The hallway to the West Wing loomed before Lila like the throat of some great beast. The air here was different thicker, heavier, as if time itself had congealed around the shadows. She tightened her grip on Theo's pocket watch, its engraved initials (T.A. & L.H.) biting into her palm.
"This is insane," she whispered, but her feet carried her forward anyway.
The door was just as Mr. Holloway had described, warped oak banded with rusted iron, the lock dangling uselessly. A warning was carved into the wood, the letters jagged and desperate:
"DO NOT ENTER. HE WATCHES."
Lila reached out.
The door creaked open before she could touch it, hinges screaming like a wounded animal. A gust of air rushed past her, carrying the scent of old cigar smoke and something fouler beneath , copper, maybe. Blood.
Beyond the threshold, the hallway stretched into darkness, its walls papered in peeling floral patterns that might have been elegant a century ago. Now, they hung in tatters, revealing patches of mold-blackened plaster. The floorboards groaned underfoot, each step sending up puffs of dust that glittered in the thin light from the cracked window at the end of the hall.
This place had been frozen in 1927.
A child's toy a wooden rocking horse , sat abandoned near the stairs, one eye missing, its mane chewed away by moths. Further down, a tea set rested on a side table, the cups still half-full of stagnant liquid, the sugar cubes melted into grotesque, yellowed lumps.
Lila's breath hitched as she passed a mirror. Her reflection was wrong her dress was suddenly a flapper's shift, her hair bobbed and curled. Behind her, a shadow moved.
She spun, heart hammering.
Nothing.
But the air thrummed now, a low, discordant hum that vibrated in her molars. It was coming from behind the last door,Vincent's study.
Vincent's Study
The study was a time capsule of arrogance. A massive mahogany desk dominated the room, its surface cluttered with ledgers, a crystal decanter of amber liquid (still full), and a phonograph, its brass horn twisted as if crushed by a giant hand.
Above the fireplace, a portrait of Vincent Ashford glared down. The artist had captured his cruelty well the thin lips, the cold, pale eyes, the lion-head ring glinting on his finger.
Lila stepped closer.
The portrait's eyes followed her.
"Charming," she muttered, forcing herself to look away.
The desk drawer was stuck. She yanked hard, and it came free with a splintering crack, revealing a leather-bound journal. The pages crackled as she flipped it open to the last entry:
"June 17, 1927
Theo thinks he can steal her from me. He'll learn. The wire is ready. But God help me, the music won't stop. Even now, I hear it,OUR SONG. It's in the walls. IT'S IN MY HEAD..."
The rest was scribbled out, the ink blotted as if by frantic fingers.
A click sounded behind her.
The phonograph's needle dropped onto the record, and the room filled with the warped, screeching strains of "Our Song." The melody was distorted, the notes dragging like nails on glass.
Lila's hands flew to her ears.
The door slammed shut.
The Hidden Passage
The bookshelf beside the fireplace shuddered.
Lila barely had time to react before it swung inward, revealing a narrow staircase spiraling down into blackness. The air from below was icy, smelling of damp stone and something metallic.
She took a step down.
Then another.
The stairs groaned underfoot, the wood slick with something sticky she didn't want to identify. At the bottom, a small, windowless chamber waited.
This was where Theo had died.
Frayed piano wire still hung from the central beam, its ends crusted with brownish stains. Beneath it, half-buried in dust, lay a tarnished pocket watch Theo's.
Lila reached for it.
The moment her fingers brushed metal, the room exploded with sound a cacophony of phantom piano keys, a man's choked scream, and beneath it all, the guttural laughter of Vincent Ashford.
The walls wept ink, the black rivulets forming words:
"YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE COME."
Then a hand clamped over her mouth from behind.
Cliffhanger
Lila's scream was muffled as she was yanked backward, Vincent's rotten breath hot against her ear:
"Welcome home, Lila."
"The Devil's Duet"
Vincent's Study , The Unholy Discovery
Vincent's grip on Lila's mouth was corpse-cold, his fingers digging into her cheeks like iron clamps. She thrashed, her elbow connecting with something solid his ribs? ... and he hissed, the sound wet and decaying.
"Still a fighter," he chuckled, his breath reeking of grave soil and old whiskey. "Just like her."
He shoved her forward. Lila stumbled, her knees hitting the hardwood as she caught herself on Vincent's desk. The study swam before her,the shattered phonograph, the portrait's leering eyes, the journal lying open like a wound.
Vincent circled her, his form flickering between a handsome 1920s heir and the rotting ghoul he'd become. His lion ring gleamed, the emerald eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
"Looking for this?" He flicked the journal toward her with a skeletal finger.
