The comment section was already blowing up, and Maricar hadn’t even left her condo yet.

💬 “OMG I can’t believe you’re doing this!!! Haunted mansion IRL??”

💬 “Queen Maricar gonna slay the ghosts fr”

💬 “Drop the link to the show!!!”

Maricar glanced at the flood of reactions as she adjusted her phone on the tripod. She took a deep breath, flipped her hair over her shoulder, and flashed her signature confident smile. The LED ring light caught the glint in her eyes.

"Alright, mga ka-vibes, this is it!" she said, voice brimming with excitement. "I'm about to head to the Escape the Script set. Yup, your girl got invited to be part of a live reality challenge — influencers versus horror. The twist? It's filmed in the most haunted place in the Philippines."

She paused dramatically. “Lopez. Mansion.”

The live chat exploded again.

She let the moment simmer before speaking again, this time dropping her tone to something more serious — just a little.

“I know you all love my spooky vlogs. But this one hits different. The mansion? It’s got real history. People vanished there. Paranormal experts don't even enter it anymore. Some say a Babaylan’s spirit guards the place.”

Maricar felt a slight chill at her own words. She shook it off and grinned again. "Pero kaya natin ’to. I’ll vlog everything — even the things the show won’t show. You’ll get the uncut version, live."

She reached over to end the stream, then paused. Her hand hesitated over the screen.

For just a second, she thought she saw her reflection in the mirror behind her blink — after she did.

She shook her head. “Girl, get it together,” she muttered, and ended the stream.

The van that picked her up was all black, with tinted windows and no branding. Two other influencers were already inside when she stepped in: Jasper, a prank channel guy known for being extra, and Nikki, a fashion-beauty influencer who looked like she’d rather be at a beach resort.

“Yo, Maricar!” Jasper fist-bumped her. “Heard you’re the horror queen. Ready to be spooked?”

Maricar smiled. “Always ready.”

Nikki looked up from her phone. “They better not mess up my lighting. I didn’t sign up to look dead on camera.”

“Oh honey,” Maricar smirked, “that might be the point.”

The van rolled toward the outskirts of the city. The buildings gave way to trees, then crumbling provincial roads. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the jungle swallowed them whole.

By the time the iron gates of Lopez Mansion creaked open, the night had settled thick and heavy around them.

The mansion was a towering relic of Spanish colonial design — moss-covered stone, iron-barred windows, broken stained glass glinting like shattered jewels. An overgrown fountain sat in the courtyard, dry and cracked, surrounded by the crumbling faces of angels who had long stopped watching.

Maricar stepped out of the van and immediately began filming with her phone.

“Alright, mga ka-vibes. This is it. The infamous Lopez Mansion. I swear, it’s like the air is heavier here.”

Her viewers were already logging in again. A heart emoji burst floated across her screen. She read the comments aloud.

💬 “Looks like a whole horror movie set.”

💬 “Girl you better not die first.”

💬 “Zoom in on the window behind you! I saw something!”

She turned instinctively to the second-floor window they mentioned.

Empty.

Still, her skin prickled.

The production team gathered them in the courtyard. Lights were set up. Drones hovered silently above. A man in an immaculate black suit, with a face that somehow avoided cameras, stepped forward.

“I am the Director,” he said smoothly. No name. Just the Director.

“The rules are simple,” he continued. “You and four other influencers will spend seventy-two hours in the mansion. Challenges will appear. Scripts will be handed out — follow them, or don’t. But beware… the story writes back.”

A few people laughed. Maricar didn’t.

The Director’s eyes flicked over her, and for a second, they locked.

Was that… recognition?

He moved on quickly.

“You may livestream your experience. Your audience will help or hurt you. Everything is real. Or is it? That’s for you to decide.”

He gestured toward the open double doors. The mansion yawned open like a mouth.

“Enter. The game begins now.”

Inside, the temperature dropped instantly.

The mansion’s main hall was vast and dark, lit only by candles and antique chandeliers hanging precariously from the ceiling. Every step echoed louder than it should. Maricar’s boots thudded against the wooden floor, her phone raised to stream.

