twisted as the men who now occupied it.

“Where are we going?” you finally dared to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Corey glanced at you, his expression hidden behind the mask, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he continued walking, guiding you down a narrow staircase that spiraled down into the depths of the house. The air grew colder as you descended, the walls closing in around you like a vice.

The sound of footsteps echoed in the distance, and you tensed, your heart pounding as you realized someone else was approaching. As you reached the bottom of the stairs, Shawn appeared, his clown mask grinning grotesquely in the dim light. He stood with his arms crossed, a smirk evident even through the mask.

“Finally letting the pet out for a little stroll, Corey?” Shawn drawled, his voice thick with amusement.

Corey ignored him, pushing past as he guided you into a large room. The walls were lined with shelves filled with an array of strange, unidentifiable objects—some old, some new, but all exuding a sense of foreboding. You felt like you were stepping into a museum of horrors, each item holding a story you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

Shawn followed you in, his eyes glinting behind the mask as he leaned against the wall, watching you with a predator’s interest. The cat, sensing the tension, pressed closer to your leg, its soft purr the only thing grounding you in that moment.

“Welcome to our little collection,” Shawn said, gesturing to the shelves around you. “Each piece here has... significance.”

Corey shot him a look, a silent warning to stay quiet. But Shawn only grinned wider, enjoying the effect his words had on you.

“Let’s move,” Corey said finally, his tone sharper as he led you through the room and into another hallway. The shadows seemed to stretch on forever, twisting and writhing as if alive. You could feel Shawn’s gaze on you, his presence a constant reminder that you were never truly alone here.

The hallway opened up into a grand, cavernous room—a living room, if it could be called that. The walls were lined with dark, heavy curtains, and a massive fireplace dominated one wall, casting a flickering orange glow over the room. The furniture was old and worn, the leather cracked and faded with age. It was clear that this room hadn’t seen guests in a very long time.

“Take a seat,” Corey instructed, nodding toward one of the chairs near the fireplace.

You moved toward it cautiously, the cat following close behind. The chair was cold, the leather stiff as you sat down, feeling the eyes of both men on you. The cat jumped into your lap, curling up as it purred softly, its warmth a welcome contrast to the chill in the air.

Corey stood by the fireplace, his gaze fixed on the flames as they danced and flickered. Shawn lingered near the doorway, his arms crossed as he watched you with that same unnerving grin.

“You’ll be staying here now,” Corey said finally, breaking the silence. “At least for a while.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The implication was clear—you weren’t going back to your cell. But the idea of staying here, in this strange, dark mansion, was just as unsettling. The walls seemed to close in, the shadows deepening as the fire crackled in the silence.

“Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Corey turned to look at you, his expression hidden but his gaze intense. “Because we want you to see,” he replied cryptically, his voice low.

“See what?” you pressed, frustration mingling with your fear. Every answer they gave only seemed to lead to more questions.

Shawn let out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying your confusion. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said, pushing off the wall as he walked over to you. He leaned down, his mask inches from your face, and you could feel his breath against your skin.

“Just remember,” he murmured, his voice dark and twisted, “you’re here because we allow it. Don’t forget that.”

The cat hissed softly, sensing your distress, and Shawn straightened up, his grin widening behind the mask.

With that, he turned and left the room, leaving you alone with Corey. The silence stretched on, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the soft purring of the cat in your lap. You could feel Corey’s gaze on you, intense and unyielding, as if he were studying you, waiting for something.

“Get comfortable,” he said finally, his tone softer than before. “You’ll be here for a while.”

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving you alone in the cavernous room. The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was almost suffocating.

You looked around, taking in your surroundings. The room was massive, the high ceilings and dark wood giving it an eerie, almost gothic feel. The fireplace cast long shadows across the walls, making the room feel even larger, more empty.

The cat shifted in your lap, its soft fur a welcome comfort as you stroked it absentmindedly. You felt a strange mix of relief and dread—relief that you were no longer confined to that small, dark cell, but dread at the realization that you were still very much a prisoner in this twisted house.

For a long time, you just sat there, staring into the flames as they flickered and danced. The weight of the situation settled heavily on your shoulders, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something far more sinister.

The mansion was vast, its walls hiding secrets that you were both terrified and compelled to uncover.

Hours passed as you sat there, your eyes locked on the flames. The cat curled up against you was a constant reminder of the surreal, twisted reality you now found yourself in. Everything felt wrong here—silent, heavy, like the house itself was watching, waiting.

