The hallways twisted around them like a living maze.
Daniel, Ethan, Lena, and the others stumbled through the darkness, lungs burning, shoes slipping on cracked tiles and splintered wood.
Behind them, the sound of mannequins hunting never stopped — a steady, awful tap-tap-tap that grew louder and softer, nearer and farther, like a heartbeat they could never outrun.
Chris was dead.
His scream — and that wet, ripping noise — still haunted the edges of Daniel's mind.
He could see it when he blinked.
Feel it.
Taste the metallic sting of blood in the air.
But he couldn't stop.
They couldn't stop.
If they stopped, they died.
They collapsed into what must once have been a grand ballroom — a vast, dust-choked space filled with broken tables and the tattered remains of a long-forgotten party. Faded banners still hung from the ceiling, drooping like nooses. Torn curtains shivered at shattered windows.
For a moment, they were alone.
They huddled in the center of the room, their flashlights trembling in their hands.
"We need a plan," Harper gasped, wiping tears from her smeared face.
Her mascara ran in black rivers down her cheeks, but she didn't care.
None of them cared about anything anymore — except survival.
"A plan?" Jules laughed bitterly. "What plan? Did you see what they did to Chris?! Plans don't work here!"
Zoe leaned against the crumbling wall, chest heaving.
Her usual sarcastic grin was gone, replaced by a hollow, trembling fear.
"We can't just run," Daniel said. His voice felt too small, too human in the vastness of the cursed house. "We hide. We outlast the hourglass."
"If it ever runs out," Maya whispered.
Ethan slammed his fist into a table, sending a cloud of dust flying. "It will! It has to!"
An uncomfortable silence settled.
And in that silence, Daniel realized something chilling.
The mannequins weren't just moving randomly.
They were herding them.
Like sheep.
Pushing them deeper into the mansion.
Toward something.
Daniel's stomach twisted.
Without warning, a new sound split the silence.
Music.
Faint at first — crackling through unseen speakers — a scratchy, broken melody like an old music box winding down.
High, sweet, wrong.
The chandeliers above flickered.
The banners fluttered without wind.
And the mannequins came.
Not stumbling and jerking like before —
No, now they danced.
Hundreds of them spilled into the ballroom through hidden doors, moving in time with the broken music. Twirling. Swaying. Arms reaching, heads cocked, empty faces grinning.
A nightmare waltz.
Daniel backed up, dragging Lena with him.
"No," Zoe said, shaking her head. "No no no—"
One mannequin broke from the formation, lurching straight toward her.
Zoe screamed and threw a broken chair at it — the mannequin staggered but didn't fall.
Another one closed in.
Then another.
The others tried to reach her — Daniel, Ethan, Jules, everyone — but it was too late.
The mannequins wanted her.
And the rules of the house would not be denied.
Zoe ran, weaving through the maze of mannequins, dodging grasping hands and clicking jaws.
Her laughter — broken, terrified — echoed high in the ballroom, a desperate sound that didn't even sound like her anymore.
"ZOE!" Daniel shouted, trying to push through the crowd of mannequins, swinging the broken chair leg like a club.
The wood splintered against one mannequin's arm, but it barely flinched. They weren't made of plastic. They were something worse.
Lena sobbed behind him, trying to scream Zoe's name, but her voice cracked into nothing.
Zoe stumbled — a mannequin grabbing her ankle, dragging her down to the dusty floor.
"No, no, no, no!" she shrieked, kicking wildly, freeing herself for a moment.
She scrambled to her feet — but the mannequins circled tighter, a wall of frozen grins and outstretched hands.
Daniel caught a glimpse of her face — wild-eyed, pale, mascara streaking her cheeks like ink tears.
She wasn't going to make it.
And she knew it.
In that final moment, Zoe did the bravest, most heartbreaking thing Daniel had ever seen.
She laughed.
A real laugh — sharp and bitter and defiant.
The sound echoed off the cracked ceiling, mocking the twisted monsters, the cursed house, even fate itself.
"You want me?!" she screamed, her voice raw and broken.
"COME GET ME!"
She ran straight at the mannequins.
Straight into them.
For a breathless second, it was like time froze.
Daniel shoved forward — reaching for her — fingertips almost brushing hers—
Then they took her.
The mannequins swallowed her whole — a crushing, writhing mass of broken limbs and grinning faces.
Zoe's screams tore through the ballroom — high, brutal, full of rage and terror.
One mannequin clamped its hands around her face, pushing, pushing—
Another grabbed her ribs, pulling — the awful sounds of tearing flesh filling the air.
Her arms flailed — bloodied, trembling — and then went limp.
The mannequins tore her apart.
Piece by piece.
Her laughter died in a choked gasp.
All that was left was the wet sound of limbs hitting the ground, the sickening crack of bone snapping, the soft hiss of blood pooling across the ruined marble floor.
The music wound down to a slow, awful stop.
Silence fell.
And then the mannequins bowed — a grotesque, mocking bow — before retreating, disappearing into the shadowy doorways, dragging Zoe's remains with them like trophies.
All that was left was her mask, lying cracked and bloody in the center of the ballroom.
Daniel dropped to his knees, staring at the spot where Zoe had fallen.
It didn't feel real.
She had been alive just a second ago — laughing, running, fighting.
Now she was gone.
Snuffed out like a candle in a storm.
Lena sank beside him, weeping openly.
Maya turned away, vomiting into a dusty corner.
Harper just stood frozen, wide-eyed, clutching at the wall like it was the only thing keeping her standing.
Even Ethan — tough, brave Ethan — had tears running down his face.
The mansion's speakers crackled.
The voice spoke again — low and satisfied:
"Two players eliminated.
Seven remain."
Daniel pressed his forehead to the cold, cracked floor, fists clenched until his nails cut into his palms.
Chris.
Zoe.
Gone.
And it wasn't even close to over.
The remaining seven huddled together in the ruined ballroom, trembling, too broken to move.
For the first time since entering Hillview Mansion, Daniel realized something terrible.
They weren't going to all make it out.
Some — maybe most — were already doomed.
This wasn't just a game.
It was an execution.
And they were running out of time.
Far above, unseen behind the rotting walls and hidden passageways, the house watched them.
And it smiled.
Because it had only just begun.