Behind her, Nikki whispered, “This place feels cursed.”

Maricar whispered back, “It probably is.”

She panned her phone to the far wall, where a massive oil painting loomed. A stern-looking woman in old tribal garb — the original matriarch of the Lopez family, rumored to be a Babaylan. Her eyes seemed to follow them.

Suddenly, her stream glitched. Static. Then a voice whispered through her earbuds:

"You came back."

She froze. Her livestream chat exploded.

💬 “Who said that?!”

💬 “OMG did y’all hear that voice???”

💬 “This ain’t fake. That was NOT edited.”

She pulled her phone away from her ear.

No one else had reacted.

The stream stabilized again.

Her heart was pounding, but her lips curled into a slight grin.

“Mga ka-vibes…” she said slowly, “Did you catch that? Looks like we’re not alone.”

She was trending already.

And the house had only just said hello.

End of Chapter 1

The front doors slammed shut behind them.

Everyone jumped.

Nikki spun around. “Was that part of the show?”

Jasper laughed nervously. “Yo, they really went all out with the effects.”

Maricar didn’t say anything. She was watching the doors. They hadn’t just shut — they’d sealed. She could feel it, like the air in the mansion had suddenly grown heavier, more solid. The place wasn’t just old. It was waiting.

“Looks like there’s no turning back,” she muttered, raising her phone to catch a quick selfie in front of the massive staircase.

Her viewers were still going wild.

💬 “The door SLAM tho. They got money for this production huh?”

💬 “I heard a scream behind the camera 😳”

💬 “I’m scared but I can’t stop watching. Stream queen!!”

A staff member in black led them into what used to be the mansion’s ballroom — now turned into a base camp of sorts. Cots lined one wall. A folding table held food and drinks. Multiple cameras were hidden around the room, though Maricar could spot most of them with her trained eye.

They were all being recorded. Constantly.

Maricar adjusted her mic and tapped the phone screen. “Alright, mga ka-vibes. We’re in. It’s bigger — and creepier — than I thought. I swear, every shadow moves when you’re not looking at it.”

Behind her, someone snorted. It was Kenji, a fitness influencer and TikTok thirst trap with six million followers and the attitude of someone who thought ghosts were allergic to protein shakes.

“C’mon, Maricar. It’s just a set. Smoke and mirrors.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So when your abs get clawed up by a kapre, I’m not helping.”

The group laughed, but not for long.

Because at that moment, the ballroom lights flickered.

Then died.

A few people screamed. Phones lit up instantly — including Maricar’s.

In the dim light of her screen, she saw movement.

Far corner. Too fast. Too low.

Like something crawling.

Before she could say a word, the lights snapped back on.

Jasper looked pale. “Did you guys see—?”

“Nope,” Nikki cut him off quickly. “Not acknowledging that.”

Kenji rolled his eyes, though his posture was a little tighter than before.

The Director reappeared without warning, standing in the middle of the ballroom as if he’d always been there.

“We begin with an orientation,” he said. “Your first mission will be to explore the mansion in pairs. You will find clues, stories, and maybe — yourselves.”

Jasper snorted. “Okay, creepy Yoda.”

But no one laughed.

Maricar was paired with Nikki. The rest of the group split off, some reluctantly, others with cocky smiles for the camera.

They were assigned the east wing — the oldest part of the mansion, with rooms sealed off since the 1940s. It wasn’t part of the official tour. Even ghost hunters had refused to go there in past documentaries.

Perfect content.

They stepped into the hallway, lit only by their phone flashlights and wall sconces. Every step creaked. Paint peeled from the walls in long, curling strips. The air smelled like rust and rot.

“This is giving Silent Hill,” Nikki whispered.

Maricar laughed softly. “Except the monsters might be real.”

A few doors in, they found a nursery — toys rotting on shelves, a broken rocking horse in the corner, and a crib with dark stains on the mattress.

“Don’t touch anything,” Maricar warned, raising her phone to film.

Her livestream chat was already lit.

