The two men exchanged tense glances, their unease mirrored in each other's eyes. Without warning, Rudric lunged at the door, his movements frantic as it slammed shut with a hollow thud.
"Help! Somebody, help!" Rudric bellowed, pounding his fists against the unyielding wood. His voice echoed through the room, desperate and strained, before fading into silence.
"Shut it, will you?" Silas hissed, his tone sharper than intended. Despite his words, his hands trembled slightly as he smoothed his jacket. "No one's coming. Yelling isn't going to help."
Rudric shot him an annoyed look but didn't argue. Instead, he turned back to the door, gripping the handle and jiggling it forcefully. When it refused to budge, he let out an exasperated growl, slamming his fist against it in frustration. He spun away and slumped onto the edge of the work table, his shoulders sagging.
"You're awfully calm for someone stuck in a locked room," Rudric muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness as he raked a hand through his disheveled hair.
"Calm?" Silas barked a short, humorless laugh, pacing the room with deliberate steps. "You call this calm? I'm trying to think, Rudric. Panic won't get us out of here."
Rudric folded his arms, his jaw tightening as he watched Silas scrutinize every inch of the room. The silence grew heavy, broken only by Silas's quiet footsteps and the occasional creak of the wooden floor.
After several minutes, Silas froze. His gaze lingered on a section of the wall, his brow furrowed in thought. Slowly, he knelt and traced his fingers along the grain of the wood, his expression sharpening.
"This isn't just a regular locked room," he murmured, almost to himself.
Rudric frowned. "What are you talking about? It's a room, Silas. A really annoying, locked room."
"Feel the air," Silas interrupted, his tone distant as if he hadn't heard Rudric's comment. "It's stale, but there's a draft. That shouldn't happen unless—" He paused, his fingers brushing against a nearly invisible seam in the wall. His lips pressed into a thin line.
"Unless there's a hidden passage," Silas finished, his voice low but certain. He turned to Rudric, his eyes gleaming with a mix of determination and unease. "Come here. Help me push this."
Rudric sighed, clearly unconvinced, but slid off the table and joined Silas. Together, they pressed against the wall. For a moment, nothing happened, and Rudric was about to voice his doubts when a soft creak broke the silence. Slowly, the hidden panel shifted, revealing a narrow, shadowy crack.
"Well, I'll be damned," Rudric muttered, his earlier frustration giving way to reluctant admiration. "You were right. You actually found something."
Silas allowed himself a small, triumphant smirk, though his voice remained cautious. "Let's not celebrate just yet. We don't know where it leads."
Rudric clapped him on the back, his grin returning. "Does it matter? Anywhere is better than this room. Come on, let's see what kind of adventure we've stumbled into."
"Adventure," Silas repeated dryly, his smirk fading. "That's one way to put it."
They stepped into the passage, the air instantly cooler and laced with the smell of damp stone. The light from the room behind them barely reached, leaving most of the corridor shrouded in darkness.
As they walked deeper, the walls seemed to close in, the sound of dripping water growing louder with every step. Silas's eyes darted around, his jaw tight, while Rudric tried to mask his own unease with forced bravado.
"This place gives me the creeps," Rudric admitted, his voice lower now. "You sure we're not walking into something worse?"
Silas didn't respond immediately. Finally, he murmured, "I don't know. But we didn't have much of a choice, did we?"
Just as Rudric opened his mouth to reply, a low, resonant rumble echoed through the passage. Both men froze. A moment later, an eerie, guttural growl followed, faint but unmistakable. The sound sent a chill racing down their spines.
Silas's hand instinctively moved to his belt, though he had no weapon to grasp. Rudric, glanced at him, his face pale.
Rudric muttered in a doubtful tone, "It's still better than being trapped here…"
Silas shot him a sharp look, his brow furrowed. "Better? We still have to get out of here before the sun sets." His voice was firm, but there was an edge of urgency to it.
Rudric hesitated, shifting his weight uneasily, before nodding. Without another word, he stepped into the shadowy secret passage. Silas followed closely, the dim light of the room behind them fading as they ventured deeper into the unknown.
---
The air in the stone tunnel was damp and cold, carrying with it the faint scent of moss and earth. Their footsteps echoed softly, swallowed by the oppressive silence. The narrow walls seemed to press closer with each step, amplifying the sense of unease.
Silas scanned their surroundings, his sharp eyes landing on a torch mounted to the wall. Its wood was worn but intact, as though it had been waiting for someone to claim it.
"Hey," he called over his shoulder, holding up the torch. "Do you have oil?"
Rudric raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. "Who doesn't carry oil these days?" he retorted, pulling a small bottle from his bag.
Silas gave a short laugh, though it lacked humor. "You're full of surprises." He poured the oil over the torch, the scent of it sharp in the stale air. Kneeling, he scanned the ground until he found a jagged piece of iron and a stone.
With deliberate movements, Silas struck the stone against the iron.
Crack!
