The Gates of Dread

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.

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