[Ubicación: Vestíbulo de Blackwood Manor] [POV: Tercera persona]
El silencio que Leo Vance dejó a su paso fue casi más aterrador que el caos que lo había precedido. El grupo de élite de Manhattan estaba de pie, bañado por la ominosa luz roja de emergencia, mirando la entrada oscura donde había desaparecido el extraño y guapo chico. El olor a polvo y descomposición ahora se mezclaba con el inconfundible aroma del ozono, como el aire después de una tormenta eléctrica.
"¿Pero quién diablos era ese?" Dan Humphrey fue el primero en romper el silencio, su voz era un susurro ronco.
Blair Waldorf se recompuso, alisando su vestido de Audrey Hepburn. Su fachada de control había vuelto, pero sus ojos delataban la fisura en su armadura. "Probablemente algún drogadicto que se coló aquí. Es ridículo. Vamos". Caminó hacia la puerta principal y tiró de la pesada perilla de latón. No se movió. Tiró de nuevo, más fuerte. "Está atascado".
"No está atascado", dijo Chuck Bass, su voz peligrosamente tranquila. Se acercó a la puerta y la examinó. "Está bloqueado. Como si algo lo estuviera sosteniendo desde el otro lado".
Un lamento lúgubre resonó desde arriba, un sonido largo y triste que parecía filtrarse a través de las paredes. Serena dejó escapar un pequeño grito y se aferró más fuerte a Nate, quien, para su crédito, instintivamente se paró frente a ella.
"Está bien, esto dejó de ser divertido", dijo Nate, su mirada recorrió las sombras del vestíbulo. "Chuck, esta fue tu idea. ¿Cuál es el plan?"
Chuck no respondió. Estaba mirando las escaleras, donde la sombra se había desvanecido. Por primera vez en mucho tiempo, Chuck Bass parecía fuera de control, y eso fue quizás lo más aterrador de todo.
De repente, Leo reapareció, emergiendo de la oscuridad con la misma calma con la que había entrado. Parecía un poco decepcionado.
"Nada. Se escondió —dijo, más para sí mismo que para ellos—. Luego, sus ojos se posaron en el grupo acurrucado junto a la puerta. Suspiró, un sonido de pura exasperación, como si acabara de darse cuenta de que todavía tenía que lidiar con el cuidado de los niños. "Oh, claro. Chicos".
"¿Quién eres?" Exigió Blair, dando un paso adelante. "¿Y qué está pasando aquí?"
Leo la ignoró y caminó directamente hacia la puerta principal. Puso una mano sobre él, cerró los ojos por un momento y luego negó con la cabeza. "No vas a salir de esta manera. Al menos no hasta que te lo permita".
"¿Él? ¿Quién es él? ¿El conserje fantasma?" Chuck se burló, recuperando algo de su arrogancia.
Leo finalmente lo miró, arqueando una ceja divertida. "Llámalo Cornelius, llámalo Casper cabreado, lo que quieras. El punto es que has invadido su casa en su noche favorita del año, y ahora te ve como sus nuevos juguetes. Y créanme, no juega con suavidad".
Un violento ruido metálico sonó desde un pasillo cercano, como si alguien hubiera arrojado una caja de herramientas contra una pared.
Leo no se inmutó. Su mirada se volvió seria. "Está bien, escúchame con atención, Upper East Side Lonely Hearts Club. Esta entidad es territorial, y gracias a tu entrada triunfal, ahora está en modo de defensa activa. Eso significa que la caza no ha terminado. Solo estaba eligiendo su próximo objetivo". Sus ojos se movieron de uno a otro. "Y todos ustedes son mucho más interesantes que yo".
Se quitó la mochila y la dejó caer al suelo con un ruido sordo. Lo abrió y comenzó a sacar objetos que parecían completamente fuera de lugar en ese entorno lujoso y aterrador.
"Muy bien, plan de supervivencia para novatos", anunció. "Te vas a esconder. Hay una pequeña despensa debajo de la escalera principal. Es sólido, sin ventanas. Todos ustedes entren allí".
Les arrojó varios objetos. Blair atrapó torpemente un pequeño crucifijo de madera. Nate agarró un manojo de lo que parecía salvia seca atada con un cordel. A Serena, le arrojó una pequeña botella de agua.
"¿Agua bendita?", preguntó, con voz temblorosa.
"Agua del grifo de mi apartamento", respondió Leo sin mirarla. "Pero la intención es lo que cuenta. Y tú", dijo, arrojando a Chuck un pequeño quemador de incienso de latón y algunos palos. "Enciende esto. El humo de la salvia y el sándalo puede confundir a ciertos tipos de entidades. No los detendrá, pero podría enmascarar tu... olor a miedo y privilegio".
Dan Humphrey miró el crucifijo en la mano de Blair como si fuera una serpiente. "¿De verdad esperas que creamos en todo esto... vudú?"
Leo stopped and stared at him. His humorous expression had vanished, replaced by an icy intensity. "I don't care in the slightest what you believe, Brooklyn writer. I care that you don't get killed in my workplace, because the paperwork would be a nightmare. So grab a crucifix, get in that closet, and pray to whatever god you pretend to believe in. Understood?"