When you finally rose from the chair, the cat leapt down and wound around your ankles. It gave you courage, in a strange way, as if it, too, wanted to explore. You felt an odd sense of relief as you crossed the room, heading toward one of the grand doors that led further into the house.

You had no plan, no destination. Every instinct told you to tread carefully, to avoid drawing attention, but a deep curiosity gnawed at you. If you were going to be here, maybe even indefinitely, you needed to understand this place, to see if there was anything you could use to your advantage.

The hallway beyond was as dark and foreboding as the room you’d just left, with walls draped in thick, velvet curtains. You walked in silence, your footsteps muffled by the thick, ancient rug beneath your feet. Every so often, you heard faint creaks and whispers from the walls, as if the house itself were alive, breathing around you.

After what felt like hours of wandering through narrow hallways and empty rooms, you came upon a grand staircase that spiraled up into the shadows. You hesitated, glancing back the way you came, but your curiosity got the better of you. The cat trotted along behind you as you ascended, the silence around you growing heavier with each step.

At the top of the stairs, you found yourself in a long corridor lined with closed doors. Each door looked identical, their surfaces worn and scarred. You reached for the handle of the nearest one, your fingers trembling as you twisted it and pushed the door open.

Inside was a small, dimly lit room, barely furnished with a bed, a chair, and a table. Papers were scattered across the floor, and the walls were covered in strange markings—scratches, symbols, and what looked like words scrawled in an unfamiliar script. The air was thick with the smell of dust and something else, something metallic.

A chill ran down your spine as you stepped inside, your eyes scanning the room. You had the unsettling feeling that this place had seen things you couldn’t begin to understand, and that whatever had happened here had left a mark—a stain on the very walls.

You picked up one of the papers from the floor, squinting to make out the words. It was a drawing, crude and chaotic, depicting a series of distorted faces with wide, hollow eyes and twisted mouths. You dropped the paper, a wave of nausea washing over you. Whatever this place was, it was a world far removed from your own, a place where nightmares seemed to bleed into reality.

Before you could turn to leave, a shadow appeared in the doorway.

It was Jim.

He stood there, his jester mask tilted slightly as he watched you, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. His gaze was piercing, even through the mask, and you could feel his intensity radiating toward you.

“Curious, aren’t we?” he said, his voice low, with a hint of amusement.

You felt a jolt of fear, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze, refusing to show weakness. “I wanted to understand where I am,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

Jim chuckled, the sound low and unsettling. “And what do you think so far?” he asked, stepping into the room, his gaze never leaving yours.

You swallowed hard, choosing your words carefully. “It’s... different. Strange.”

Jim tilted his head, his expression unreadable behind the mask. “Strange?” he repeated, as if savoring the word. “That’s one way to put it.” He walked closer, his presence looming as he reached out and picked up one of the papers from the floor.

“This house is... special,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It has secrets, things hidden in its walls, things that only reveal themselves to those who are willing to see.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. There was something in his tone, something dark and knowing, that made you feel as if he were speaking about more than just the house.

“You should be careful,” he added, his voice softening slightly as he looked at you. “Curiosity can be dangerous here.”

You took a step back, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. “Is that a threat?” you asked, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

Jim laughed, a sound that was both unsettling and strangely comforting. “Not a threat,” he replied, his tone shifting to something almost gentle. “Just... advice.”

He stepped back, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he turned and walked out of the room. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your heart pounding in your chest. The cat meowed softly, brushing against your leg, grounding you once again.

You took one last look around the room before leaving, your mind racing with questions. What did Jim mean by “those willing to see”? And why did the house feel as if it were hiding something from you?

As you continued down the corridor, your curiosity only grew, but so did your sense of dread. The house was a maze, each turn revealing new, shadowed hallways and rooms that seemed to shift and change as you explored.

---

After wandering through more rooms and hallways, each one more strange and unsettling than the last, you came upon a grand, double-door entrance at the end of the corridor. The doors were massive, made of dark wood with intricate carvings that seemed to writhe under your gaze.

You hesitated, your hand hovering over the handle. Something told you that whatever lay beyond these doors was different, that this was a place you were not meant to see. But a part of you couldn’t resist—the same part that had led you to explore the house in the first place.

