Nightmare Game
Copyright© 2025 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 8
First night, 10:00 p.m.
Two hours until the midnight curfew. Ethan decided to prowl the second floor.
He approached the master’s room on the left, spotting light seeping through the door’s crack. After a moment’s thought, he pressed his ear against it.
Classical music drifted out, a vinyl’s warm hum. The notes dipped low, mournful, then soared, fierce with fateful defiance, like a judgment on destiny itself.
No footsteps, no dance. Just the music, maybe savored in solitude.
Ethan moved on, crossing to the mistress’s room on the right. Light glowed faintly there too. Separate beds tonight, it seemed. He leaned in again.
The room was quiet, save for soft, nimble footsteps—likely a woman’s. They didn’t stop, accompanied by the rustle of drawers sliding, a wardrobe creaking open. Someone rummaging, hunting for something.
Ethan’s brow furrowed. Up this late, searching? Suspicious. Were the master and mistress really apart, or was someone sneaking around, chasing clues?
His pulse quickened, a reckless urge to barge in tugging at him. Missing a lead—or worse, letting someone hide one—could cost them dearly.
His hand grazed the doorknob when heavier footsteps rang out inside, each one louder, heavier, like a weight growing with every step.
Clang.
The floor shuddered, metal scraping harshly. The sound carried clear, even without his ear to the door. The steps turned frantic, dragging something heavy, each thud shaking the ground.
Ethan’s skin crawled. The steps were charging his way.
No time to think. He dove into the nearest guest room, slamming the door and twisting the lock.
Bang!
A deafening crash echoed in the hall—the mistress’s door flung open with force. The dragging stopped right outside, metal chains clinking ominously.
His chest burned. The Snake pendant stirred, hissing at the door, its warning unmistakable: death waited outside.
Light still spilled through the hall, and a shadow loomed under the door’s gap, unmoving.
Ethan held his breath, grabbing a mop, creeping to the door’s blind side. His heart thundered, a roaring engine in his chest.
Time crawled. The doorknob twitched, turning slowly. His grip tightened, pulse hammering in his throat.
But the lock held. Silence fell outside.
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