No one dared to argue.
[Location: Pantry under the staircase][POV: Leo Vance - First Person]
I herded them all into the pantry like I was corralling a flock of sheep in designer clothes. It was a cramped space, smelling of damp and old wood, and the only light came from Chuck's phone screen as he clumsily tried to light the incense.
"Don't move, don't make a sound, and for the love of all that is sacred, don't open the door, no matter what," I instructed them from the threshold.
"And what are you going to do?" Nate asked, his voice strained in the small space.
"I'm going to do what I came to do," I replied, grinning. "I'm going to piss off a ghost."
I closed the heavy wooden door, hearing the sound of the bolt sliding shut from inside. Perfect. Now I could focus.
I walked away from the pantry and stood in the middle of the foyer. I pulled out my camera again.
"Alright, Cornelius! I've hidden your new friends!" I shouted at the ceiling. "Now back to our regularly scheduled program! How about we play a game? It's called 'Guess Where I Am.' If you find me, you earn the right to try and rip out my soul!"
Silence was my only response. Too much silence. That was never good.
"What's wrong, buddy? Cat got your tongue... or did you eat it yourself?" I taunted.
I turned on the spirit box. White noise filled the air, punctuated by fragments of words and static.
"...out..." "...mine..." "...pain..."
"Oh, how original," I said, rolling my eyes. "The classic 'get out of my house.' Don't you have anything better? How about a sonnet? Or can you tell me a joke?"
The temperature dropped again, faster this time. The air thickened, and the smell of rotting flesh filled my nostrils. One of the pieces of evidence I was looking for: the smell of decay. I aimed the thermal camera down the hallway. A cold, human-shaped patch was starting to form on the wall.
"There you are, shy one!" I exclaimed, approaching slowly. "Don't be shy. Come out into the light. Or the dark. You get the idea."
The figure solidified. It was him. Cornelius Blackwood. Tall, gaunt, in a tattered period suit and eyes that were empty pits of pure malice. It wasn't a shadow this time. It was a full-body apparition. The definitive proof.
I raised the camera to take a picture, the flash ready. "Smile for the camera, handsome."
But instead of lunging at me, the ghost smiled. A horrible, lipless grin that stretched the translucent skin of its face. And then it pointed. Not at me. It pointed towards the staircase. Towards the pantry where I had hidden the group.
My blood ran cold. He had been distracting me.
"Oh, son of a—" I began to say, but it was too late.
The ghost vanished, and a deafening crash shook the house. I ran towards the pantry, my heart pounding against my ribs. Not out of fear for myself, but for the stupid, irresponsible situation I had put those idiots in.
"DON'T OPEN THE DOOR!" I yelled, pounding on the wood.
[Location: Inside the Pantry][POV: Third Person]
Inside the pantry, panic was a living animal. They were crammed into almost total darkness, the sandalwood incense smoke filling the air and making their eyes water. Blair was having a silent claustrophobic attack, Serena was trembling uncontrollably, and Dan kept muttering that it was all a massive hallucination caused by some kind of gas in the house.
"This is crazy," Nate whispered. "Do we really believe a piece of wood is going to protect us?" He held the crucifix Leo had given him, feeling utterly ridiculous.
Chuck, who had managed to light the incense, scoffed. "Of course not. It's a scare tactic. That guy is a psychopath having fun at our expense."
Suddenly, a violent bang resonated on the door, making everyone jump. It sounded like someone had thrown a piece of furniture against it. Then another, and another. The solid wooden door trembled on its hinges.
"DON'T OPEN THE DOOR!" they heard Leo's muffled shout from outside, followed by the sound of something breaking.
Serena choked back a sob. Blair, overcoming her panic, clung to the only shred of logic she had left. She held the crucifix tightly in her hand, her knuckles white.
"It's just him," Blair said, her voice trembling but firm. "He's trying to scare us."
At that moment, the crucifix in her hand began to get warm. At first it was a subtle warmth, but it quickly turned into an intense, scorching heat.
"Ow!" she exclaimed, dropping the object as if it were a red-hot coal.
The small wooden crucifix fell to the dusty floor. For a second, nothing happened. Then, a small wisp of black smoke began to rise from the wood. Before the astonished eyes of Manhattan's five most privileged teenagers, the crucifix ignited, burning with an unnatural black flame that emitted no light, only thick, foul-smelling smoke.
Fear ceased to be an abstract emotion. It became an absolute, suffocating certainty.
They were no longer laughing. They were no longer skeptical. Chuck dropped the incense burner, Dan was speechless, Nate stared at the small unholy bonfire with wide eyes, and Serena finally let out the scream she had been holding back.
Outside, the banging stopped. A deathly silence fell over the house. And in the darkness of the pantry, with only the sound of their terrified breaths and the crackling of a burning crucifix, they understood that they were not dealing with a madman. They were trapped in a cage with something much, much worse. And their only strange savior was on the other side of the door, fighting it.