As you pushed open the doors, you found yourself in a vast library, the walls lined with shelves that stretched up to the high, arched ceiling. Books filled every available space, their spines worn and faded, their pages yellowed with age. The room was lit by a massive chandelier that cast a warm, golden glow over the space, illuminating the dust particles that hung in the air like tiny stars.

You stepped inside, the quiet hum of the room wrapping around you like a blanket. This place was different from the rest of the house. It felt... peaceful, in a strange way, as if it were untouched by the darkness that permeated the other rooms.

The cat trotted in behind you, its soft footsteps barely audible on the thick carpet. You ran your fingers along the spines of the books, feeling the weight of history, of stories and knowledge that had been forgotten over time.

One book caught your eye—a small, leather-bound volume with no title on its spine. You pulled it from the shelf, feeling the cool, worn leather under your fingers as you opened it.

The pages were filled with handwritten notes, scrawled in a language you didn’t recognize. Diagrams and symbols covered the margins, twisting and curling like vines. You had no idea what any of it meant, but you felt a strange pull, as if the book were calling to you, urging you to understand.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.”

The voice startled you, and you turned to see Craig standing in the doorway, his spike-covered mask casting ominous shadows across his face. His posture was tense, his hands clenched at his sides as he watched you with a cold, calculating gaze.

You held the book to your chest, feeling a surge of defiance. “I just wanted to look,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

Craig’s eyes narrowed behind the mask, and for a moment, you thought he was going to take the book from you. But then he sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he stepped into the room.

“This place isn’t meant for you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “There are things here that... you shouldn’t see.”

You felt a flicker of frustration. Every word they spoke only deepened the mystery, making you feel like you were constantly on the edge of understanding something, only to have it slip away.

“What is this place?” you asked, unable to keep the question to yourself any longer. “Why am I here?”

Craig looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable behind the mask. “You’re here because we chose you,” he said finally, his voice soft but filled with an intensity that made your heart race.

“Chose me for what?” you pressed, your voice trembling.

He didn’t answer, instead turning to look at the shelves, his fingers tracing the spines of the books. “There are things in this world that defy explanation,” he said, almost to himself. “Things that exist in the spaces between what we can see and what we can understand.”

His words hung in the air, filling the silence with a sense of foreboding. You didn’t understand what he meant, but you could feel the weight of his words, the truth hidden within them.

You stood there, clutching the book to your chest, your heart pounding as Craig’s footsteps faded down the hallway. His words lingered, reverberating in the silence of the library: “Things that exist in the spaces between what we can see and what we can understand.” It was as if he’d tried to give you a piece of the puzzle, just enough to unsettle you but still shrouded in mystery.

The cat padded up to you, winding around your legs as if sensing your need for comfort. Taking a deep breath, you let yourself sink into one of the grand armchairs by the fireplace, the book still clutched in your hands. Its weight felt heavier now, as if Craig’s warning had changed something within it.

You glanced down at the cover, its cracked leather and worn spine hiding secrets you weren’t sure you were ready to uncover. The book had no title, no indication of its contents, yet it felt important—an artifact from another world, or perhaps a map leading to one.

Flipping through the first few pages, you saw drawings scrawled in thick, uneven lines, their shapes spiraling and twisting in ways that didn’t quite make sense. At first glance, they resembled symbols, but the longer you looked, the more they seemed to move, shifting on the page like something alive. Your fingers traced the lines, half-expecting to feel a pulse beneath them.

And then, somewhere deep within the mansion, a door creaked. The sound echoed through the silent corridors, sending a chill down your spine. You knew instinctively that it wasn’t the wind or the settling of the old house. It was them.

A heavy silence followed, as if the house itself were holding its breath, waiting. The cat’s ears perked up, its gaze fixed on the library entrance. Your heart hammered in your chest, but you couldn’t tear yourself away from the book, from the strange symbols that seemed to call to you.

Just as you were about to turn the page, the door to the library opened, and Paul entered. His pig mask glinted in the dim light, casting an eerie shadow across his face. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his gaze fixed on you.

“You’re exploring places you shouldn’t,” he said, his voice low and rough. The tone was meant to be a warning, but it only intensified your curiosity.

“I need answers,” you replied, surprised by the strength in your voice. The fear that had gripped you moments before was now overshadowed by something else—determination.

Paul tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “And what makes you think you deserve them?” he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement.

“I don’t know if I deserve them,” you admitted, clutching the book tighter. “But I need them. I can’t just...exist here without understanding why.”

