Nathan, Ivy, Harper, and Alice stood frozen in place.
The cottage had turned deathly quiet—except for the steady, deliberate click… clack… click… clack of footsteps. Each step echoed from the room just beyond the hall, drawing closer. Slow. Heavy. Intentional. Not the gait of someone casually walking. No—this was measured. As if whoever, or whatever, was coming… knew they were here.
No one moved. No one even breathed too loudly.
There was a thick tension in the air, an invisible pressure that made the warm light of the lanterns feel dimmer, and the once-cozy furniture now loomed like silent spectators in a drama not meant for mortals.
"What is that…?" Alice whispered, her voice just above the breathy hush of fear. Her tone cracked slightly—fragile, like glass about to shatter. It wasn't really a question. It was a tremor of helplessness slipping through her normally soft voice.
Nathan didn't respond. His eyes were locked on the arched wooden doorway where the sound was coming from. The shadows beyond it remained still, but the sound was getting closer. Rhythmic. Almost like someone pacing—but approaching slowly.
"Someone is there," Harper muttered in response, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, knuckles white. She stood beside Alice but slightly angled herself forward protectively. Her tone wasn't brave—it was strained, grounded more in dread than certainty.
Ivy stood beside Nathan, eerily silent. Her eyes were narrowed, jaw tight. Calculating. Like she was trying to piece together the logic behind this presence, trying to fight the rising panic in her chest with raw thought alone.
Nathan's forehead glistened with sweat. Not from heat—but pressure. Responsibility. Uncertainty. The sound of those footsteps gnawed at the edges of his sanity. He felt like if he blinked, he might miss the moment everything went wrong.
The footsteps stopped.
Right beyond the doorway.
There was no creak, no thump—just silence. It was the kind of silence that made your heart pound louder in your ears. That made you aware of your breathing, of your body, of your mortality.
Then—click.
Just one more step. Barely a footfall. As if someone had leaned forward, peeking from the shadows, but didn't want to be seen.
No one dared to move.
Alice instinctively reached out and gripped Harper's sleeve, her small hand trembling. Harper didn't react, but she didn't pull away either. She knew that if she showed fear now, Alice might spiral.
Nathan slowly extended his arm a little to signal everyone to stay back. His other hand instinctively hovered near his pocket, where the rulebook sat—useless for now, but it was the only thing they had.
"What do we do…?" Ivy whispered, her voice barely audible.
Nathan didn't answer.
Because deep down, he didn't know.
Nathan's eyes narrowed.
A shape—a shadow—was crawling across the far wall in the hallway. It elongated slowly, like ink bleeding into paper. Stretching. Creeping. Approaching.
His breath caught in his throat as his instincts screamed louder than his thoughts.
"They're close—" Nathan whispered, voice tense as a drawn wire. His body straightened. Muscles tight. Guard raised. Whatever was coming… it was about to show itself.
Ivy's hand subtly reached toward her side, her stance sharpening. Harper took one step forward, almost in front of Alice, who instinctively backed behind the others. Her trembling hand covered her mouth, her eyes wide with unblinking fear.
And then—
From the mouth of the hallway, it emerged.
Shuffling forward on dragging, creaking steps… came what resembled an old woman.
But only resembled.
Their eyes landed on her—and time seemed to bend around the grotesque figure.
She was ancient, far beyond the natural decay of human age. Her skin, pale as wax and heavily wrinkled, seemed to slouch off her bones in sheets. Her face was malformed—twisted. Deep, sagging folds carved unnatural lines across her cheeks. Skin around her eyes hung like rotten curtains, the flesh there red and inflamed, like it had been rubbed raw for years.
Her pupils… weren't black or blue… but clouded gray. Opaque. Like fog trapped behind glass. Eyes that had seen too much—and forgotten everything.
Her nose was a swollen, crooked ridge of bone and skin, long and flared unnaturally at the edges, marked with veins like tree roots beneath parchment.
And her mouth… her mouth remained stuck in an expression. Not a smile. Not quite. It was as though something inside her had once seen a smile and tried to recreate it, but never understood how. Lips curled too far. Too dry. Her teeth—if you could call them that—were like chipped stone, grey and uneven, tightly clenched as if holding back something worse behind them.
She was hunched, her back grotesquely curved, every movement unnatural. Twitchy. Her gait was slow, hesitant, like a puppet on tangled strings. Her arms hung limply, the skin swaying like old cloth.
