The Eighth One

Toby crouched in the shadowy stairwell, ears straining for any hint of movement around him. The second-floor landing provided the perfect vantage point—he could see both the third and second-floor hallways from here, and no matter which direction the killer approached from, he would have a head start to escape.

The dim lights flickered ominously, casting long, creeping shadows over the already dark hallways. A haunting melody echoed through the air, the eerie soundtrack making Toby's skin crawl. It was as if the whole place had been designed to feed off fear, amplifying the terror that gripped his heart.

He pinched his arm sharply, wincing at the sudden pain, and inhaled deeply. As a medical student, he knew the trick well—mild pain and deep breathing could help refocus the mind, dispelling panic.

"There's something wrong with the timing of that monster's appearance," Toby muttered under his breath, his mind racing as he replayed the events from moments ago. "Old Zhao had just figured out that there was an eighth person among us—someone who shouldn't be here—and right after that, the creature charged. That can't be a coincidence."

The memory of the chaos that had followed flickered in his mind. "If only we'd listened when Zhao found out about the extra person. If Luke had just pulled out his phone and shown us everyone's faces, we might have figured out who the imposter was. But we missed that chance."

Toby sighed softly, the weight of what had happened pressing down on him. "Then, when the creature rushed us, if we'd stayed put instead of scattering like headless chickens, we wouldn't have been split up. That was our second chance, and we blew it."

He leaned against the cold wall, rubbing his temples as he pieced it all together. "The first one to run set off the panic. That person has to be the eighth—the imposter. It was Hannah who screamed second, and she was closest to whoever ran first. That lines up."

It was one thing to figure it all out, Toby thought grimly, but it was another to deal with the dread gnawing at his insides. His mind might be sharp, but he wasn't exactly brave. Standing alone in this haunted house, every creak and gust of wind felt like icy fingers crawling up his spine.

The killer's strategy was sophisticated. "They're using fear, herd mentality, and the deserter's instinct to break us apart," Toby mused, eyes darting around nervously. "But for what? To scare us? Why go to such lengths just for that?"

Despite his sharp intellect, Toby's nerves were shot. He wasn't exactly the courageous type—back at school, he'd never dared enter the lab alone, even in broad daylight. The thought of reuniting with Luke and the others suddenly felt like a lifeline.

He pulled out his phone, the faint glow illuminating his pale face as he stared at the screen. Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine. His gaze shifted, and he froze.

"That... that doll... Why is it on the stairs?"

A small, tattered doll lay there, motionless. He was sure he'd thrown it into the third-floor hallway earlier. His fingers tightened around the phone. "Did someone kick it down here by accident when we were running?"

The rational explanation made sense, but the unease that gripped him refused to loosen its hold. Toby had inspected the doll before; it was just a ragged thing, stuffed with paper, no mechanical parts that could explain it moving on its own. He shook his head. "It's just a doll... right?"

And yet, looking at it now, Toby couldn't shake the creeping feeling that the thing was more than just an object. It felt... alive, almost. There was a pathetic sadness about it, a kind of forlorn look in its cracked eyes.

"I must be losing it," he muttered, stepping back from the doll. "This place is messing with my head."

Trying to shake off the irrational thoughts, Toby dialed Luke's number. The phone rang once, twice, and then—suddenly—Toby's heart leapt into his throat as he heard the ringtone echo down the third-floor hallway.

"He's still up there? Or did he drop his phone, like Old Zhao?"

The dissonant sound of the ringtone reverberating through the eerie halls only added to the already stifling atmosphere. Toby didn't hang up. Instead, he pocketed his phone and crept up to the third-floor landing.

Luke's phone lay discarded in the middle of the hallway.

"Both Old Zhao and Luke are without their phones," Toby muttered, voice low. He felt the weight of the empty corridor pressing down on him. The doors on either side of the hall swayed slightly, creaking as they opened and closed in the draft. He swallowed hard.

Just as he was about to try calling someone else, his phone buzzed in his hand, making him nearly jump out of his skin. He glanced down. A name appeared on the screen: Anna.

"What the hell? Anna? What is she doing calling me?" His heart raced. "Is she alone too?"

In a surge of bravado, Toby answered, forcing confidence into his voice. "Anna, where are you? You got separated from the group? Tell me where you are, and I'll come get you."

Her voice came through the line, frantic and edged with panic. "I'm locked in one of the rooms on the third floor! I didn't see the number, but the door won't open! You need to come, Toby—there's something wrong with this room!"

Anna was usually so calm and composed, but the distress in her voice now was palpable, pushing Toby's nerves to the edge. His mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening.

"Wait, how did you get locked inside?" Toby asked, starting to walk down the hallway. He kept his voice steady, hoping to calm her. "These rooms don't have locks."

"I don't know! I shut the door behind me, and now it won't budge!" she cried. "Toby, there's something wrong with this room. There are two dolls sitting in the middle—right in the center of the room."

Toby's blood ran cold at the mention of the dolls. His grip tightened on the phone, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Sitting? You mean they're... sitting up?"

"Yes!" Anna's voice was rising in pitch, the panic clear. "You have to hurry, Toby! Please!"

"I'm coming," he replied, trying to keep his own fear in check. "Don't touch anything, Anna. Remember what Hayden told us—don't touch anything inside these rooms. I think the dolls..."

He trailed off, the words catching in his throat as his eyes fell on the floor in front of him. Just half a meter away lay another doll. This one was different, though. It wasn't the same one from the stairs—it had long hair, and its face was twisted in an expression of anguish and guilt.

Toby felt his knees go weak. He was barely holding it together. "What... the... hell...?"

He crouched down, staring at the doll in disbelief. "It's not the same. This one's more... mature, somehow. The expression, the detail—it's too lifelike. This can't be a coincidence."

His heart pounded in his chest. Was he losing his mind, or was this haunted house designed to make him believe that these dolls were somehow alive, aware? He shook his head. "No. It's just fear. Just this damn place getting to me."

Still, he couldn't deny the eerie realism of the doll's features. It almost seemed like it had emotions of its own, like it was mourning something.

"This has gone way beyond what I expected," Toby muttered, backing away from the doll. "But at least it proves they don't move on their own. If this one's different from the one on the stairs, they aren't following me. The worst hasn't happened... yet."

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "I need to focus. Anna's in trouble, and I have to get her out of that room."

As he moved forward, he glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the doll creeping up behind him. But the hallway was empty. "It's all in my head," he reassured himself, though his voice lacked conviction.

Then, just as he was about to take the next step, his gaze landed on something behind him, freezing him in place. There, just a meter away, another doll lay, face down on the floor, its long hair splayed out like a shadow.

Toby's breath caught in his throat.