The unexpected question made both Oliver and Isabella flinch. It was as if ice had dripped down their spines; they hadn't anticipated being questioned, especially not here, not after what they'd just witnessed. Sure, they were at the scene of the crime, but being accused felt like an attack in itself.
"Excuse me, mister. We're neither fools nor people you can randomly accuse! Can't you see we were attacked? Henry was the unfortunate one, getting mauled right in front of us, and you think we just stood there, watching?" Oliver snapped at Alexander, his voice trembling with restrained anger.
Alex's face twisted with suspicion, his eyes flicking between Oliver and Isabella. Something about the two being together in that moment unsettled him, gnawing at him with dark possibilities. Just as he opened his mouth to respond, a harsh slap resounded across the room, leaving his cheek stinging. Chloe stood in front of him, her eyes ablaze with fury.
"Can you hear yourself, Alex? My boyfriend was almost killed, and here you are, acting all superior! Who even made you the leader? You arrogant piece of—" Chloe's voice cracked with a mix of anger and despair as the supernatural horror of their situation finally broke her spirit.
Oliver wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. In his embrace, Chloe finally felt a fleeting sense of safety, as though his warmth was a shield against the shadows encroaching on them.
"I know you feel lost and betrayed, but don't you ever accuse my boyfriend of anything so absurd ever again!" Chloe's voice was icy with conviction, her words slicing through the tension. A faint smirk played on Oliver's lips as he shot Alex a mocking gesture, a small act of defiance that only deepened Alex's shame.
They all gathered in the dimly lit sitting room, a bleak space dominated by heavy shadows and the oppressive quiet. The ancient couch creaked under their weight, and dust floated in the stagnant air. Every eye darted around, watching the corners as if something monstrous might be lurking just out of sight. They had already tried to escape, only to realize they were trapped. It was clear now—the game had begun, and they were the pawns.
Nathan and Ethan approached Alex, who sat slouched at the edge of the couch, his face pale under the flickering light. Chloe's words still echoed in his mind, leaving him feeling like a husk, drained of any pride or strength. It hurt—being reduced to nothing more than a nuisance, despite all his efforts to protect the group.
"Alex, don't let Chloe's words get to you. We both know you're the only one who understands what we're up against," Ethan murmured, his hand resting gently on Alex's back. There was a hint of desperation in his voice, a tremor of hidden emotion he couldn't fully contain. He'd always been drawn to Alex, in ways he dared not voice. Yet he knew Alex's heart was elsewhere, eternally fixated on Isabella. Now, trapped in this realm of nightmares, it seemed hopeless to even dream of a future together.
Nathan, meanwhile, moved to the center of the room, clapping his hands to grab everyone's attention. "Listen up, everyone! I know we're scared—terrified, even. But panicking won't get us out of this. Based on what I've read, these... entities can't attack us until nightfall."
His words barely eased the tension, as he pointed to an ancient, macabre clock on the wall, its surface adorned with skulls and a strange red liquid that dripped slowly from its gears, staining the wood below.
Isabella rolled her eyes and snapped, "Are you serious, Nathan? That thing looks like it's been broken for centuries. Now we're taking advice from someone as blind as a bat?"
Nathan's gaze darkened, and he stepped closer to her, his tone low and biting. "Unless you have a better idea, stay out of my way."
Just as he reclaimed his focus, a faint cackle echoed from somewhere deep within the house. Everyone shot to their feet, eyes wide with terror.
"Guys, relax," Nathan tried, though his voice trembled. "Remember, they can't attack us until nightfall—"
A shriek cut him off. "Why isn't the clock moving?" Eve's voice wavered, and everyone turned to stare at the ghastly timepiece. Its hands, which had been ticking slowly a moment before, now stood frozen, casting eerie shadows on the wall.
Suddenly, a chill spread through the room, unnatural and bitter, seeping into their bones. Ethan gripped Alex's arm tightly, his hands shaking as his eyes filled with dread. "Stay close, Ethan," Alex whispered, his own heart pounding. "Don't leave my side, no matter what."
Then, with a groaning, earth-shaking rumble, the ground beneath them began to crack open. Jessie let out a piercing scream as the floor split, revealing an abyss below. From within the darkness, something began to rise—a grotesque head, large as a cupboard, with hollow compartments where eyes should have been and eight twisted legs unfurling from its neck. Its body slithered in a serpentine motion, each limb resembling the gnarled roots of a tree.
Everyone froze in horror, their minds reeling. Alex instinctively clutched Ethan closer, whispering frantically, "Just stay with me. We'll get through this."
A blood-curdling scream then echoed through the house, louder than any sound they had ever heard. The broken television flickered to life, the screen a blur of static, and a voice crackled through, distorted and sinister.
"Truth or dare, cutie pies."
The voice was hollow, mocking. The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
"The rules are simple: tell the truth, and maybe you live. Lie, and... well, you'll find out," the voice taunted with a sickening laugh, as though relishing the terror that washed over them.
Isabella went pale, swallowing hard, a flicker of desperation in her eyes. Across the room, Alexander's fingers fidgeted, his own secrets suddenly feeling like nooses around his neck.
They were trapped, bound by this sinister game. And as the chilling silence settled, they either play the game and be on safe side or risk getting devoured by the hungry, starving grotesquerie beast which stood aside mouth ajar with saw like clawed teeth.