Lila's hands shook as she grabbed it. The entry was fresh ink still glistening:
"Theo had to die. But why won't the music STOP? It's in the walls. It's in my BONES...."
The phonograph clicked on.
No hand touched it. No ghostly presence willed it. The needle simply dropped, and the room filled with "Our Song"but slowed, distorted, the notes dragging like a dying man's breath.
Vincent's face twisted. "TURN IT OFF!"
Lila scrambled backward as he smashed the phonograph with his fist, the music warping into a scream.
The Hidden Passage ....A Descent Into Hell
Her shoulder hit the bookshelf. Something clicked.
The shelf swung inward, revealing a staircase swallowed by darkness. A draft rose from below, carrying the metallic tang of old blood and something fouler ..preservation chemicals.
Vincent froze. "No. You don't get to go down there."
Lila didn't wait. She dove into the passage, the wood splintering under her nails as she half-fell, half-ran down the steps. Behind her, Vincent howled,a sound more animal than man.
The air grew thicker, colder, the walls slick with condensation or something worse. At the bottom:
A soundproof chamber.
Frayed piano wire hung from the ceiling, its ends knotted and stained. Beneath it, buried in dust:
Theo's pocket watch.
Lila grabbed it. The moment her skin touched metal, the room exploded with memory:
Theo, gasping, clawing at the wire.
Vincent, grinning, humming "Our Song" as he pulled tighter.
Theo's last thought...not fear, not pain, but her name. Lila.
The vision shattered as Vincent's hands closed around her throat.
Cliffhanger ... The Choice
"You should've stayed gone," Vincent snarled, his thumbs pressing into her windpipe.
The pocket watch burned in Lila's fist.
A voice,Theo's voice,echoed from the walls:
"Break it."
Lila slammed the watch against the stone floor.
Glass shattered. Time stuttered.
And then,Theo was there, his ghostly hands wrenching Vincent away as the chamber filled with the sound of a hundred pianos playing in unison.
A Symphony of Shadows
The pocket watch exploded against the stones, glass shards catching the dim light like falling stars. For a heartbeat,silence.
Then the storm broke.
Thunder cracked the ceiling above, sending dust and plaster raining down. The walls bulged inward, wood splintering as the manor itself howled in protest. And in the center of the chaos, Theo materialized,fully solid for the first time.
His form flickered between two versions of himself:
The 1927 Theo, tuxedo impeccable, eyes bright with life.
The ghostly Theo, throat ringed with that brutal wire mark, fingers translucent.
Vincent shrieked, scrambling back as Theo's hands,now warm and real—closed around his wrists.
"You don't touch her," Theo growled, his voice no longer a whisper but a command.
Lila's breath caught. He's real. He's really here.
Theo yanked Vincent forward, their faces inches apart. "Remember this room, Vin? Remember what you did?"
Then...Theo forced Vincent's hand toward the hanging piano wire.
Critical Memory .... The Murder Replayed
The moment Vincent's fingers brushed the wire, the room dissolved into memory:
FLASHBACK – 1927
Theo, laughing, adjusting his cufflinks in the chamber's cracked mirror. The door burst open..Vincent stood there, face twisted with rage, lion ring glinting.
"You think you can steal her?" Vincent hissed.
Theo turned, confused. "Vin, what..."
The wire looped around his throat.
The memory jumped, stuttering like a broken film reel:
Theo kicking, his polished shoes scraping the stones.
Vincent humming "Our Song" as he pulled tighter.
Theo's last thought, not of pain, but of her:
"Lila... find her."
PRESENT DAY
The memory shattered, leaving Vincent sobbing on the floor, his hands clawing at his own throat.
"It never stopped," he gasped. "The music...it never stopped'
The chamber sealed shut with a bone-deep groan, the door melting into the wall. The stones themselves wept ink, black rivulets forming words:
Lila's heart stuttered. The floor beneath her quaked, cracks spiderwebbing outward. Somewhere above, the piano played their song...fast, frantic, wrong.
Theo reached for her, his hand flickering between solid and spectral. "Lila, you have to go. The house will take you too."
She stared at his broken pinky, the wire burn on his neck, the way his eyes..God, his eyes...pleaded with her.
"No."
She grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together. "I choose him."
Cliffhanger ...The House's Judgment
The walls screamed.
Vincent lunged, his rotting fingers snatching at Lila's hair....
Theo shoved her behind him, taking the blow as Vincent's nails raked his chest.
Then...the floor collapsed.
Lila plummeted into darkness, Theo's hand ripping from hers as the chamber imploded above them.
The last thing she saw before the shadows swallowed her:
Theo's lips forming two words.......
"Find me."
And then, silence