The car rumbled down a winding road swallowed by trees. Fog clung low to the earth, like fingers trying to grasp the wheels. The air outside was unusually still, as if the world had paused its breath just for this moment.

I squinted at the map on my phone again, though I’d already memorized the directions twice. Rosevale Estate. End of Hollowpath Lane. Left turn after the twisted birch tree. The trees did twist—crooked and ancient, as though they were trying to lean away from whatever was ahead.

Finally, the road narrowed into cobblestone, and before me loomed a towering iron gate, blackened with age. On either side, moss-draped stone gargoyles perched atop cracked pillars, their grim faces watching me with suspicion.

As the car slowed to a stop, the gate creaked open—on its own.

I hesitated.

The hairs on my arms prickled. Something deep in my gut stirred… unease, recognition? I shook it off and drove forward, tires crunching against the old path. Blood-red roses lined the driveway, blooming unnaturally bright in the thick fog. They looked more like wounds than flowers.

Then I saw him.

Adrien stood on the grand stone steps of the mansion, waving casually like this was just another summer holiday. He looked exactly as he had during our first encounter at the art gallery—tall, dark-haired, charmingly odd. But here, in front of that looming house, something about him felt... different. His shadow fell the wrong way, stretching toward the house despite the sunlight behind him.

I stepped out, clutching my bag tightly.

“Welcome to Rosevale,” Adrien said with a half-smile. “Glad you made it. Not many do.”

I laughed nervously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He turned without answering and started up the steps. “Come. The house has been waiting.”

---

The mansion was massive—Gothic in design, yet oddly well-preserved. Its stone façade was covered in creeping vines, and its windows were long, narrow things that reflected no light. A massive oak door opened for us with a long groan.

The interior was… colder.

Dustless but dim, every corner too perfect, like a museum set. High ceilings arched above, held by pillars carved with twisting figures—some human, some… not. The chandelier overhead was made of black glass and looked like frozen tears.

“Strange,” I murmured. “Everything feels like… déjà vu.”

Adrien looked over his shoulder with a sly smile. “Maybe you’ve been here before. In another life.”

---

We entered the main hallway. At the center stood a long wooden table with clawed legs. A black cat lay stretched across it, blinking lazily as we approached. It lifted its head as if to acknowledge me—then returned to sleep.

Next to it, a tall cross hung crookedly on the wall. Its iron surface was smeared with dark red stains. I stepped closer instinctively.

“Is that blood?”

Adrien’s tone turned sharp. “Don’t touch it.”

I pulled my hand back quickly. “Okay…”

He smiled again, his mask of charm sliding back on. “Sorry. Some things in this house... don’t like being disturbed.”

---

The butler appeared suddenly—tall, pale, his eyes like mirrors that reflected nothing. He carried my luggage without a word and gestured for me to follow.

“I’ll show you to the dining room,” Adrien said.

“I’m not really hungry.”

“No one is. But we all still sit.”

---

The dining room was long, draped in heavy curtains that muffled the light. A fireplace crackled lowly in the corner, even though the summer air outside was warm. The long table in the center stretched far too wide for comfort.

The family sat there. Seven of them. Silent. Still.

Each one dressed in black. Eyes watching me, unblinking. I opened my mouth to speak—then noticed something odd.

The table was empty.

No plates. No food. No drinks.

Only one item lay in the center.

A silver revolver.

Its barrel pointed toward me.

I froze in place.

Adrien motioned to a chair. “Sit. You’re part of the family now.”

The door closed behind me with a soft thud.

The silence in the dining room was a living thing—thick, crawling, pressing against my ears like static.

Seven pairs of eyes watched me as I slowly lowered myself into the high-backed chair Adrien had motioned toward. The air smelled faintly of wax, smoke, and… iron. No one spoke. No one moved. The revolver on the table gleamed coldly beneath the chandelier’s faint light.

I glanced at Adrien, trying to mask the unease in my voice. “Some kind of… family tradition?”

He gave a soft chuckle. “Let’s call it… symbolism.”

One of the figures at the table finally shifted. A tall woman with stark silver hair twisted in a braided crown. She wore a crimson pendant that pulsed faintly against her neck.

“Will the guest be staying long?” she asked in a voice as smooth as silk and just as cutting.

Adrien nodded. “As long as the house allows it.”

The house allows? What did that mean?

The woman smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. “Then I shall pray the house finds them... satisfactory.”

Another figure, this one a boy no older than ten, giggled softly, hands clasped beneath his chin. “We haven’t had a guest in so long. I hope you don’t scream as much as the last one.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

The revolver suddenly shifted slightly—just a fraction, as though nudged by an invisible hand.

I stood. “I… I think I need some air.”

Adrien rose with me. “Of course. Let me show you to your room.”

As we left the dining hall, I glanced back.

None of them moved.

---

The hallway outside was lit by dim wall sconces, their flames flickering as though resisting the shadows. The black cat padded silently beside us, eyes glowing faintly. I hadn’t even noticed it leave the table.

“Does your family always dine like that?” I asked.

Adrien’s tone was casual. “Only on days the wind comes from the east.”

I blinked. “What?”

