You step away from the candles.
Away from the light.
The hallway ahead glows faintly red. A low hum vibrates beneath your feet—like the house itself is chanting.
Shadows twist.
Your breath turns cold.
Then you see her.
Not in a mirror. Not in a reflection.
Annie Palmer stands at the end of the hall, barefoot on the wooden floor, her white dress soaked in something darker.
Her eyes bore into you.
“Mi tired now… take mi place.”
She raises her hand. A red doorway appears behind her. Light spills from it—hot, pulsing. You feel it call to you… not like a trap, but like a deal.
One step… and all of this could stop.