Paul let out a low chuckle, as if he found your words amusing in some twisted way. “You’ll find that answers don’t come easily here,” he said, his gaze flicking to the book in your hands. “And sometimes, they come at a cost.”

He walked over to one of the bookshelves, his fingers brushing against the spines of the books as if he were searching for something. His presence filled the room, suffocating in its intensity.

“The things you’re looking for,” he said, not turning to face you, “they aren’t things you can understand. Not yet.”

“Then help me understand,” you replied, surprised by your own boldness. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, but you held your ground, refusing to let the fear control you.

Paul turned to look at you, his gaze piercing through the slits in his mask. For a moment, he seemed almost...curious. “Perhaps I will,” he said, his voice softer now, as if he were considering something.

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, before Paul finally broke it. “This house has a life of its own,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It feeds off of secrets, off of the things we hide. And you…” His gaze flicked to the book in your hands. “You’re part of that now.”

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Be careful what you wish for,” he murmured, his voice low and foreboding. “Some secrets are better left buried.”

Without another word, Paul turned and left the library, leaving you alone once more. The weight of his words settled over you like a shroud, filling you with a sense of foreboding that was hard to shake. You knew that he was right, that there were things in this house—things within these walls—that defied explanation.

And yet, despite the warning, you couldn’t let go of the book. It was your one connection to the truth, the only tangible clue you had in this twisted game they were playing.

You sat there for a long time, your mind racing with questions and fears. What was this place? Why had they brought you here? And most importantly, what was it they were hiding?

The cat curled up in your lap, its warmth a small comfort in the darkness. You stroked its fur, your fingers trembling as you tried to make sense of everything that had happened.

But no matter how hard you tried, the answers remained just out of reach, hidden in the shadows of the mansion’s twisted halls.

Hours slipped by in the quiet of the library, each tick of the grandfather clock amplifying the sense of isolation pressing down on you. The cat lay curled and warm on your lap, grounding you as you turned the fragile pages of the mysterious book, its symbols and diagrams teasing your mind, hinting at answers you couldn’t quite grasp.

But a rustle near the doorway broke the silence, and you looked up, tensing as Corey entered, his dreaded mask shadowed by the dim light of the library. He didn’t say anything at first; he only stood there, his presence unsettling and unyielding.

“You’ve found something interesting, haven’t you?” he finally murmured, his voice low and rough, almost as if he’d been waiting for you to stumble upon the secrets in that book.

“I just… I don’t understand any of this,” you replied, glancing down at the strange, twisted illustrations on the pages. “But it feels like… like I need to.” You weren’t sure if it was frustration or desperation in your voice, but Corey’s gaze seemed to soften, just a fraction, as he took a step closer.

“Some things in this house… they’re better left to time,” he said, his voice low and intense, as if he were sharing a deeply guarded secret. “But since you’re here, you’ll find they’re hard to ignore.” He paused, as if carefully choosing his words. “We brought you here because you have a purpose, even if you can’t see it yet. Even if we can’t see it yet.”

The weight of his words left you breathless. A purpose? Here, in this place? And what could he mean that even they didn’t fully understand it?

Before you could speak, he reached out, his gloved hand brushing against the spine of the book you held, almost reverently. “This isn’t just any book. It’s a key. And what it unlocks… well, that’s up to you.”

You stared at him, heart pounding, as the magnitude of his words sank in. There was something here—a choice, a responsibility, perhaps—that had somehow fallen on you. But for what reason? And why couldn’t he give you a straight answer?

Before you could ask, Corey took a step back, his gaze still fixed on you as if weighing your reaction. “Take care,” he murmured, his voice soft but with an unmistakable edge of warning. “Not everything you find in this place will be what it seems.”

And with that, he left you, the door closing softly behind him.

The library felt colder, emptier without him there, and yet his words echoed in your mind, filling the silence. You ran your fingers over the symbols on the page, your pulse quickening as you considered what he’d said. A key… but to what?

You flipped through a few more pages, but something in the air shifted—a chill settling around you like frost. You froze, feeling a presence just behind you. Slowly, you turned, your breath hitching as you met the dark, silent gaze of Shawn.