The torch ignited with a sudden flare, its flame flickering wildly before settling into a steady glow. Shadows danced along the walls, twisting and shifting like silent specters.
"Let's go," Silas said tersely, gripping the torch tightly as he moved forward. Rudric followed behind, his nose buried in his ever-present notes, muttering to himself now and then as he jotted something down.
The tunnel stretched on, the monotony broken only by the occasional drip of water echoing from somewhere unseen. Time seemed to stretch as their journey continued, the oppressive darkness around them broken only by the flickering torchlight.
At last, they reached the end of the passage, where a heavy wooden door stood like a sentinel.
Another locked room.
Silas clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly to keep his frustration in check. These endless confined spaces were beginning to wear on him. Shoving aside his unease, he grasped the iron handle and pulled the door open.
The room beyond was eerily familiar—almost identical to one they had encountered earlier. Yet this one was different. It was spotless. No scattered papers, no debris, just a single table in the center and a spiral staircase leading upward.
Silas narrowed his eyes. Something about this place felt wrong. Too perfect. Too deliberate.
"What now?" Rudric asked, his voice lighter, almost relieved. He stepped into the room, his shoulders relaxing slightly after the oppressive tunnel.
Silas didn't respond immediately. His gaze lingered on the pristine walls, the polished surface of the table, the unsettling lack of dust. "We move forward," he said finally, his tone flat but laced with unease.
Without waiting, they climbed the spiral staircase, its wooden steps creaking under their weight. Each step felt heavier, as though the air itself was thickening. At the top, they emerged into another room within the mansion.
This one was different—dusty and dimly lit, with thick curtains drawn over the windows, casting the space into an unnatural gloom. The furniture was neatly arranged, untouched by time, yet there was a suffocating stillness to the room.
Rudric let out a breath, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "Finally. At least we're out of that cursed tunnel." His voice carried relief, but it was faint.
Silas, however, remained rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the stairs behind them. His mind churned, replaying the image of the spotless room below. It gnawed at him, a seed of doubt growing into something heavier.
"What's wrong?" Rudric asked, noticing Silas's silence.
"Nothing," Silas replied, though his voice was distant. He shook his head and turned away, forcing himself to focus.
Silas stood motionless in front of the curtain-covered window, his chest tightening as an inexplicable unease crept over him. The silence of the room was thick, broken only by the faint sound of Rudric's restless shuffling behind him.
"The sun should be shining through this window," Silas murmured, his voice barely a whisper, as though speaking louder might disturb the heavy stillness around them. His hand brushed against the curtain, hesitant. "But… there's no light. That's impossible unless—"
His words trailed off as dread swelled in his chest. Acting on instinct, he tore the curtains open with a single, sharp motion. The sight before him froze him in place.
The sky outside was dark, painted in deep, brooding shades of blue and black. The last slivers of twilight clung to the horizon, a dying ember of light. The sun was gone.
"No…" The word escaped his lips, faint and trembling. Silas pressed his palm against the cold glass, as if touching it might somehow make the scene less real. His reflection stared back at him, pale and wide-eyed, framed by the faint orange glow of the vanished sun.
Behind him, Rudric's breathing grew louder—short, shallow gasps that echoed his mounting panic. Silas turned to see him standing rigid in the center of the room, his hands trembling as they hovered near his chest. His face was a mask of fear, his pupils darting as though searching for something unseen.
"Rudric," Silas said, his tone sharp enough to cut through the oppressive atmosphere. He took a step forward, gripping Rudric's shoulder firmly. "How long do you think we were down there?"
Rudric didn't respond. His lips quivered, his jaw working as though trying to form words that refused to come.
Silas exhaled deeply, the sound a mix of frustration and an effort to steady himself. He closed his eyes and forced his thoughts to slow. The mansion's layout surfaced in his mind, a patchwork of dimly lit corridors and shadowed rooms.
(This room… it should be near the last one. Yes, I'm certain of it. But why does it feel… different?)
When he opened his eyes again, Rudric's panicked expression hadn't changed. Silas squeezed his shoulder harder, speaking with more authority. "Rudric. Look at me. We're getting out of here. Together. Do you hear me?"
Rudric's eyes finally met Silas's. Though the terror remained, there was a faint glimmer of trust, like a fragile flame struggling against the wind. He gave a hesitant nod, his breathing beginning to even out.
Silas let out a quiet sigh of relief before his attention shifted to the room itself. His gaze caught on the white curtains hanging limply by the window, the fabric swaying slightly as though disturbed by a breeze that didn't exist. An idea sparked.
"Rudric, give me the oil," Silas said abruptly.
Rudric hesitated for a moment before fumbling with the pouch strapped to his side. His hands shook as he handed the small bottle over.
Without explanation, Silas yanked the curtains from their rod, the sound of ripping fabric unnervingly loud in the stillness. He spread the material across the floor, kneeling as he began drawing the ancient symbols they'd seen in the first locked room. His movements were precise but hurried, his fingers streaked with oil as he smeared it over the patterns.
