The four of them—Nathan, Ivy, Harper, and Alice—walked steadily down the endless stretch of highway. Their steps echoed faintly against the smooth pavement, the only sound accompanying them in the haunting stillness of the phase. The sky above was a soft gray, neither bright nor dark, with a dull hue that never seemed to shift. The air was cool, calm, and unnervingly still.
To their sides, row after row of small cottage-like houses flanked the road. Identical. Unmoving. Lights flickered gently inside them, warm and inviting, as if someone—or something—was home.
"Do you think..." Alice's soft voice broke the silence, her eyes locked on one of the warmly-lit windows. "Do you think someone might be inside?"
Nathan glanced at her, then at the cottages again, a hesitant look on his face. "Maybe it's just... participants?" he said cautiously. "Like us?"
There was a pause, and then Ivy chimed in. Her voice was calm, but carried the weight of uncertainty. "This could be a peaceful phase too...?" she offered, though the rising pitch at the end of her sentence betrayed her doubt. "I mean, we didn't face the echo effect when we entered. And visually, this does look like a more stable, calmer version of Phase 11."
They all nodded, but none of them looked convinced. The scenery repeated endlessly—same cottages, same windows, same spacing between each house—as if they were walking through a simulation stuck on loop. It felt less like a neighborhood and more like a stage.
Nathan eventually stopped, turning to glance toward one of the cottage doors. "Should we..." he hesitated, "Should we check inside one of the houses?"
The question lingered in the air like fog.
Ivy's response was immediate and firm. "No." She shook her head. "We shouldn't take any reckless decisions. Not yet. We should focus on finding the rulebook first, understand the rules, and then decide what action to take."
"But where could the rulebook be?" Alice asked, her voice taking on a more frustrated tone. She sighed, rubbing her temples before resting her head against her palm as she walked beside Ivy. "There's no sign of anything new. Just these houses. And this road. Over and over again..."
Harper, trailing behind the group, kicked a small pebble along the road and muttered to herself. "It's like we're walking through a giant copy-paste neighborhood..." She looked at the warm lights again. "Kinda charming though. I'd live here... if it wasn't for the creepy atmosphere."
Nathan was still staring at one of the houses, fingers twitching slightly as if tempted to reach for the door handle. The lights felt too warm. Too deliberately inviting. It was as if the phase wanted them to open one.
But Ivy stood her ground. "No distractions. Rulebook first."
Her eyes narrowed. Deep down, she could feel it—something about this phase was wrong. And they'd find out soon enough.
They kept walking.
The endless rows of cottages—each identical to the last—continued to flank them on either side of the highway. It had only been a few minutes, maybe two or three, but it felt longer. Like time itself stretched inside this phase, drawing out every step, every breath, like it was waiting for them to falter.
Then—something changed.
A few meters ahead, one of the cottages stood out.
Unlike the rest, this one had a gate.
A tall iron gate, old but well-kept, neatly enclosing the small front yard of the cottage. Vines gently curled around its bars, swaying despite the still air. The rest of the cottages had open paths, empty lawns—but this one felt guarded. As if someone didn't want visitors.
"Hey, look—" Ivy's voice cut through the silence as she pointed. "There's a gate."
Everyone stopped. All eyes turned toward the cottage. The presence of the gate alone was enough to snap them out of the dull repetition of the phase—but that wasn't all.
"There's a mailbox too." Harper pointed at the small black letterbox attached to one of the fence posts. "That's the first sign of anything even remotely different."
They exchanged glances.
The gate, the mailbox—it meant progress. It meant something new. And yet, none of them moved immediately. The subtle shift in the phase had brought with it a quiet unease. The gate felt like a threshold. A boundary they weren't sure they were ready to cross.
Nathan slowly took a step forward, peering through the bars. The house beyond looked the same as all the others—same soft golden light, same perfectly trimmed hedges. And yet... it felt different. Like the moment they stepped through, things would change.
His voice was calm, but layered with uncertainty. "Should we go check it out?"
A pause followed.
Then Alice, standing beside him, spoke with a faint nervous laugh that tried—and failed—to lighten the mood. "Do we have another choice...?" Her soft blonde hair shifted slightly with the breeze, her bright eyes narrowing with unease. "It's not like the road's been offering us other options."
She tried to smile, but the tension in her voice betrayed her. They all felt it now—that shift in atmosphere. Like the phase had noticed them.
Ivy stepped closer, her gaze fixed on the mailbox. Her analytical mind was racing, calculating possibilities. "This has to be it. The rulebook. A message. Something. It's too deliberate to be a coincidence."
Harper adjusted the strap of her bag and exhaled slowly. "If this turns into a haunted house thing, I'm blaming all of you."
Nathan gave a dry chuckle, but it didn't carry far.
They stood together in front of the gate now, shoulder to shoulder, facing whatever awaited them on the other side. Their hands twitched slightly—nervous reflexes from people who had been through too much. But despite their fear, despite the foreboding aura pulsing gently from the cottage, they all knew what came next.
They had to go in.
Nathan stepped forward.
The sound of his shoes brushing against the pavement was the only thing they could hear. The others followed closely behind—Ivy, composed and sharp-eyed, Harper, tense but trying not to show it, and Alice, wide-eyed with curiosity and the tiniest tremble in her steps.
They all stopped just short of the iron gate.
Nathan reached toward it, the cold metal sending a subtle chill through his fingers. His hand hesitated for only a second before pushing the gate gently open with a low, metallic creak. It wasn't locked. It didn't resist. If anything—it welcomed them.
The front yard was eerily still. The grass perfectly trimmed, not a single leaf out of place. The mailbox stood to the right, tall and black, with a faint shimmer of dust on its lid.
Nathan approached it.