💬 “IS THAT BLOOD ON THE CRIB???”

💬 “I saw a face in the mirror behind Nikki 😱”

💬 “Replay the last 10 secs. Something MOVED.”

Maricar squinted at the mirror.

Just her and Nikki’s reflections.

Except...

Her reflection was looking at the wrong direction.

She spun around — nothing.

“I swear that mirror—”

A soft laughter echoed from the hallway.

Childlike.

Too close.

Nikki froze. “Please tell me that’s one of the crew.”

“No,” Maricar said quietly. “They don’t come into this wing.”

Suddenly, her livestream glitched. The screen went pixelated, and a text overlay — clearly not added by her — appeared.

 [DO YOU WANT TO PLAY HIDE AND SEEK?]

Maricar’s heart pounded. She lowered her phone and whispered, “What the hell?”

The lights flickered again.

Then something ran across the hallway behind them — a flash of white cloth, too fast to catch fully.

Nikki screamed.

They bolted back to the ballroom, panting and pale.

Kenji and Jasper were already there, talking over each other.

“We saw something in the basement,” Jasper said. “Something wrong. It wasn’t a staff member. It— it floated.”

Kenji’s bravado had melted. “This place is screwed up, man.”

Maricar looked at her phone. The glitchy text was gone, but the chat had exploded.

💬 “YO WHAT WAS THAT???”

💬 “Maricar GET OUT!!!”

💬 “This ain’t fake. I’m screen recording all of this.”

Even though her hands were shaking, she looked into the camera and said what her viewers were waiting for:

“Well, mga ka-vibes… now it’s real.”

Later that night, after everyone had tried to calm down, Maricar sat on her cot reviewing the stream playback. She zoomed in on the mirror from the nursery scene. Frame by frame.

There.

Her reflection’s eyes were looking at her — but just a few frames before, they’d been looking away.

And then, behind the reflection, a pale hand reaching toward her shoulder. A child’s hand.

She didn’t remember feeling anything.

She sat back, heart thudding.

Maybe this was more than ghosts.

Maybe the mansion knew who she was.

In her dreams that night, she saw her Lola standing in the hallway of the mansion, eyes glowing gold, a whisper in her voice:

"You are not here by accident, apo. The dead remember you."

End of Chapter 2

Maricar awoke with a jolt.

It was still dark. The soft flicker of candlelight danced on the cracked walls of the ballroom, casting long shadows that moved just a little too slowly, like they were resisting the light. Around her, the other influencers slept in scattered positions — some curled under blankets, others still in the clothes they wore while exploring the mansion.

Her livestream phone was still clutched in her hand.

She blinked.

It was still streaming.

Battery: 86%.

Signal: full bars.

Viewers: 11,247.

💬 “She’s awake! Did you see that shadow?!”

💬 “Girl you been streaming for 6 hours???”

💬 “Not even joking, we saw someone sit beside you.”

Maricar froze and scanned the cot next to her.

Empty.

No impression on the mattress. No sign anyone had ever been there.

Except…

A faint scent of camphor and tobacco.

Just like her Lola’s altar back home.

She slowly sat up and whispered into her mic. “Mga ka-vibes, if you’re still watching… something’s wrong with this place. I don’t think we’re just filming a show anymore.”

The screen flashed again — briefly, like a blink — and a frame showed her own face, but older. Wiser. Tattooed across the forehead in ancient Visayan script.

And then it was gone.

The next morning, the influencers were summoned into the mansion’s library — a circular room with a domed ceiling and a spiral staircase lined with books. The windows were blacked out with velvet drapes. Someone had lit dozens of candles, but it still felt cold, like the walls themselves rejected the sun.

The Director stood at the center.

His suit was the same, but his expression had changed. Tighter. Less composed.

Behind him, several crew members stood stiffly, their faces pale and lips pressed into uneasy lines. None of them held equipment. None of them blinked.

He raised a hand.

“Welcome to the second stage,” he said calmly. “The viewers are watching. The mansion is… awake.”

Everyone glanced at each other.

“Wait, what do you mean 'awake'?” Kenji asked, folding his arms.

