Evelyn's Pov:
The moon hung low, casting elongated shadows across the room. The distant noises—soft, insistent—pulled me from my restless slumber. I sat up, heart racing, and glanced at Margaret, who stirred in the chair by the fireplace.
"Did you hear that?" I whispered.
Margaret rubbed her eyes. "Probably just the wind," she mumbled.
But I knew better. The manor's masked figure lingered in my mind. I tiptoed across the creaking floor, Margaret following. We peered into the darkness, but there was nothing—only the rustling leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. I sighed in relief as Margaret said "See, just the wind." I saw Margaret went back to sleep on the couch this time, where I was laid. I shook my head and instead of sleeping in my room I sat on the chair. I was too scared to sleep alone in the cold bed and besides do not want to leave Margaret alone here in the hearth. I close my eyes...
And then I noticed it—the rhythmic sound, like a heartbeat. I turned toward the bathroom, its door ajar. The tap dripped—a slow, deliberate rhythm. But as I stepped closer, I saw the faded crimson stains on the porcelain sink, the water pooling with a viscous thickness. Someone had opened it, intentionally.
Fear crawled up my spine, icy tendrils wrapping around my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. The mirror reflected my widened eyes, and in their haunted depths, I glimpsed something lurking—a shadow, a presence. The room seemed to close in, walls pressing against me, whispering secrets I couldn't comprehend.
I stumbled backward, desperate to escape, but the door slammed shut, trapping me in this nightmare. The heartbeat grew louder, merging with my own, until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. My fingers grazed the faucet, and the water turned scarlet, staining my skin. Madness clawed at the edges of my mind. Who had opened the tap? What malevolence lingered here? I dared not look into the mirror again, fearing what I might see—the haunting eyes that watched, unblinking, from the other side.
Margaret knocked frighteningly and shoved herself inside the bathroom. "Evelyn, what happened?" her eyes widened on seeing blood in the sink. She gasped and started checking me if I hurt myself... "Mar...Mar... Margaret it's not mine." I made it clear to her.
I closed the tap tightly, the water ceasing its eerie dance. But the shadows deepened, and the air thickened. The mirror in the hallway reflected more than our frightened faces—it held a distortion, a glimpse of something beyond.
"Close all the windows" I said, leading Margaret back to the hearth.
"I'm scared, I am calling the police." Margaret's trembling fingers dialed the emergency number. The phone rang, each tone echoing through the cottage like a distant scream.
She explained our situation—the distorted mirror, the masked figure, the raven's hit. The operator promised help was on the way, but I doubted.
But as Margaret hung up, her face drained of color. "Evelyn," she whispered, "the LAN cable—it's been cut."
I followed her gaze to the corner of the room. The cable lay severed, its frayed ends like exposed nerves. Panic surged within me.
Margaret's voice wavered. "We are not alone in this cottage?"
Outside, the wind howled, rattling the windowpanes. Shadows danced, elongated and grotesque. The masked figure stood near the broken mirror; its hollow eyes fixed on us. The raven perched on the windowsill, feathers ruffled, as if waiting for our demise.
"We can't stay," I said, my breath hitching. "We have to—"
But before I could finish, the lights flickered and died. Darkness swallowed us whole. Margaret clung to my arm, her nails digging into my skin. The cottage seemed to shrink, walls closing in, and the air thickened with malevolence.
"If we somehow escaped this night...please just shift your ass into my home." Margaret whispered. I was thinking for the worst to happen with us tonight...
We lay in the darkness, listening to the night—the wind, the distant cries, and the secrets that whispered louder than screams. The floorboards creaked, as if footsteps moved just beyond our door. Margaret clutched my hand, her knuckles pale.
"Who's there?" she whispered trembling badly.
I had no answers. The raven's cry echoed, and the room grew colder. The light came alive and started flickering. Shadows danced on the walls, their shapes shifting—twisted figures, clawed hands. The masked figure stood outside, its breath fogging the glass.