Chapter 14

Chapter

Fourteen

H ayes and I stand in front of the doors, each one painted a deep steely gray. My body feels relaxed now, it’s easier to move and think, but there’s still something unsettling, something I can’t quite put my finger on.

“Ready to get this over with?” he asks, his voice a low murmur.

In my head I debate the merits of leaving, and pull out my hidden mini bottle of whiskey and twist off the cap. “Which door are you taking?”

He tilts his head, considering. “Hey, where’d you get that?”

I take a swig of the bottle and pass it to Hayes. “Seems that one of the friendlier Everwood spirits has bequeathed me with a well-stocked minibar,” I say with a chuckle.

He takes a long gulp, then grins. “My room doesn’t have a minibar. We’re definitely sleeping in your room after this.”

I like the way he says it confidently, like we’re a real couple with no option of sleeping apart. I feel a goofy grin spread across my face and thank God it’s dark enough that he doesn’t notice.

“Alright,” he sighs, giving me a quick kiss on the forehead. “I’m going through this one, I guess. See you on the other side.” He pauses, like he wants to say more, but then just nods and steps through the doorway.

“Good luck,” I whisper, my voice almost swallowed by the darkness. I raise my hand in a little wave, but he’s already through, the door closing behind him with a soft thud. A faint scent of incense lingers in the air as it swings shut, and I’m left standing alone.

I exhale slowly, steeling myself. The sooner I start, the sooner this will all be over. I make my way down to the other end, choosing the last door I see. It’s heavy and creaks and pops when I tug it open. Oh look, it’s another dimly lit room . Inside the air is thick with a musty, old-book smell, mingled with a faint scent of something metallic and sour.

I really don’t like this.

The walls are decorated with gruesome masks, each one frozen in a disturbing expression of terror or agony. They’re watching, waiting, beady-eyed and slack-jawed, as I move deeper into the room. A rickety grandfather clock stands slanted in the corner, its wooden surface marred with deep scratches and draped with cobwebs that hang like ghostly shrouds. The clock face, partially obscured by a cracked glass pane, has faded Roman numerals, and its hands—bent and tarnished—move with a jerky motion that’s alarmingly fast. Tick-tock, time is running out.

They’ve certainly put a lot of effort into the horror aesthetic of this place. It’s pretty disturbing.

I walk around the perimeter, looking for clues—that’s the whole point of an escape room, right? Finding messages and clues to make your escape. But there’s nothing much in here. I don’t even see an exit. I slide my hands all over the clock, looking for levers or hidden compartments. Nothing but dust.

There’s an old wooden chest in the corner opposite the clock, its surface covered in a thick layer of grime and cobwebs. That’s got to be where the clue is hidden, there’s nowhere else. I crouch down and tug at the rusty metal latch. It’s stuck, and I have to pull hard to get it to budge. As I yank, the sharp edge of the latch slices into my finger. I yelp in pain, feeling a warm bubble of blood.

“Damnit!” I hiss, pressing my finger to my mouth, tasting the metallic tang of my own blood.

I pull my hand into my sleeve to staunch the bleeding, making a mental note to find a bandage as soon as I’m out of here. Ignoring the throbbing pain, I lift the chest’s lid, a cloud of dust puffing up around me.

“What the...?” I mutter, staring into the chest. Inside is a narrow stairway that seems to stretch on forever, disappearing into an inky black void. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I peer down into the darkness, my pulse throbbing in my ears and in the fresh cut on my finger. “Fuck my life,” I grumble. Taking a deep breath, I climb over the side of the wooden chest and balance on the first step. The wood creaks under my weight; this shit better not break. I swallow hard, my mouth dry, and begin my descent. The stairs are steep, the wood worn smooth from years of use. If I fall, I’m screwed. Shit, I don’t ever remember signing a liability release waiver for this place.

The air grows colder with each step, a clammy chill seeping into my bones. Darkness engulfs me, interrupted only by the faint glow of light filtering down from the room above. I keep my hand on the rough stone wall, feeling my way forward, each step a blind leap of faith. “No way am I falling down these stairs,” I mutter, pulling my phone from the hidden pocket in my hoodie. I turn on the flashlight, the beam slicing through the darkness.

Three steps later, I reach the bottom and find myself in a cramped passageway. The walls are rough stone, glistening with moisture, and the floor is uneven beneath my boots.I take a deep breath and damp musty air fills my lungs.

I move forward cautiously, one slow step after another. The passage twists and turns and each corner I get to brings me a new wave of anxiety. What the hell kind of escape room is this? If someone jump-scares me down here, I might cry.