He turned to me suddenly, smile gone. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

Then, just like that, the grin returned. “Come, I’ll show you something interesting.”

---

He led me past a set of towering double doors into the mansion’s drawing room. Velvet curtains billowed despite the closed windows. In the center of the room, beside a broken grandfather clock, stood a heavy wooden cross.

It was slanted. Splintered. And stained with something that looked disturbingly like blood.

A soft sound made me turn.

The black cat was now perched on a table beside the cross, calmly licking its paw. Its gaze never left mine.

“What's with the cross?” I asked, unable to hide the tightness in my throat.

Adrien leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “That cross was taken from the old chapel on the hill before it was burned down. They say the fire didn't kill the spirits… it only made them angrier.”

The cat yawned.

I stepped closer, trying to inspect the wood grain. It looked… ancient. As though it had been pulled from the ground instead of carved.

Something flickered in my mind.

A memory?

No, not a memory. A feeling. Familiarity. Like I’d seen this very room before. Stood in this exact spot. Heard Adrien say those same words.

“Have I… been here before?”

Adrien’s head tilted slightly. “Some say time loops in places like this. Maybe your soul wandered in a dream.”

I backed away from the cross. “Or maybe I’ve made a mistake coming here.”

The cat meowed suddenly—sharp, loud.

The chandelier above us trembled.

Then the lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Out.

Darkness.

When the light returned, Adrien was standing inches from me.

His eyes glowed faintly red.

“You’re not here by mistake,” he said softly. “The house calls who it wants.”

I took a shaky breath. “And if I want to leave?”

He smiled again.

“That’s up to the house.”

That evening, after a few hollow hours spent pretending to read a book in the drawing room, Adrien appeared again. This time in a dark velvet suit, hair slicked back, expression unreadable.

“It’s time,” he said.

“For what?” I asked, already dreading the answer.

“Dinner. You’ll sit with the family again tonight. It’s… important.”

I followed him down the shadow-soaked corridors, the black cat pacing ahead like a tiny guardian—or a guide into darkness. With every step, the silence seemed to grow heavier, the very walls pressing in with unspoken tension.

---

When we reached the dining hall, nothing had changed.

Same table.

Same heavy curtains.

Same seven figures seated in exactly the same arrangement.

And at the center of the long table?

The silver revolver.

Still there.

Still gleaming.

But this time, there was something else.

An empty eighth chair—this time waiting for me.

The tall woman with the crimson pendant nodded as I sat. “The guest is becoming part of the rhythm,” she said. “Soon you’ll feel the pull of the clockwork.”

Clockwork?

Adrien pulled out his own chair, next to mine, and sat gracefully.

Then the butler entered—silent as breath—and placed before each family member a single, sealed envelope.

No plates. No forks. Just parchment.

When he came to me, he placed mine gently in front of me, bowed, and vanished into the shadows again.

Adrien didn’t touch his. No one did.

The silver-haired woman spoke.

“Let the test begin.”

Suddenly, all eyes turned to me.

The little boy with the giggle leaned forward. “Open yours.”

My hand trembled as I reached for the envelope. The seal was wax—deep red, like dried blood. Stamped with a rose.

I broke it and pulled out the slip of paper inside.

There were only three words:

"Pick the gun."

I looked up. Adrien was watching me closely. So was everyone else.

“Is this… some kind of game?” I asked, voice shaking.

“No,” the woman said simply. “It’s the law of the house.”

I stared at the revolver. “What happens if I don’t pick it?”

“You dream,” said the boy. “But not the kind you wake from.”

I sat frozen, every muscle tense.

Adrien reached over, his fingers barely brushing mine. “You’re safe,” he said gently. “For now. Just do what it says.”

With a deep breath, I reached toward the center of the table, wrapping my fingers around the cool metal of the gun.

The moment I lifted it, something happened.

The room changed.

The curtains turned translucent, revealing moonlight outside—except the moon was red.

The family disappeared—vanished like smoke.

The table stretched and curled around me like a serpent, the wood groaning like it lived. The cat sat beside my chair, now humanoid, her face part-feline, part-woman.

“You passed the first gate,” she purred. “You won’t be devoured tonight.”

---

Suddenly, everything snapped back to normal.

Adrien was at my side, steadying me.

The family sat, unmoved, unbothered.

The revolver was back at the center of the table.

Empty.

I looked down at my hands—they were clean, but I felt like I’d just pulled them from a grave.

“What the hell was that?” I whispered.

Adrien smiled faintly. “The mansion… gets hungry.”

“And if I hadn’t picked it up?”

He didn’t answer.

But the boy did.

“You would’ve become part of the wallpaper.”

He giggled again.

---

After dinner, Adrien walked me back to my room in silence. The hallway stretched oddly tonight, like it was resisting our return.

Once inside, he lingered at the door.

“You’ve passed the first test,” he said quietly. “But the house isn’t done with you.”

I nodded slowly. “What happens next?”

He looked at me with something almost like regret.

“You start remembering.”

Then he closed the door and left me in the silence.

I didn’t sleep that night.

Because I knew he was right.

The dreams were already waiting.

And the house… was listening.