Smoke from the burning script still lingered in the ballroom, curling into the air like a whisper. The flames had turned green, then blue, before dying into ash — and no one had spoken since.
Even the Director had gone silent.
Maricar stood in front of the fireplace, her face lit only by the flickering light of the candles. Her phone was still streaming, clutched in one hand like a weapon. Over 50,000 viewers were watching now. Gifting. Commenting. Sharing.
But she wasn’t smiling anymore.
💬 “Why did the fire turn green??”
💬 “The scream. We all heard it. Rewind.”
💬 “Maricar just broke the script. 🔥🔥🔥”
Kenji sat in a corner of the room, arms wrapped around his knees, no longer trying to act tough. Nikki was pacing near the windows, though she refused to look outside — every time she did, she swore she saw someone staring back from the darkness. Jasper had gone quiet. For once.
The Director finally spoke. His voice was no longer smug. It was low. Careful.
“You’ve altered the narrative,” he said. “The spirits respond to story. They are bound by it. You destroyed a page — now they must write a new one.”
Maricar turned to him. “So what happens next?”
He hesitated. “A challenge. One you didn’t choose.”
That night, just past midnight, the ballroom candles went out on their own.
One by one.
No wind. No movement. Just darkness swallowing flame.
And then the voice came.
Not human.
Not one.
A chorus of whispers, overlapping, singing a lullaby in an ancient tongue.
Baybayin symbols began to burn into the floor in front of them — glowing red-hot like coals. Maricar recognized them. Her Lola had drawn similar ones during healing rituals.
But these… weren’t for healing.
“These are sigils of binding,” she whispered, filming it for the stream. “Something’s coming.”
The Director backed away.
“This wasn’t in the plan.”
💬 “Are those ANCIENT TAGALOG LETTERS???”
💬 “I’m scared but I can’t look away.”
💬 “This is the realest horror I’ve ever seen.”
A cold wind rushed into the room.
And then… it appeared.
A man-shaped creature stepped through the ballroom wall like smoke solidifying. It wore a barong tagalog soaked in blood, its eyes hollowed out and leaking black tears. On its forehead was the same sigil burning into the floor.
It opened its mouth and a hundred voices screamed.
Jasper fell to the ground, hands over his ears. Nikki shrieked and stumbled back. Kenji couldn’t move.
Maricar stood her ground.
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice firm, her livestream still running.
The creature tilted its head. When it spoke, it was using her Lola’s voice.
“Do you accept the first challenge, Apo Babaylan?”
Her blood went cold.
“How do you know that word?”
The creature smiled — a cracked, lipless grin.
“You carry the blood. The binding is upon you. Pass the test, or all here will stay. Forever.”
Then it stepped back into the wall and vanished.
The glowing sigils faded. The candles relit.
A single object now sat in the center of the ballroom.
A wooden bowl, blackened with age. Inside it: white ashes, feathers, and three coins made of bone.
The Director looked shaken. “This wasn’t part of any scene.”
Maricar knelt and examined the bowl.
“I know this,” she said. “It’s an offering bowl. Used by Babaylans during soul retrieval rituals.”
“Soul retrieval?” Jasper echoed, voice shaking. “Like... from ghosts?”
“No,” she said, eyes still locked on the bowl. “From the living. When someone’s soul is stolen, trapped, or split — this ritual brings it back.”
The Director slowly turned toward the group.
“The first challenge,” he murmured, “is to restore what’s been taken.”
They split into two groups. Maricar led one with Jasper and Nikki. Kenji stayed behind with the Director and a crew member who’d started mumbling in his sleep and wouldn’t wake up.
The ritual required a mirror, salt, and a piece of cloth from each person participating. Maricar pulled out an old scarf — one her Lola had left behind. She tied it around her wrist.
The mirror room was located near the east wing — the oldest part of the mansion, where the shadows seemed deeper and the air thicker. It used to be a prayer room, now overtaken by dust, broken statues, and hanging rosaries that swayed without wind.
Maricar placed the mirror on the floor. Drew a circle of salt around it.
“This is a gate,” she said to the stream. “A portal. We’re going to try to find the missing piece of the house.”
She poured the contents of the bowl into a triangle shape around the mirror.
Then she began to chant.
It wasn’t modern Tagalog. It was older — pre-colonial. Her Lola had taught it to her when she was a child, in case the family “ever lost their name to history.”
💬 “She’s casting an actual spell rn 😳”
💬 “I can hear something in the audio—like humming??”
💬 “My screen just glitched when she said that word!”
The mirror began to ripple.
Then— it showed something.
A woman. Pale. Bound in chains made of rosary beads, her mouth stitched shut. Her hair floated around her like she was underwater.
Maricar gasped.
“I know her. She’s the first Babaylan.”
Nikki whispered, “She’s real?!”
“She’s trapped in this house. They cursed her spirit. But if we can free her…”
The woman in the mirror opened her eyes.
Suddenly, Jasper collapsed, convulsing on the floor. His eyes rolled back. Black liquid dripped from his mouth.
The mirror cracked.
Maricar acted on instinct. She slashed her palm and pressed her blood against the glass.
The mirror flared white — and shattered.
Jasper gasped awake, coughing violently. The black fluid had vanished.
The room was still.
The spirit was gone.
And the bowl was now empty.
Back in the ballroom, the sleeping crew member had woken up — smiling. The sigils on the floor had burned out.
The first challenge was complete.
But the mansion… was far from done.
End of Chapter 4
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