20:34
A lone crow perched on a dry branch above the cemetery, its dark silhouette barely visible against the dim twilight.
Fort moved quietly past the weathered graves, making his way toward Madam Mourch's mansion. He slipped through a large crack in the wall separating the cemetery from the grounds of the mansion, his footsteps muffled by the damp earth.
Keeping his head low, Fort approached the building, his sharp eyes scanning the interior through the glow of the lights. On the second floor, he noticed the shadow of a single figure moving faintly.
Carefully, he opened a window, ensuring there wasn't the slightest creak to betray his presence. Once inside, he treaded cautiously, weaving through tables and chairs in the sparsely furnished room. Reaching the door, he cracked it open and peered into the hallway.
"No one here," he murmured under his breath.
He stepped into a dimly lit corridor lined with paintings. The flickering glow of wall-mounted lanterns gave the portraits an almost lifelike quality. As he walked, something peculiar caught his eye—each painting featured a tall, black figure, barely visible, its form translucent and nearly imperceptible to the untrained eye.
Pausing, Fort studied one portrait closely. It depicted three individuals: Madam Mourch, a stately man, and a young girl.
"This girl..." Fort whispered, his breath hitching.
The girl in the painting wore the same dress as the monster that had attacked the townsfolk only a day before. Though her expression in the painting was joyful, full of innocent smiles, the creature he encountered had been pale, grotesque, and devoid of humanity.
While Fort stood frozen, piecing together the connection, the sound of creaking footsteps echoed from the upper floor.
Creak... crack... clack.
The unmistakable sound of rotting wood being pressed underfoot sent a chill down his spine. Panicked, Fort scanned for a place to hide. Further down the hallway, he found a door ajar and darted inside without hesitation.
The air in the room hit him like a wall. A sharp, putrid stench filled his nostrils, and he gagged, struggling to keep quiet. Piles of human skeletons were strewn across the floor, their jagged bones illuminated by the faint light seeping in from the hallway. Strange symbols, carved into the walls, seemed to pulse faintly, though the room had no discernible source of ventilation or illumination.
In the far corner of the room, Fort spotted a decaying corpse. Maggots writhed across its pallid flesh, a grotesque mockery of life. He fought the bile rising in his throat, knowing any noise could mean his death.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as the footsteps passed by. The dreadful sound faded into silence. Summoning his courage, Fort slipped out of the room and made his way upstairs, keeping to the shadows.
On the second floor, he found the room he had seen earlier. Quietly, he entered. It was a study, lined with bookshelves and centered around a desk. The window was covered by thick curtains that blocked the moonlight. On the desk, Fort found a tattered diary.
He sat down, flipping through its brittle pages. The entries chilled him to the core:
May 25
I can't take it anymore... They keep asking.
May 26
They're everywhere. Why me? Shouldn't they torment someone else?
May 28
My husband fell ill.
(Husband? Hasn't she been living alone for years?)
The sickness couldn't be cured by any medicine from the village. I had no choice. Should I take him to the city?
May 30
He's already in a moist and beautiful place. I killed him.
Ha... why bother writing this? Why?
The page was torn and smeared with blood. The next legible entry read:
He said I need to "taste" him. The flesh was soft... chewy. But don't worry. He'll return to me soon.
Fort recoiled, slamming the diary shut, bile rising in his throat once again. "She... ate her husband?"
Searching the room further, he found a folder labeled "Resurrection." Its contents were dense with cryptic text and diagrams, detailing a process to bring the dead back to life—at a terrible price.
A soft click snapped him out of his thoughts. The doorknob was turning.
---
In the hallway on the second floor of the mansion, Madam Mourch, who had "enjoyed the results," walked toward her room.
Turning the doorknob, she found that the door would not open.
A sudden realization gripped her—someone had entered her house, and her secret was in danger of being exposed.
First, she tried to break down the door, but it remained immovable.
Shouting from behind the door
"Open this door! You fool! Do you have any idea what you're meddling with? You cannot stop me!"