Suddenly, a figure darts across the hallway ahead of me, just at the edge of my light. My heart leaps into my throat, and I freeze, my breath catching. Adrenaline shoots through my body, spreading heat across my chest. I swallow hard, forcing myself to move forward, my steps quicker now, driven by a mix of fear and curiosity. Who’s there? Where’s the clue? How do I get out of here?

I round another corner and catch another fleeting glimpse—a shadowy form cloaked in a dark shroud, billowing out behind it like smoke. That’s got to be Lyle, or maybe one of the other staff. Right? But the only other staff I’ve met is Agatha.

It can’t be a real ghost, right? God, this place really messes with your head.

A cold sweat beads out across my skin, and I break into a run, my footsteps loud and echoing. The passage twists and turns more, the stone walls feeling like they’re closing in around me. How far underground am I? What if I’m not supposed to be here? I catch sight of the figure again, disappearing around another bend. Determined, I chase after it, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

I turn another corner and suddenly find myself in a small, windowless room with no visible exit. I whirl around, looking for a door, a tunnel, anything. Where did the figure go? I didn’t see any other doorways along the path.

“Hello?” I call out.

What’s that?

I hear something.

I strain to listen and catch the faintest sound—a low, almost imperceptible murmur. My skin crawls, and I press closer to the wall, mind racing.

I hear it again and glide my hands along the walls, listening until the sounds become muffled voices. I retrace my steps down the hall, moving carefully, until the voices become more distinct.

“Hello?” I call out again, louder this time.

“…Don’t know, one minute she’s fine and the next I can’t understand what the hell she’s talking about. She’s all over the place. I’m worried about her.” It’s Tessa’s voice.

There’s a harsh laugh—Marissa. “I stopped paying attention to her a long time ago. She’s a complete trainwreck. It gets so exhausting. Like, I’m just waiting for whatever hot mess she’s going to get into this weekend. I mean, really. Can you believe all those text messages today?”

“She did sound crazy.”

“I’m glad you’re starting to learn to ignore her,” Marissa says.

“Do you know she’s still modeling for the school? That’s how she’s making money, like it’s the only thing she’s doing—she’s not painting or anything. She says she’s working on her portfolio, but I think she’s lying,” Tessa replies.

My heart sinks, they’re talking about me. I lean my shoulder against the wall and listen.

“Jesus, how much can she make from that?” Marissa moves around, and I hear the shuffle of her shoes.

“It can’t be much, right? And that’s one of the reasons why I didn’t email her about this trip.” Tessa clears her throat, coughs. “Excuse me, I didn’t want her to feel like she had to come, and I really didn’t want to end up paying for her, yet again , but someone included her in one of the threads.”

So, I really wasn’t invited.

“Well, you know it wasn’t me. I was hoping not to see her at all.” There’s a rustling sound, followed by the bang of something shutting abruptly and a harsh laugh. “Honestly, I’d be happy if I never have to see her again.”

A chill runs gooseflesh up my arm as Tessa’s voice comes again, tinged with confusion and irritation. “Why did you ask her to be a bridesmaid then?”

Marissa’s reply is sharp with satisfaction. “I kind of wanted to rub it in. He chose me over her, you know?”

Tessa’s voice rises in disbelief. “What, hold up, you knew Jonathan and Tori were together? Did he tell you that? How did I not know?”

“They weren’t really together,” Marissa explains, her voice dripping with disdain. “He slept with her once, that’s it. In Maine, at last year’s trip. Don’t you remember the bet?”

“What bet?” Tessa asks.

“She was drunk, as usual, hitting on the bartender we met. Remember him, Heath? The one that I hooked up with first?” Marissa says.

“Oh, yeah. I remember him, he was so good-looking.”

“Tori knew I wanted him and she tried to steal him for herself, like always.”

“Like always?”

“Yeah, and Heath wasn’t interested in her, just me, so he said to the guys, ‘save me,’ and they all made a bet who would get to ‘save’ him first.”

“And what, Jonathan won?”

“Yep, he won her and a thousand dollars that night. He said she was horrible in bed, the worst grand he’d ever made.” Marissa laughs. “How can you not remember this? He said he was ‘taking one for the team.’ Don’t you remember we went to that really nice steakhouse, and he paid for everyone?”

“Yeah, I do. But I had no clue any of that happened,” Tessa says. “What was the bet?”

“They all put in a hundred bucks to see who could get her to say the word ‘cherry.’”