His clown mask glinted in the low light, his stance relaxed, almost casual, as he watched you, his eyes unreadable. “A little birdie told me you’re digging up things you shouldn’t,” he said, his voice carrying an eerie, mocking edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your grip tightened on the book, but you lifted your chin, refusing to let him see your fear. “Maybe if someone would tell me the truth, I wouldn’t have to,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

Shawn let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if amused. “Truth, huh?” he mused, taking a step closer, the shadows swallowing him as he moved. “In this place, truth is just a fancy word for whatever you’re willing to believe.”

He leaned in, his gaze sharp and predatory. “But keep pushing, and you might just find out what happens when you go too far.”

The warning lingered, unspoken but clear, as he straightened, glancing down at the book in your hands. He seemed to consider it for a moment before meeting your gaze once more. “Take my advice,” he said, his tone deceptively light. “Sometimes, curiosity does more harm than good.”

And with that, he turned, leaving you alone once more.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched him go, every nerve on edge. It was becoming clear that there was something they all wanted to keep hidden, some secret buried deep within the walls of this mansion. And for whatever reason, they didn’t want you uncovering it.

Yet with every warning, every cryptic hint, your resolve only grew stronger. You had to know what this place was hiding, why they’d brought you here, and what it was they feared you might discover.

Taking a steadying breath, you closed the book and rose from the chair, the cat trotting along beside you as you made your way to the door. The library, with all its strange secrets, had given you a glimpse of something… something that felt vital. And now, you needed to understand more.

You pushed open the door and stepped into the dim corridor, the weight of the book still lingering in your mind.

Stepping out of the library, you took a deep breath, the air of the hallway feeling colder than before, filled with a quiet dread. The cat padded alongside you, its silent presence oddly comforting as you made your way through the twisting corridors, the mansion's eerie stillness swallowing every sound.

As you moved, the layout of the house seemed to warp and shift, hallways stretching longer, doors disappearing and reappearing in ways that defied logic. It was as if the mansion itself were alive, reshaping itself to either mislead or guide you. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you followed your instincts, letting them carry you deeper into the house, toward answers or dangers unknown.

After what felt like an eternity, you found yourself in front of a grand, heavy door unlike any you’d seen before. It was made of dark wood, carved with intricate symbols similar to those in the book, but larger and more elaborate, twisting together in patterns that almost seemed to move under your gaze.

The cat meowed softly, pawing at the door as if urging you forward. You hesitated, heart racing, but curiosity got the better of you. With a shaky breath, you pushed open the door, stepping into the darkness beyond.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, the walls lined with shelves cluttered with strange objects: old trinkets, masks, books with cracked spines, and jars filled with substances you didn’t recognize. It felt like some kind of private study or ritual room, hidden away from the rest of the mansion.

You stepped forward, fingers brushing against a tattered notebook on the desk, its pages filled with scribbled notes in a handwriting you didn’t recognize. But before you could make out the words, the door clicked shut behind you.

You spun around, heart pounding, to see Mick standing there, his imposing figure filling the doorway, his metal-looking mask casting shadows that seemed to cut through the room.

“What do you think you’re doing in here?” he asked, his voice low and cold, with an edge that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“I… I just wanted to understand,” you replied, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. You held your ground, refusing to let the fear show in your voice. “I don’t even know why I’m here, and no one’s telling me anything.”

Mick’s gaze sharpened, and for a moment, he seemed to study you, as if weighing your words. “This house has rules,” he said finally, his tone softening just a fraction. “And breaking them has consequences.”

He took a step closer, his presence filling the room, making it feel smaller, the air thicker. “Some places in this house are off-limits. And for good reason.”

You swallowed, the weight of his warning sinking in, but the defiance in you refused to fade. “Then tell me what those reasons are,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “You brought me here, but you’re keeping me in the dark. How am I supposed to know what to do?”

Mick’s expression was unreadable behind the mask, but his silence spoke volumes. Finally, he sighed, the sound barely audible. “Some things are hidden because they’re dangerous. For you. For us.”

He turned his gaze toward the shelves, his fingers tracing the edge of one of the jars as if lost in thought. “But maybe you’re right,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Maybe it’s time for you to understand… a little.”

He reached for something on the shelf—a small, metal key, worn with age. He held it out to you, his gaze intense as he placed it in your hand. “This opens a door. A door that might help you understand. But know this—once you step through, there’s no going back.”

Your heart raced as you looked down at the key, its cold weight pressing into your palm. This was what you’d been waiting for—a chance to understand, to finally get answers. You nodded, clutching the key tightly.

Mick gave a slight nod in return, then turned and left the room, his footsteps fading down the hallway. You stood there, the key in your hand, feeling the enormity of the decision before you.