His fingers twitched as they hovered just above the box. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears, the silence of the neighborhood pressing against them like a weight. He swallowed the lump in his throat and reached down, lifting the lid.
"Check what's inside, Nathan."
Ivy's voice was low but clear, slicing through the still air like a quiet command.
He flinched slightly, then nodded without turning to face her. His forehead glistened with sweat, not from heat—but from the pressure. The unknown. The weight of responsibility. His hand moved again, slower this time, reaching into the box.
His fingers brushed against something.
Paper.
His heart skipped.
He pulled it out slowly, revealing a thick envelope, cream-colored and smooth to the touch. There were no markings on it—no names, no symbols. Just a sealed flap and a looming sense that what was inside would change everything.
He turned around, holding it out for the others to see.
"There's an—"
"Envelope?" Harper cut in, one brow raised in interest, her usual quips stifled by the tension.
"Well don't just wave it around—look what's inside."
Ivy gave a single nod, arms crossed tightly. Alice nodded too, hands clasped behind her back, her gaze fixed on Nathan with bright, trusting eyes.
Nathan looked down at the envelope in his hands. The edges were firm, cleanly folded. Whatever was inside felt like thick paper, maybe a booklet or a set of folded pages. He exhaled slowly.
His fingers slipped under the flap.
The sound of tearing paper seemed to echo far louder than it should've.
And then—he opened it.
Nathan slid the paper out of the envelope, unfolding it slowly. The crisp parchment felt strangely heavier than it looked. His eyes scanned the contents before reading it aloud, voice slightly unsteady.
" Phase 20 – Aggressive Neighborhood
[Phase Difficulty Rating: 5.5 / 100]
Previous Phase Ratings:Phase 15 – 10.7 / 100Phase 16 – 18.0 / 100Phase 17 – 11.0 / 100Phase 18 – 2.7 / 100Phase 19 – 14.0 / 100Phase 20 – 5.5 / 100
Welcome to Phase 20: Aggressive Neighborhood.
You have entered a community where appearances are deceiving, and trust is your greatest vulnerability.
This phase is governed by a single rule:
1) Follow the steps given to you accordingly.
You will receive your first set of steps upon entering any house. These steps may include actions, decisions, or phrases that must be followed precisely. Failure to follow these steps, or deviating from them even slightly, will result in a hunt.
If you follow the steps exactly as they are written, you will remain safe.
Additional Information:
• The individuals inside the homes are not human.
– They may look, speak, and behave like people.
– They may offer comfort, food, or conversation.
– Do not be fooled. They are observing you.
• Each house contains a different entity.
– Some are passive. Some are curious. Some are hostile.
– Your behavior, tone, and choices will determine their reaction.
– If you act unpredictably or stray from the steps, they will know.
• The entities are not mindless.
– They respond to kindness. If you are polite, respectful, and careful with your words,some may offer assistance. A few might even whisper hints or guide you to the exit... if they like you.
– But if you are rude, dismissive, or cruel? They will not attack right away. They will smile. They will watch. And they will wait. And when you least expect it... they will ruin you from the inside out.
Good luck."
As Nathan finished reading the last word of the rulebook, a silence fell like a guillotine. Not a breath dared to break it. The air around them had changed—not in temperature, not in light—but in pressure. Something invisible now hung over them, like a string pulled tight around their throats.
Harper's eyes were locked onto the paper, unblinking.
"Not human?" she muttered under her breath, as though repeating it could make it less true.
Nathan folded the rulebook slowly, his hands trembling despite his effort to appear composed. He could feel the sweat pooling beneath his collar, dripping down his back like something crawling. His role as leader was more than just a title now—it was a weight. Every wrong decision would cost not just his life, but theirs. Alice's face. Ivy's mind. Harper's voice. And it'd all be on him.
"Alright," he said softly, almost to himself. "We know the rules. We... follow the steps. No improvising."
Ivy was silent, arms crossed, eyes darting between the letterbox and the dark windows of the cottage. Her mind was racing, dissecting every line of the rulebook like she was reviewing a cadaver. Calculating. Dismantling. Rebuilding. But even her breaths were uneven, her usually collected expression just a little too taut.
"Entities who react to kindness..." she whispered. "That's not a rule... that's bait." Her voice was cold. "It's behavioral conditioning. We're in a behavioral experiment—or worse, an observation loop. They're watching our morals... not just our actions."
Alice stood beside her, trying to smile, her delicate hands clutching the hem of her skirt as if that would steady her. "Okay... okay, we can handle this, right?" she said, voice light but cracked slightly near the end. "Let's just... be polite. Smile. Say please and thank you. We've all dealt with worse. Right?"
Harper stood right next to her, unusually still, arms by her sides.
"Alice," she said, voice low. "The lights inside the house didn't flicker once. That's not how lights work... It's like they're waiting."
That realization hit them all like a slow, dawning sickness. The silence from inside the houses—so still, so undisturbed—it wasn't just absence. It was attention. A room of things with open eyes and held breath, waiting for their turn to play.
Nathan stepped back from the gate, chest heaving. "We're not alone here," he said, voice hoarse. "Even now. Even outside the houses."
His eyes scanned the windows of the nearby cottages. No movement. No shapes. Just soft, inviting glows.
"Eyes without bodies," he muttered.
Ivy adjusted her ponytail, jaw clenched.
"We need a plan. First house. We go together. I speak first—polite, neutral. You all observe. One wrong word could get us all killed."
Alice nodded quickly, stepping closer to Harper as if proximity could protect her.
"Let's stick close. No splitting up. No wandering eyes."
The group turned from the letterbox. The gate creaked open, louder than it should have. A sound too sharp, too long. Like the house was... responding.
One step forward, and there was no turning back.
The game had begun.