“And whoever got her to say the word got to sleep with her?”

“Yep.” Marissa snickers.

“So who was in on the bet?”

“Jonathan, Griffin, a few guys we met that night. Not Hayes; he was dating Ava last year.”

“And Tori didn’t know what was going on?” Tessa asks.

“I doubt it. She was so drunk,” Marissa replies.

“Jesus, that’s pretty pathetic. She made it seem like she and Jonathan had a serious relationship,” Tessa says. “Oh, and I think she and Hayes are a thing now.”

“I’m sure it’s just for the weekend.”

“Do you know she fucked Lyle the security guard, too?”

“Ew.”

“Right? And then she got paranoid that he was after her today. Like this place is a real haunted house and people are trying to get only her.”

Marissa scoffs. There’s a loud pop and both girls screech before dissolving into giggles.

Rage surges through me, nearly choking me. I want to scream, but my throat feels too tight, my breath strangled. Shame and fury mix into a bitter cocktail in my veins, filling me with a nauseating sense of betrayal. My vision blurs, and I stumble back from the wall, cheeks burning. I was just a stupid bet?

The walls feel like they're closing in, a suffocating pressure mounting around me. My stomach twists with a mix of anger and heartbreak. It can't be true. My hands tremble as I ball them into tight painful fists. I need answers. I need to talk to him, demand to know the truth. But as I turn to retrace my steps, I freeze.

Standing directly in front of me, so close I can feel its unnaturally cold breath, is the shrouded figure. Its cloak billows around it like smoke, concealing any hint of a human form. Panic seizes me, and I backpedal, but my legs turn to lead. I crash into the wall, the rough stone biting into my shoulder, and I fall. My head smacks against rock with a sickening thwack, rattling my skull, sending stars shooting across my vision. My teeth sing like a bell and a wave of dizziness and nausea washes over me. Something warm and wet trickles down my temple.

A pathetic, stifled sound escapes me, my breath forming ghostly plumes in the frigid air in the space between me and this… thing .

The figure moves closer, gliding rather than walking. It’s fucking gliding —and the sheer unnaturalness of the movement makes my stomach churn. A low, menacing whisper seeps out from beneath the hood, a sound so inhuman and sinister it feels like it’s burrowing into my soul, vibrating in the marrow of my bones. My pulse thrums in my ears.

Its presence is overwhelming, like a crushing weight pressing down on my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. I try to scream, but no sound comes out. I kick out with my feet, desperate to escape, scraping my arms along the jagged stone as I fight to stand. Pain stabs through my arms, sharp and immediate, as the sharp edges tear into my skin.

Tears blur my vision, and the figure looms even closer, its face a void of darkness. Every instinct screams at me to run, but my body is paralyzed, pinned by some invisible force.

Suddenly, it lunges. I throw my arms up to shield myself, but it passes through me like a gust of icy wind. A searing cold slams through my body, making me gasp. My insides freeze solid. I collapse completely, shivering violently, my vision tunneling as darkness edges in.

I can't move. Can't breathe. The whispers grow louder, more insistent, a dissonant chorus filling my mind. I try to focus, to force them out, but they dig in deeper, ripping through my consciousness.

The whispers become clearer, their sinister messages slicing through the fog in my brain: betrayal, lies, deceit. Every cruel thought I've buried, every doubt and fear—they’re all dredged up, magnified until they’re all I can think of. The cold deepens, spreading through my veins like poison. Each heartbeat feels like a hammer driving the frost deeper into my bones.

My muscles lock, my body rigid with terror. I try to scream again, to fight, but I’m frozen, my body isn’t mine. The whispers, now a deafening roar, obliterate all reason. They tear at my sanity, invading every part of me, until it feels like I’m dissolving into a fleshy, grotesque puddle of blood and viscera.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the figure is gone. The passageway is empty, the whispers fading into an eerie silence. I lie there, gasping, every breath a struggle. My body is numb, but I force myself to move, to push up onto my elbows.My skin is slick with sweat, but there's no trace of blood where I hit my head, no cuts on my arms where they scraped the stone. Even the sting of my finger, from the cut earlier, is gone. My skin is smooth, unmarred.

The lack of any wounds is almost more terrifying than the encounter itself. What just happened? Was it real? My mind races, trying to make sense of what I just saw and felt. I scan the corridor, searching for any trace of the figure, but there’s nothing. No sign that anything was here at all. But I know. I know what I felt. The terror still grips me, a cold knot tightening in my gut.

And then I scream, the sound tearing from my throat, raw and desperate.