The house held its breath.
Pierce pressed his back against the wall, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temple. The letters on the wall gleamed wet and black, like they were bleeding shadows:
PLAYER THREE: FOUND.
And beneath it, the fresh words that made his stomach twist:
PLAYER FOUR: READY OR NOT.
"Aria," he whispered, voice cracking. "Tango… stay quiet."
The silence was worse than the screams. It was thick, alive, pressing against his ears until he could hear his own pulse pounding like a drum. Somewhere above, a floorboard creaked slow, deliberate, like a predator shifting its weight.
Aria's voice trembled from under the bed. "It's hunting us."
Pierce swallowed hard, gripping the broken chair leg like it was a lifeline. "Not us," he said, his voice barely a breath. "Just one of us."
Another sound a soft hum, almost sweet, drifting down the hallway. A lullaby twisted into something wrong. The words were faint, but they crawled under his skin:
"Ready or not… here I come…"
Tango whimpered from the closet. "Pierce… what do we do?"
Pierce didn't answer. His eyes were locked on the staircase. The attic door was open now. He was sure it hadn't been before. A black smear trailed up the steps like a breadcrumb trail of nightmares.
Then, the lights flickered again. Once. Twice. Dead.
Darkness swallowed the house whole.
Aria's sob broke the silence. "I can't-I can't see-"
"Shut up!" Pierce hissed, panic clawing at his throat. He strained his ears, listening. Footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Coming down the stairs this time.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Each step was deliberate, patient, savoring the hunt.
Pierce's grip tightened until his knuckles burned. He could feel it now...the thing wasn't just moving. It was choosing.
Then, the voice slid through the dark, soft as silk, sharp as razors:
"Player Four… found."
Pierce's blood turned to ice. He spun toward the bed, heart slamming against his ribs. "Aria-"
Her scream ripped through the dark, jagged and raw, then cut off too soon.
Pierce lunged, slamming his shoulder into the bed frame, clawing at the shadows. His fingers brushed hers for a heartbeat cold, trembling before something yanked her away with impossible strength.
He caught a glimpse in the flicker of dying light: a grin carved into a face that wasn't a face, eyes black and endless, limbs bending like broken marionettes.
Then she was gone. Dragged into the dark.
The lullaby hummed again, sweet and wrong:
"Player Five… ready or not…"
Pierce froze, breath ragged, as the closet door creaked open behind him.