Fort Muttering under his breath, sweat dripping down his temple as he pushed the desk harder against the door
"How predictable... another lunatic dabbling in death."
The door groaned under her repeated blows, and Fort's heart raced as he heard her chant growing louder, her voice taking on an unnatural, guttural tone.
Frustration mounted as her efforts proved futile. Realizing the door would not yield by force, Madam Mourch reached for a copper amulet in the shape of a snake's tail, hanging from a nearby tree. Intricate, ancient symbols were carved around it, their meaning lost to time.
With a deep breath, she cut her skin, letting the blood flow, and pressed the amulet against the wound, chanting under her breath.
"Qui nihil accipit, animam accipit, animam dat."
Instantly, the talisman pulsed with energy, its surface dripping with blood, and a soft, eerie hiss echoed in the air.
Madam Mourch Laughing darkly between chants
"You think you can escape? Do you know how many have tried? You'll soon join them, little rat."
Suddenly, the air in the room seemed to shift. A cold wind blew through the broken window, carrying a low, haunting hiss. The talisman's energy seeped through the cracks, and the temperature dropped.
--––––
Inside the Room
With his heart racing, Fort pushed the desk against the door, buying himself precious seconds. He glanced at the window, considering escape, but froze when he spotted a figure outside.
A woman in a black dress hovered just beyond the shattered glass. Her pale face was twisted into an unnerving grin, sharp teeth gleaming in the faint moonlight. Slowly, she opened her eyes, locking them onto Fort.
The undead Locking eyes with him and grinning wide
"Fort... Did you think you could run?"
Its voice was chilling, almost playful, but layered with a deeper, distorted undertone, as if multiple voices were speaking at once.
The undead Scream
Her scream pierced the night, shattering the window and mirrors in the room. The noise was deafening, like claws raking against his very soul.
The creature lunged, claws slicing through the air. Fort barely dodged, rolling to the side as the thing tore through the desk barricade. Its grin widened grotesquely, ripping its mouth even further as it screeched again, filling the room with a suffocating aura of malice.
Drawing his revolver, Fort fired.
The creature dodged effortlessly, its elongated limbs striking at him with terrifying speed. He used the shattered remains of the desk as cover, slipping past the monster and bolting through the now-open door.
Grinning, facing him as he ran
"Bullets won't save you. You're mine now, little hunter.."
The hallway became a blur as Fort ran, toppling a bookshelf to slow the creature's pursuit. Reaching the kitchen, he ducked into the shadows, catching his breath.
His fingers brushed against something in his pocket—a heavy, iron emblem engraved with symbols of dragons and clouds. Clutching it tightly, Fort racked his brain for a way to end this nightmare.
(For now, all i could do was hope. Hope that Callie sister had delivered the letter to Callie)fort muttered
The distant echoes of footsteps reverberated through the mansion as Fort clung to the shadows, his chest rising and falling with shallow, controlled breaths.
His fingers tightened around the iron emblem in his pocket, the faint warmth it radiated offering the only sliver of reassurance in this accursed place.
The kitchen was shrouded in darkness, save for the pale, sickly moonlight spilling through a small, cracked window. Pots and pans hung from the ceiling, swaying gently as if stirred by an unseen, malevolent breeze.
Fort's sharp eyes darted around the room, searching for an exit, but the ominous sound of wood splintering above reminded him that retreat was not yet an option.
"Stay calm," he murmured under his breath, forcing his chaotic thoughts to settle.
His gaze fell to the iron emblem nestled in his palm, its intricate design shimmering faintly under the dim light. The dragons carved into its surface seemed almost alive, their eyes glinting like faint stars on the brink of vanishing. Fort didn't fully understand the nature of the artifact.
A low, guttural growl reverberated through the air, dragging him out of his thoughts. It came from the doorway leading to the hall.
Fort froze, every muscle in his body tensing as his pulse quickened to a near-painful rhythm. The creature was close. Its elongated shadow stretched into the room.
grotesquely distorted by the weak, flickering light of a distant lantern.