FINAL ROUND

POV- MIA CARTER

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“FINAL ROUND”

The words vanished as quickly as they came, swallowed by the darkness pulsing through the walls.

Silence followed.

No whispering walls.

No blood-soaked doors.

No Ethan.

Just me.

The hallway melted away around me, peeling back like paper left in rain. Walls dissolved into mist, the floor dropped, and I was falling—

—until I wasn’t.

I landed on cold stone.

I stood in the attic, but it was no longer crumbling and dark. It was pristine. Spotless. The light of a single lantern swayed above, casting long shadows. The nooses were gone.

But something hung in their place.

Photographs.

Hundreds of them, suspended by red strings like puppets.

Claire.

Ethan.

Jason.

Me.

Each photo showed us—laughing, crying, scared, broken.

One photo caught my eye.

Claire, sobbing.

Me… turning away.

Then i walk away.

My legs trembled beneath me, but I walked.

Because I had no choice.

Because something inside me—the last shard of hope or the sharp edge of madness—refused to let me stop.

The hallway shifted again.

The mirrors were gone now.

In their place: doors.

Each one carved with a name.

CLAIRE.

JASON.

ETHAN.

My breath caught.

A fourth door at the end flickered with a name not yet carved.

Mine.

But first… I pushed open Ethan’s.

The door creaked like a dying scream.

The room was dim—lit by a single swinging bulb that buzzed like a fly in a jar.

Ethan lay crumpled on the floor.

Face-down.

His hoodie soaked in blood.

A gaping wound split the back of his head open like a cracked shell.

I stumbled back, hand over my mouth.

“No... no—please, no...”

I dropped to my knees beside him, turning him over slowly.

His eyes were open.

Still filled with rage.

But there was something else too—regret.

I reached out, brushed a hand down his cheek.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered. “I should’ve saved you.”

His lips were twisted into a half-snarl, half-plea.

He had fought the madness.

And lost.

Suddenly, the bulb above exploded.

I screamed, shielding my face.

Darkness fell.

And when I looked up—

His body was gone.

Footsteps echoed behind me.

Fast. Too fast.

I turned—

Jason stood there.

But it wasn’t him.

His skin was gray, wet. His neck was twisted unnaturally, the noose mark still red. His eyes were hollow.

“You let me die.”

I backed away.

“Jason... no—please—”

Another figure appeared behind him.

Claire.

Her pale, lifeless face was smiling—too wide. Blood trickled from her eyes like tears.

“You didn’t even try to save me.”

Then—Ethan.

Looming behind them. Blood-soaked. His head dripping.

“You ran. You always run.”

They moved closer.

Slow.

Rhythmic.

Like puppets pulled by invisible strings.

I screamed and bolted out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me.

Down the hall. Down another. Around a corner—but everything looped.

No matter where I turned, I was back at the door with my name on it.

I pounded on the walls. Tore at the floorboards. Screamed until my throat was raw.

“No more games! NO MORE!”

Behind me, laughter.

Claire’s.

Jason’s.

Ethan’s.

Then whispers:

“Finish it…”

“Finish it…”

“Finish it…”

The door with my name slowly opened on its own, creaking like a coffin lid.

And I knew—

The final round wasn’t about escaping.

It was about surviving myself.

# To be continued

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