(This has to work… it has to. One of those old films did something like this. If they're right—if the symbols mean what I think they do…)
Once he finished, Silas held the oil-stained fabric tightly, the faint scent of the liquid clinging to the air. He turned to Rudric and motioned toward the door.
"Stay close," he murmured as he reached for the handle.
The door creaked as it opened, revealing a hallway bathed in an unnatural, sterile light. Silas's steps faltered as his eyes adjusted to the brightness. Every fixture along the corridor glowed evenly, casting shadows so faint they almost didn't exist.
"This isn't right," Silas muttered under his breath, but he pushed forward.
The hallway stretched ahead of them, impossibly pristine. The carpet beneath their feet muted their footsteps, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence. There was no dust, no signs of disarray—nothing to indicate anyone had ever been here.
After what felt like an eternity, they reached a T-junction. Silas's gaze darted down both corridors before landing on a door at the far end of the left hall. Its wooden surface was plain but sturdy, the kind of door that could only lead to the outside.
"There!" Rudric's voice broke the silence, tinged with relief and desperation. He surged forward, his movements almost frantic.
Silas followed, though his pace was slower, more cautious. His hand brushed against the oiled curtain he still carried, the symbols now etched into his mind.
As they neared the door, an inexplicable tension began to creep over him. It started in his chest—a dull, weighty pressure—and spread like frost along his spine.
Just as Rudric reached for the handle, Silas froze.
"Wait," he said sharply, his voice low and strained.
Rudric turned, confused. "What is it? We're almost out—"
"Stop," Silas repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The cold around him deepened, the air growing thick and heavy. He couldn't explain it, but every instinct in his body screamed at him to back away. His eyes scanned the shadows that lingered at the edges of the light, the emptiness around them suddenly feeling far too full.
Something was wrong.
Looking back toward the end of the hall, Silas and Rudric froze as they spotted a figure standing motionless in the dim light. Dressed in a servant's uniform, the figure's features were shrouded in shadow, but its unnaturally stiff posture sent a chill down their spines.
"Did you see that?" Silas whispered, his voice strained as he stretched a hand toward Rudric. "Give me your knife."
Rudric's brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. Without a word, he handed over the blade and turned his attention to the heavy oak door behind them, rattling the handle with increasing urgency. It wouldn't budge.
The figure suddenly jerked into motion, sprinting toward them with an unnatural speed. Silas's breath hitched, and the hallway lights flickered and died, one after another, until darkness enveloped them.
The air grew cold, heavy, as if the walls themselves were closing in. Silas's heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to move. Shaking, he drew the blade across his palm, grimacing as blood welled and dripped onto the curtains he had prepared earlier. Strange, angular symbols written in black ink soaked up the crimson droplets, their lines seeming to shift and twist in the faint light of his torch.
"Stay close," Silas said, his voice low but steady, though his eyes darted nervously to the advancing figure.
Rudric barely spared him a glance, his focus locked on the stubborn door. "This damn thing won't—"
Before he could finish, the single figure split into two. Then four. Then eight. The duplicates spilled from the darkness, their shapes twisting, morphing, some crawling along the walls, others lurching forward with grotesque, jerking movements.
Silas swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the torch. "Rudric, hurry!"
"I'm trying!" Rudric barked, sweat beading on his brow as he threw his weight against the door.
The creatures surged closer, their collective form a chaotic mass of shifting limbs and hollow, glowing eyes. The sound of their movement—wet, scraping, inhuman—filled the hallway, sending a shiver down Silas's spine.
With a sharp breath, Silas struck the torch against the floor, igniting it with a flickering flame. He pressed it to the blood-soaked curtain, and the symbols seemed to pulse before the fabric erupted into flames.
The fire roared to life, its color an unnatural, searing blood-red. The light was blinding, cutting through the darkness like a blade. The creatures shrieked, their forms writhing and distorting as the light seared them. One by one, they disintegrated into ash, their screams fading into the silence.
Silas shielded his face from the heat, his chest heaving with every breath. As the last creature dissolved, the room fell eerily silent, save for the faint crackle of dying flames.
Finally, the door behind them creaked open with an ominous groan. Rudric slumped against the frame, his face pale and damp with sweat.
"Let's go," he muttered, his voice hoarse and trembling.
Silas nodded, his legs unsteady as they stumbled into the corridor. Outside, the air was damp and heavy with fog, the cries of crows echoing in the distance. The faint clatter of carriages rumbled on the cobblestone road beyond, their sound muffled in the thick mist.
They trudged to their waiting carriage, their movements sluggish and drained. Collapsing onto the worn leather seats, they exhaled deeply, the weight of their ordeal finally catching up to them.
For the first time that night, they allowed themselves a moment of quiet. Yet, even as they sat in the relative safety of the carriage, the memory of the blood-red flames and the twisted figures lingered, etched into their minds like a scar.