The mansion loomed behind him as Charles stood at the base of the towering structure that jutted up into the dark, cloud-covered sky. The Tower, which had been inaccessible until now, was shrouded in an eerie fog, its windows black and lifeless. His breath misted in the cold air as he stared up at it, heart pounding in his chest. The ghost detector in his hand beeped softly, indicating a presence somewhere within.
He glanced at the chat on his phone, which was still buzzing with excitement and nervous tension from the viewers.
"You really going in there?"
"The Tower? No one ever goes up there!"
"This is going to be bad... I can feel it."
Charles shared their apprehension. The system's new task had led him here, but something about this place felt different from the rest of the mansion. It was darker, more isolated, and the atmosphere itself seemed thick with malevolence. He could sense the echoes of the Watcher hiding within, stronger here than anywhere else in the house.
Taking a deep breath, he approached the entrance. The large iron door groaned as it opened, revealing a narrow spiral staircase that disappeared into the darkness above. The Tower had no electricity—his flashlight was the only thing guiding his way. As he stepped inside, the door creaked shut behind him, sealing him within.
The sound of his footsteps echoed through the cold, empty chamber as he began the ascent. The stairs were old, creaking with every step, and the air was musty, filled with the scent of damp stone. The ghost detector beeped intermittently, its soft hum growing louder with each floor he climbed.
Charles could feel the weight of the viewers' eyes on him, their anticipation palpable through the screen. This was what they had been waiting for—another confrontation, another dive into the unknown.
But for Charles, it was different. He could feel the tension building, the lingering presence of the Watcher's echoes pressing down on him as he climbed higher. This wasn't just a haunted place—it was a beacon for the fragments of darkness left behind. And they were gathering.
Halfway up, the detector gave a sharp, high-pitched beep, indicating a powerful presence nearby. Charles froze, gripping the iron poker tightly. He pointed his flashlight ahead, sweeping it across the narrow landing where the staircase leveled out before continuing upward.
At the far end of the landing, a door stood slightly ajar, the wood cracked and splintered with age. The detector pulsed wildly, its display showing a massive spike in ghostly activity just beyond that door.
He approached cautiously, every nerve on edge. The chat had gone quiet, the viewers sensing the tension in the air.
Pushing the door open with the end of the poker, Charles stepped into a small, dusty room. It was barren, save for a single piece of furniture—a large, weathered mirror leaning against the wall. Its surface was clouded and cracked, distorting any reflection that might appear in its depths.
The ghost detector beeped incessantly, its readings off the charts as Charles stood before the mirror. His breath caught in his throat as a cold wind blew through the room, though no windows were open. The air around him grew heavier, the temperature dropping sharply.
Then, he saw it—a flicker of movement in the corner of the mirror.
Charles spun around, but the room was empty. He glanced back at the mirror, his heart racing, and saw the flicker again. This time, it was clearer—a shape, moving in the shadows just behind him.
Before he could react, the lights on his ghost detector flashed red, and the room seemed to darken. The shape in the mirror grew clearer, taking the form of a tall, emaciated figure with hollow eyes. It was one of the echoes—the strongest one yet.
It stepped out of the mirror with unnatural fluidity, its body shifting between solid and ethereal. The cold emanating from it was unbearable, seeping into Charles's bones as the creature moved toward him with deliberate slowness, its eyes locked on him.
Charles backed up, raising the iron poker, but he knew this encounter would be different. The echoes were growing stronger, and this one—this thing—had no intention of letting him leave.
The chat erupted with messages as viewers watched the figure manifest fully, its presence tangible even through the screen.
"What is that?!"
"Get out of there, Charles!"
"It's coming right at you!"
Charles's mind raced as he tried to think of a way to seal the echo, but the ritual symbols he'd used before wouldn't work in time. The creature was almost upon him now, its outstretched hands reaching for him with twisted fingers.
In desperation, he swung the poker, the iron glowing faintly as it struck the echo's form. The creature let out a low, guttural hiss, recoiling as the blow connected. But it wasn't enough to stop it.
The system chimed in his mind, offering a cryptic piece of advice: "Use the mirror."
Charles's eyes darted back to the large, cracked mirror behind him. The echo had emerged from it—perhaps it could be forced back inside.
With no other option, he pivoted toward the mirror and, summoning all his strength, swung the poker directly at its surface. The iron struck with a deafening crack, and the mirror shattered into a thousand pieces.
The echo let out an ear-piercing scream as shards of glass flew through the air. The room erupted into chaos as the creature began to unravel, its form distorting and flickering, drawn back toward the mirror's remnants. The ghost detector beeped erratically, its readings fluctuating as the echo was sucked back into the broken glass, piece by piece.
Finally, with one last agonizing wail, the echo was gone, leaving the room eerily silent.
Charles collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath. His hands trembled, and the poker clattered to the ground beside him. The viewers in the chat exploded with a mix of relief and excitement, cheering him on for having survived yet another encounter.
But Charles knew better. This was only the beginning.
As he sat there in the darkened room, his phone buzzed with a new system message.
"Echo 1 sealed. Remaining echoes: 2. Next location: The Attic."
Charles groaned. The Tower had been bad enough, but now he had to venture even deeper into the mansion's secrets. The Attic was another part of the house he had yet to explore, but it was known for its isolation and the strange noises that seemed to echo from its depths.
The system's voice returned, cold and unwavering: "You are not alone, Charles. The echoes are growing restless. You must act before it is too late."
The fog outside the Tower was lifting slightly, but the darkness within the mansion remained thick. The remaining echoes were still out there, waiting for him. And they wouldn't stay dormant for long.
With a weary sigh, Charles picked himself up and steeled himself for what was to come.
The Tower had revealed the true power of the echoes. Now, he would face the next one.
In the Attic.