The Director smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You see, this show was meant to push boundaries. Reality and fiction. Fear and fame. But sometimes…” He looked toward a dark corner of the library. “Sometimes stories bite back.”

A long pause followed.

Then he raised a clipboard.

“Today’s challenge is simple,” he said. “Retrieve a script from the attic and bring it back down. Easy, right?”

“Script?” Nikki echoed. “For what?”

The Director tilted his head. “It’s not written for you yet. That’s the point.”

Jasper frowned. “So we’re just supposed to grab some random paper in a haunted attic and hope we don’t get possessed?”

“I mean,” Maricar said, checking her livestream again, “that is the show.”

💬 “Yall better not go alone 😭”

💬 “She’s got 15k viewers now, holy crap!”

💬 “Protect Maricar at all costs.”

The Director handed Maricar a brass skeleton key.

“You first,” he said. “The house seems to like you.”

The attic door was hidden behind a warped painting of a Spanish friar. The staircase behind it wound upward into darkness. No lights. No windows. Just air so thick it tasted like dust and decay.

Maricar led the way, phone in one hand, the key in the other. Nikki followed close behind.

At the top was a wooden door carved with symbols — not Spanish, not Catholic. Ancient. Familiar.

Maricar touched one and flinched.

It burned.

She unlocked the door.

The attic was a cavern of old trunks, shattered furniture, and forgotten heirlooms. Cobwebs stretched across every corner. Somewhere beneath the floorboards, something dripped — slow and steady.

Nikki turned on her flashlight. “Why do I feel like we just walked into a trap?”

Maricar didn’t answer. She was staring at a wooden table near the center of the room.

One piece of paper lay on it.

A script.

She approached it slowly. Her stream viewers dropped thousands of comments per second.

💬 “Don’t pick it up!!”

💬 “This is some cursed-ass found footage horror!”

💬 “Something’s behind Nikki!!”

She grabbed the script and turned it over.

Her name was on it.

MARICAR SANTOS

Scene 3A: Descent

Status: Marked

“What the hell—” she whispered.

Then came the sound.

Dragging. Shuffling. Behind the trunks.

Nikki screamed and pointed.

A figure stepped out of the shadows.

It was wearing a production headset. A black shirt with the show’s logo. But its face was wrong — sunken, eyeless, its mouth stretched too wide, as if something had tried to mimic a human and failed.

It raised a hand.

And spoke in the Director’s voice.

 “Scene 3A… begin.”

They ran.

Down the stairs. Past the painting. Through the halls, breathless and trembling. The figure didn’t follow — but they heard it whispering in the walls.

They burst into the ballroom, where the others were waiting.

Maricar slammed the script down onto a table.

“I think the house is writing the show now.”

The Director stepped forward slowly, his face unreadable.

“You retrieved the page?” he asked.

“It had my name on it,” Maricar snapped. “And something marked me. You said this was a game. It’s not. What the hell is this place?”

The Director sighed and took off his headset.

He looked… tired.

“I made a deal,” he said quietly. “To make the best horror livestream in the world. Real fear. Real energy. Real ghosts. It worked. Sponsors, followers, cash… but now…”

He looked at Maricar directly.

“They’ve noticed you. The blood. The gift.”

Everyone was silent.

“What gift?” Kenji asked.

Maricar’s voice was steady. “I’m the granddaughter of a Babaylan. And this place… recognizes me.”

The Director nodded once. “Then you’re the only one who can finish the script.”

That night, Maricar sat on the floor near the fireplace, viewers still watching her stream.

She traced the ancient symbols from the attic on her sketchpad.

💬 “Those look like Baybayin letters???”

💬 “She’s trending worldwide rn. #BabaylanQueen”

💬 “This is some real shaman stuff. I’m hooked.”

She looked into the camera.

“They wanted a show. They’re gonna get one. But I’m not playing the Director’s game anymore.”

She lifted the script and set it ablaze in the fireplace.

The flames flared green.

And somewhere upstairs, something screamed.

End of Chapter 3