After a moment’s hesitation, you followed, making your way back through the dark corridors, the mansion seeming to guide you as if it, too, wanted you to find this door.

Eventually, you found yourself in front of an unmarked door at the end of a narrow hallway. The cat meowed, winding around your legs, as if encouraging you to move forward. You glanced down at the key, your heart racing as you slid it into the lock, hearing the faint click as the door unlocked.

The room beyond was dimly lit, filled with the scent of old wood and dust. As you stepped inside, you felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, as if you’d been here before, in a dream or a memory long forgotten.

And then you saw it—a small notebook lying open on a table in the center of the room. The pages were filled with notes and diagrams, all in a handwriting that was unmistakably yours.

The notebook sat open on the table, its pages worn and yellowed as if they had been waiting here for years. The handwriting was unmistakably yours—the same loops, the same careful strokes—but the words on the page were foreign, like they were written by someone else entirely.

You reached out and ran your fingers over the ink, feeling the faint grooves pressed into the paper. As you flipped through the pages, fragments of words and symbols caught your eye:

"They keep telling me not to look, but I can't stop."

"The mansion changes. I can feel it. It hides things in the walls."

"If you're reading this...trust yourself. You'll need to remember."

Each line was like a whisper from a version of you who had been here before—a message left behind, almost as if to help guide you through the confusion and fear.

Suddenly, there was a sound—a faint, almost imperceptible hum coming from the far corner of the room. You squinted, trying to make sense of it, when the cat brushed against your leg, its eyes fixated on something just out of sight.

Following its gaze, you saw a mirror—a tall, antique mirror leaning against the wall, its glass clouded with age. Something about it felt… wrong. The room’s dim light cast odd shadows across the surface, and as you approached, the shapes in the glass seemed to shift and swirl, distorting your reflection.

Heart pounding, you stepped closer, compelled by some force you couldn’t resist. The closer you got, the more the mirror seemed to pulse, as if alive, its surface warping to reveal something beneath.

And then you saw it—a faint, ghostly image behind your reflection. It was Jim, his jester mask casting an eerie, knowing smile, his gaze fixed on you through the glass. He raised a finger to his lips, his eyes holding an intensity that felt both reassuring and threatening.

“Curiosity is a funny thing, isn’t it?” his voice echoed, somehow emanating from the mirror. It was as if he were speaking directly into your mind. “It’s what keeps you moving, even when you know you shouldn’t.”

You froze, the air thick with a mix of dread and anticipation.

“You… you’ve been watching me this whole time?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jim tilted his head, an almost playful glint in his eyes. “Not just me. We’ve all been watching. Each of us has a piece of the story you’re chasing. But every story has a price.”

“What kind of price?” you asked, barely able to keep the tremor out of your voice.

Jim’s gaze darkened, the glint of playfulness fading. “That’s something you’ll have to decide for yourself. Just know that sometimes, the truth isn’t worth the price you pay to uncover it.”

And with that, his image faded, leaving only your own reflection in the mirror.

You took a shaky breath, stepping back, but as you did, your reflection didn’t move with you. Instead, it stared at you, its eyes wide, mirroring your fear and confusion. It felt like looking at a stranger—a version of you that had somehow crossed into another reality.

Your reflection raised its hand, pressing it against the glass, as if trying to reach you. You mirrored the gesture, your fingers barely brushing the cold surface when a shock ran through you, a spark of energy that seemed to bind you to the mirror. In that moment, you felt a surge of memories, images flashing through your mind—glimpses of places you’d never been, people you’d never met, all blurring together in a chaotic flood.

When the vision cleared, you found yourself back in the room, alone, the notebook lying open on the table. But something had changed. You felt… different, as if a part of you had been left behind in the mirror.

The cat nudged your leg, breaking the spell, and you looked down, feeling an odd sense of reassurance from its presence. With a final glance at the notebook, you turned and made your way out of the room, clutching the memories you’d uncovered as tightly as you could.

The corridors seemed different now, their shadows darker, their walls closing in around you. Every creak, every whisper of air seemed to carry a warning, but you pressed on, determined to find the truth, no matter what price you had to pay.

The hallways stretched and twisted as you made your way back, feeling the mansion’s unsettling pull as though it were guiding you somewhere. Shadows lengthened, and the air grew thick with the scent of old wood and something else—something metallic and cold, like iron. The cat trotted beside you, occasionally glancing up as if it, too, sensed the weight of your discovery.

