The door to Blackwood House creaked open, the sound slicing through the still night like a blade. A musty draft spilled out, carrying with it the scent of mildew, decay, and something faintly metallic. The group hesitated, their flashlights casting jittery beams into the cavernous darkness beyond.
"Well," Chris said, his voice tight with nerves, "this is about as inviting as I expected."
"Are we sure about this?" Emma whispered, her grip on her bag so tight her fingers had turned white.
"No," Taylor said, glancing uneasily at the doorway. "But here we are."
Jordan gave them both a sharp look before stepping forward. "We came here for answers. Turning back now won't get us anywhere."
The floorboards groaned under her boots as she crossed the threshold, her flashlight sweeping over the cracked walls and peeling wallpaper of the entryway. The others exchanged uneasy glances before following her inside, their footsteps hesitant and uneven.
The entryway was grand, or at least it had been once. A sweeping staircase rose before them, its bannister chipped and splintered. Faded wallpaper hung in jagged strips from the walls, and a tarnished chandelier dangled precariously from the ceiling.
"This place is straight out of a nightmare," Taylor muttered, his flashlight darting nervously from side to side.
"Or a horror movie," Chris added.
"Can we not?" Emma said, hugging herself.
The oppressive silence seemed to press down on them, broken only by the faint creaks and groans of the house settling. The air was heavy, thick with dust and cold enough to make their breath fog in the weak beams of their flashlights.
"Alright," Jordan said, her voice steady but low. "We stick together, no wandering off. Got it?"
"Got it," Alex said, though his voice wavered slightly.
"Definitely got it. That's how people die." Taylor said, earning a dark look from Jordan.
The group moved further into the house, their footsteps muffled by the thick layer of dust that blanketed the floor.
It didn't take long for them to notice the footprints. It was too obvious, thanks to the dust coating every surface.
They were faint but unmistakable; a trail of shoeprints leading deeper into the house, their edges crisp against the undisturbed dust.
"Uh... Is anybody else seeing what I'm seeing?" Taylor asked, pointing his flashlight at the trail.
"Yeah," Alex said, frowning. "I see it."
Chris forced a nervous laugh. "Looks like someone beat us here. Maybe Anderson decided to pay us another visit."
Jordan shot him a sharp look. "Why would he come all the way out here?"
"To mess with us?" Chris suggested. "You saw how much he enjoyed freaking us out at his office."
"That doesn't make sense," Jordan said, her tone clipped. "He wouldn't—"
"Actually, it kind of does," Taylor interrupted. "Think about it. He told us all those creepy stories, right? Maybe he's just setting the stage for some big 'I told you so' moment."
Emma shook her head. "This place has been abandoned for years. Look at the dust. Those footprints are fresh."
"That's exactly my point," Taylor said, crossing his arms. "It's not like ghosts wear boots."
"Enough," Alex said, his voice cutting through the rising tension. "Arguing isn't going to solve anything. Let's call his name. If he's here, he'll answer."
"Yeah. Because the fellow scaring us would be so nice as to answer promptly when we call." Taylor said.
Jordan opened her mouth but before she could speak, Taylor interrupted. "I know what you want to say. Shut up, Taylor! Got it."
"Well, if that is all, let's go look for a human ghost." Jordan said with a smile.
The group exchanged uneasy glances before nodding reluctantly.
They gathered near the base of the staircase, their flashlights darting nervously around the room.
"Mr. Anderson?" Alex called, his voice echoing into the stillness.
"Anderson!" Jordan added, her tone sharp and commanding.
The house swallowed their voices, the silence stretching long and heavy.
"This is stupid," Emma muttered, shifting uncomfortably.
"Maybe he's upstairs," Chris said, gesturing toward the staircase.
Jordan hesitated, then nodded. "Let's check."
The stairs groaned under their weight as they ascended, each creak sounding unnaturally loud. The air grew colder with every step, and the oppressive silence seemed to deepen.
At the top of the stairs, they found themselves in a long hallway lined with closed doors. The wallpaper was torn and stained, and cobwebs hung thick in the corners.
"This just keeps getting better," Taylor muttered. "Who hasn't seen a movie that begins like this?"
"Stay close," Jordan said, her flashlight sweeping over the doors.
As they moved deeper into the hallway, Emma suddenly gasped, pointing her beam at the floor.
"What's that?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
The others turned their flashlights toward the spot she was pointing at. There, scrawled in the thick layer of dust, were jagged letters that read:
"WELCOME! NOW, STAY."
A heavy silence fell over the group.
"Isn't that supposed to ask us to leave?" Taylor asked with a small voice. "That's what ghosts do."
Chris abruptly broke into a nervous laugh. "Okay, seriously? This has Anderson written all over it."
"Are you kidding me?" Emma snapped. "You think he wrote this?"
"Why not?" Chris said, his tone defensive. "The footprints, the creepy writing, it's exactly the kind of thing he'd do."
"He wouldn't… " Jordan began, but Alex cut her off.
"It doesn't matter," he said, his voice firm. "If it's him, we'll find him. And if it's not... we'll figure it out. Let's keep moving."
They descended into the parlor, where a grand piano sat in the corner, its keys yellowed and warped. An ornate mirror hung crookedly on the wall, its surface cracked into a web of fractures.
"This is... unsettling," Emma said, her gaze fixed on the mirror.
Chris stepped closer to the piano, his flashlight illuminating its dusty surface. He reached out and pressed a key, the hollow note echoing through the room.
"See?" he said with a nervous smile. "Nothing to be afraid of."
Before anyone could respond, the piano lid slammed shut with a deafening bang.
Emma screamed, and Taylor jumped back, nearly dropping his flashlight.
"What the hell was that?" Chris shouted, stumbling away from the piano.
"Not Anderson," Jordan said grimly, her flashlight darting around the room.
Emma backed toward the door, her breathing shallow. "We shouldn't be here."
Before anyone could argue, a faint whisper drifted through the room. It was soft and melodic, almost like a lullaby, but the words were impossible to make out.
Alex's chest tightened, his grip on his flashlight trembling. "Did anyone else hear that?"
They nodded, their eyes wide with fear.
The whisper came again, this time clearer.
"Stay forever."
The group huddled together, their breaths shallow and their nerves frayed.
"We need to go," Emma said, her voice shaking.
"I agree. Fully," Taylor said, nodding alongside.
"Not yet," Jordan said firmly.
"Are you kidding?" Taylor snapped. "That thing just told us to stay! I definitely do not want to do what it says."
"And we're not going to listen to it?" Emma demanded.
"No," Jordan said, her jaw set. "We came here for answers, and we're not leaving without them."
Alex took a deep breath, his heart pounding. "She's right. If Anderson's here; or if something else is, we need to know."
Chris groaned. "Fine. But if anything else happens, I'm out."
The group nodded reluctantly, their flashlights darting nervously around the room.
As they moved deeper into the house, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on them like a physical weight.
"Let's hope we don't regret this," Alex muttered, leading the way.