Charles Bennett stared at the screen in disbelief. The soft glow of his laptop illuminated his small apartment as the eerie voice of the Horror Live Broadcast System echoed in his mind. He had been given a second chance at life, but the price for his rebirth was nothing short of horrifying.
"You have been selected," the system had said when he first woke up in 2018. It was emotionless, robotic, as if it had no concern for his disbelief or confusion. "Your task is to survive haunted locations and livestream the experience. The broadcast will run from midnight to six a.m. Your audience will watch in real time. Complete the task, and you will be rewarded with $100,000 and physical enhancements. Fail, and you will face the consequences."
Charles hadn't asked what those "consequences" were. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
Now, as he sat at his kitchen table, staring at the countdown ticking away on the screen—11:55 p.m., five minutes until his first broadcast—he felt his pulse quicken. Sweat trickled down his back, and his hands shook slightly as he adjusted the camera on his laptop. The setup was simple: one small camera to capture the livestream and his phone to monitor the chat from viewers. The location for his first broadcast had already been chosen by the system: an abandoned Victorian mansion on the outskirts of town. Its reputation was notorious—stories of ghost sightings, strange sounds, and people going missing had made it the subject of local legends for decades.
"Of course, it has to be this place," Charles muttered to himself, glancing at the clock again. 11:58 p.m.
Two minutes left.
He tried to calm his breathing. He had always loved watching horror from the safety of his couch, but now that he was about to experience it firsthand, the fear was suffocating. The system had given him instructions to arrive at the mansion an hour before midnight, setting up his camera gear in the grand foyer. The house itself was a crumbling relic from the past, its exterior overgrown with ivy and its windows broken and dark. Inside, it was even worse—dusty, decaying, and filled with the heavy air of abandonment.
But what really unsettled Charles wasn't the state of the house. It was the silence. The kind of silence that pressed in on your ears, making you feel like something—or someone—was watching from the shadows.
The clock hit 11:59 p.m. Charles took a deep breath and clicked the "Go Live" button. A bright red light blinked on the screen, indicating that his broadcast had begun.
"Okay, here we go," he whispered, trying to sound confident. The chat box on his phone immediately started lighting up with messages as viewers tuned in.
"First time catching this stream!"
"Yo, is this for real?"
"This house looks creepy af!"
Charles glanced at the growing list of usernames scrolling down the side of the screen. Hundreds of people had already joined, their comments coming in faster than he could read. He swallowed hard, gripping his flashlight in one hand and the camera in the other.
"Welcome, everyone," he said, his voice shaky. "This is the first night of my, uh, new series. I'll be spending the night here in the old Holloway Mansion. You've probably heard the stories—hauntings, disappearances, and, well, let's see if any of that is true."
He forced a nervous laugh, but the anxiety gnawing at his stomach refused to ease.
12:00 a.m. Midnight.
The second the clock struck twelve, a cold gust of wind swept through the house, though no windows or doors were open. Charles shivered, and the chat exploded with comments.
"Did you feel that??"
"Yo, what was that wind?"
"Bro, something's not right."
Charles took a hesitant step forward, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. The beam of his flashlight cut through the darkness, revealing the decaying grandeur of the foyer. Dust particles floated lazily in the air, disturbed by the sudden chill. He scanned the room, his breath visible in the cold air, before turning the camera towards a grand staircase leading to the second floor.
"All right, I'm heading upstairs now," he said, though his legs felt like lead.
He climbed the stairs slowly, each step groaning under his weight. His heart pounded in his chest, and every shadow seemed to move at the edge of his vision. He reached the landing, where a long hallway stretched out before him. Faded portraits lined the walls, their eyes seemingly following him as he walked. At the far end, a door was slightly ajar, the faintest sliver of light visible beyond it.
"Let's check this out," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
As he approached the door, the air grew colder, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He reached out, pushing the door open slowly. Inside was a bedroom, untouched by time. The bed was still made, with dust covering the blankets, and a vanity mirror stood in the corner. But what made Charles freeze in place was the reflection in the mirror.
A shadowy figure stood behind him.
His blood ran cold, and his breath caught in his throat. He spun around, but there was nothing there. The chat exploded.
"Did you see that?!"
"Oh hell no!"
"There's someone in there with you!!"
Charles's hands trembled as he aimed the camera back at the mirror. The figure was gone, but the feeling of being watched lingered. He took a step back, the floor creaking loudly beneath him. Suddenly, the door slammed shut with a deafening bang.
"Jesus!" Charles stumbled, barely catching himself.
The chat erupted in a frenzy, but Charles barely noticed. His pulse was racing, and his vision blurred with panic. He fumbled for the doorknob, yanking it open and rushing out into the hallway. His flashlight flickered, casting erratic shadows as he hurried back down the stairs. Every instinct screamed at him to leave, but the system's cold voice echoed in his mind.
You must survive until 6 a.m.
He reached the foyer, panting heavily, and leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. The clock above the door read 12:30 a.m.
Five and a half more hours.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed through the house. Slow, deliberate, and coming closer. Charles's heart pounded in his chest as the noise grew louder. He aimed his camera toward the stairs just as a figure appeared at the top.
A woman, her face pale and gaunt, her eyes hollow and dark, stared down at him.
Charles froze. The chat exploded with fear and excitement, but all he could do was watch as the ghostly figure started descending the stairs, her feet barely touching the ground.
She was coming for him.
And the night had only just begun.