As you turned a corner, the hallway opened up into a vast room with high ceilings and walls lined with tall windows, though each window was veiled by thick, dark curtains that shrouded the space in dim light. In the center of the room stood a large, antique table, and gathered around it were Shawn, Chris, and Paul. Each of them was masked, their postures tense as they turned to look at you in unison, as if they had been waiting.

Shawn, in his clown mask, tapped his fingers against the table, his gaze fixed on you with a hint of impatience. Chris, with his long-nose mask, folded his arms, watching you in a way that felt both curious and disapproving. Paul’s pig mask tilted ever so slightly, his eyes narrowed, studying you in silence.

“Finally decided to join us, did you?” Shawn’s voice was laced with something darkly amused, his tone mocking but curious.

You clenched the notebook you’d found, suddenly self-conscious under their collective stare. “I just… I found something. I want to know why I’m here, and no one is giving me answers,” you said, voice steadier than you felt.

Paul exchanged a glance with Chris before turning back to you. “Answers? You think you’re ready for answers?” His voice was almost taunting, and yet there was something unreadable in his tone, as though he were testing you.

You nodded, feeling a flicker of anger. “You’ve all been watching me, telling me not to dig too deep, warning me. But none of you are actually telling me anything. I want to know why I’m here. What this place is.”

The silence was thick, stretching uncomfortably as they all considered your words.

Chris was the first to break the silence. “Sometimes knowledge is a burden,” he said quietly, almost as if speaking to himself. “But if you insist on knowing, we’ll give you a taste of what this place is. What we are.”

Shawn’s eyes glinted with something mischievous and unsettling. He gestured for you to approach the table, his gaze intense. “Sit. If you’re going to demand answers, you might as well make yourself comfortable.”

With a mix of trepidation and resolve, you moved forward, sliding into a seat across from them. The air around the table felt colder, heavier, and you noticed symbols etched into its surface—familiar symbols like the ones in the book, twisting and looping into patterns that seemed to draw you in.

Paul leaned forward, his eyes hard behind his mask. “You want the truth, but let me ask you this—are you willing to pay the price for it? Because there is a price. Nothing in this house is free.”

“What kind of price?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Shawn’s grin widened beneath his mask. “Sometimes the cost isn’t something you can see. It’s something you feel—something that lingers long after the truth is known.”

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to back down. “I don’t care. I need to know. Whatever it takes.”

A tense silence filled the room as your words sank in. Finally, Chris nodded, a hint of resignation in his posture. “Very well,” he said, his voice low. “But once you know, there’s no going back. Remember that.”

With a swift, practiced motion, Shawn pulled a worn, leather-bound book from a drawer in the table and set it in front of you. It looked ancient, its cover cracked and faded, its pages yellowed with age.

“This,” he said, “is the key to understanding what we are. It’s the record of every soul that has ever entered this house… and every soul that has ever left.” He slid it across the table toward you. “Go on. Open it.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached out, the weight of the book sending a chill through you. Slowly, you opened the cover, the pages crackling as you flipped through the first few entries. Each page was filled with names, dates, and short descriptions, some crossed out, others marked with strange symbols.

And then, on one of the pages, you saw your own name, your arrival date scrawled next to it, along with a note in handwriting you didn’t recognize: “She will either be the key or the undoing.”

Your breath caught as the weight of those words sank in. The key or the undoing—of what? Of the house? Of them? Or something even greater?

Shawn’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and haunting. “Every person brought here has a role, a purpose. And yours… well, it’s still unclear. That’s why we’re watching you, why we’re keeping you close.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze, feeling a surge of anger. “So I’m just… some kind of experiment to you?”

Chris shook his head slowly. “Not an experiment. You’re part of something bigger, something this house has been bound to for centuries. And now that you’re here… there’s no escape. Not until your purpose is fulfilled.”

Your hands tightened on the edge of the book, the weight of their words settling heavily on you. The key or the undoing. The choices you made here, the things you uncovered, could change everything—for better or worse.

Shawn leaned forward, his gaze intense. “You wanted the truth, and now you have it. The question is, what are you going to do with it?”

You felt their eyes on you, waiting, watching, as if this moment held more weight than you could understand. The mansion seemed to hold its breath, the walls pressing in around you, as if it, too, waited to see what you would choose.