But her head… it tilted ever so slightly. As if studying them. Watching their reactions. Taking note of their fear.
She stopped just inside the hall, standing there.
Silent.
Still.
Wrong.
The group stood paralyzed. None of them could speak. Their breath fogged in front of their faces despite the warmth of the room.
Alice felt her heart crawl into her throat. Her knees trembled behind Harper's silhouette. "N-Nathan…" she whispered, barely audible, "What… is that?"
Nathan didn't respond.
His body wouldn't move.
Because even though he knew it was an entity, even though he expected this… it still shattered everything inside him to see it.
It wasn't just the grotesque appearance.
It was the presence.
The cottage, once warm and nostalgic, now felt like it was being devoured by that presence. The air was heavier. The light dimmer. The scent of comfort now replaced by something stale. Metallic.
And that smile… the old woman still wore it. Or tried to.
A grotesque parody of humanity.
Not quite right.
Never quite right.
And then—it spoke.
That figure, that thing, that creature wearing the loose-fitting shell of an elderly woman… tilted her sagging head and said,
"Hello."
The voice didn't fit.
The entire group froze—not out of fear this time, but confusion.
It wasn't the guttural, croaking rasp they expected. It wasn't the dry, dead whisper of a rotting throat. No—this voice was shrill and childlike. Like a toddler who had been crying for hours after dropping their favorite toy in the dirt.
Too high-pitched. Nasally. Petulant.
It was absurd.
From a face so decayed, so wrong, that voice made no sense. And because of that—it shattered the fear momentarily. The threat level in their minds plummeted just enough to breathe again. It was still wrong, but now it was wrong in an entirely different way.
The creature continued with an unexpected delicacy, her tone overly sweet, strained with effort:
"Have a seat, please."
She even gestured to the clean red-covered chairs around the table, bowing her head slightly with what looked like an attempt at hospitality. It was… courteous. Respectful.
The group exchanged stunned glances.
Nathan cleared his throat and forced composure into his voice. "Yes, sure." A pause. Then politely, "Thank you very much."
He turned to the others. Their eyes locked on him, questioning everything. Was this a trap? Was it a game?
The old woman's lips curled again into that polite, nightmarish smile.
"You are very welcome."
Her attempt to nod was slow, jerky—unnatural. And as her head tilted, a thick drip of something fell from her tangled, corpse-colored hair.
It hit the floor with a faint splop.
A strange, green, sticky liquid oozed downward like syrup left to rot in the sun.
Alice grimaced immediately, her face scrunching up like she'd just touched something diseased.
"Ew—what is that?" she whispered sharply to Harper, trying not to gag.
"No idea—" Harper muttered, staring at the viscous goo. "But it looks disgusting."
"Agreed," Alice whispered.
Nathan's voice came low and steady. "Let's… just sit down. See what happens next."
Ivy, quiet until now, murmured just above a whisper, "That woman is so weird..."
Still, she moved—following Nathan toward the table.
Alice hesitated, then followed Ivy, sticking close, hands clasped nervously in front of her.
Harper stayed by the doorway. Her arms crossed tightly. She didn't move.
"Are you guys sure we should take a seat?" she asked, brows furrowed. "What if we get—" she paused, glancing at the kitchen the woman disappeared into, "you know… trapped or something after agreeing to whatever she says?"
Ivy turned to her, eyes steady and sharp.
"We don't have a choice."
She stepped closer to Harper, her voice lowered and firm.
"The rulebook emphasized this. If we're mean, if we act out of turn, the hunt begins."
A beat of silence.
"We have to follow her rules. For now, that means sitting down."
Harper gritted her teeth, her fingers twitching at her sides. She looked toward the door—freedom just steps away—but didn't move.
The cottage no longer felt cozy. The comfort they felt earlier now twisted into a surreal pressure, like the air was watching them.
Nathan took the first seat.
Ivy followed, then Alice, sitting close beside her.
Harper, still by the door, lingered… until finally, reluctantly, she stepped forward and sat at the corner of the table, her back straight, eyes locked on the hallway.
All of them were now seated.
All waiting.
The cottage creaked.
The light flickered once.
And from the kitchen… the sound of metal clinking against ceramic echoed faintly.
Something was being prepared.
And whatever it was… was for them.