Chapter 6: Survival Game - Extra long chapter

The east wing of the mansion was unusually cold that night, each breath Marcus took turning into a misty wisp in the air. He didn't know what had drawn him to that particular corridor—a faint sound, perhaps, like a lullaby sung in reverse.

Before he realized it, he was standing before a warped wooden door. Its surface was covered in deep scratches, as though something had tried to claw its way out. A faint glow seeped through the cracks.

He hesitated, but curiosity—or recklessness—got the better of him. With a firm push, the door groaned open.

The room was dimly lit by a single flickering oil lamp. On a small wooden table in the center sat a porcelain doll, its glassy eyes locked onto him the moment he entered.

"Well, aren't you charming?" Marcus muttered, his fingers tightening around his cane.

The door slammed shut behind him with a deafening bang. He spun around, reaching for the handle, but it refused to budge. The room seemed to darken as a chilling wind blew through, snuffing out the lamp.

In the pitch-black silence, a soft giggle echoed.

A pale blue light flared up before him. Floating in the air was a translucent panel, like a ghostly touchscreen, its text glowing faintly:

"Game Initiated: Hide and Seek."

"Objective: Survive Until Dawn."

"Rules: You must hide. The seeker must not find you. The game ends at sunrise."

Before Marcus could react, the panel vanished, replaced by the haunting voice of a child.

"Ready or not… here I come."

The doll on the table began to move, its head snapping toward him with a sickening crack. Its body twisted and jerked as it rose to its feet, its tiny hands reaching out.

Marcus backed away, trying to maintain his usual bravado. "Oh, fantastic. A possessed doll. Just what I needed to spice up my night."

The doll giggled, a high-pitched, bone-chilling sound. The voice followed, distorted and echoing. "Hide, Marcus. The clock is ticking."

A sound like a distant clock tower chimed, and the room seemed to stretch and warp. The walls melted into shadows, and when the darkness cleared, Marcus found himself in a different part of the mansion.

The corridor was unrecognizable, lined with decayed portraits whose painted eyes seemed to follow him. The air carried the faint scent of mildew and something metallic—blood.

The doll's voice whispered through the halls. "I'm coming for you."

Marcus darted into a decrepit study and crouched behind a heavy desk. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the sound of tiny footsteps.

"Marcus," the voice sang, playful yet venomous. "You can't hide forever."

The footsteps stopped outside the room. Marcus's chest tightened.

The door creaked open, and the doll's head poked inside, turning unnaturally as its glassy eyes scanned the room. It took a step forward, then another, muttering to itself, "I smell fear."

At that moment, Marcus's stomach betrayed him. A loud, unmistakable gurgle echoed through the study.

The doll froze, its head snapping in his direction.

Marcus sighed. "Oh, come on. Really? Now?"

The doll tilted its head. "Did your stomach just—"

"Yes, yes, it did," Marcus interrupted, standing up abruptly. "Do you mind? I haven't eaten properly all day. Being chased by creepy dolls doesn't exactly leave room for a snack break."

The doll seemed genuinely taken aback. "Uh… this is awkward."

Marcus folded his arms. "Awkward for you? Try explaining this to my digestive system!"

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. The doll shuffled its feet, its earlier malevolence replaced by an almost sheepish demeanor.

"Well," the doll said hesitantly, "you could have a snack before we continue…"

Marcus arched an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

The doll nodded, pulling out a small ghostly sandwich from thin air and offering it to him.

Marcus stared at the translucent sandwich, then back at the doll. "This isn't poisoned or cursed, is it?"

The doll looked offended. "I'm a seeker, not a chef of doom. It's… uh, ectoplasm-free."

With a shrug, Marcus took the sandwich and took a tentative bite. It was surprisingly good. "Not bad. You should open a café or something."

The doll tapped its chin thoughtfully. "You think so?"

"I mean, it'd be less creepy than stalking people through haunted mansions," Marcus replied through a mouthful of ghost sandwich.

The doll chuckled nervously, scratching the back of its head. "Fair point. Anyway, back to the game?"

Marcus sighed, finishing the sandwich. "Yeah, yeah. Let's get this over with."

The doll's malevolent aura returned instantly, its voice cold and sharp. "I'm going to find you, Marcus."

As Marcus dashed into another corridor, he muttered under his breath, "Honestly, this mansion just keeps getting weirder."

As Marcus sprinted down the dimly lit corridor, the sound of the doll's porcelain feet clicking against the floor echoed behind him. His breath came in short bursts, but amidst the adrenaline-fueled chaos, a bizarre thought crossed his mind: This mansion is so damn weird.

Dodging a swinging chandelier that decided to join in on the game, Marcus huffed to himself. A doll that initiates hide-and-seek and can cook? What's next, a ghostly sommelier offering wine pairings with screams?

He darted around a corner, narrowly avoiding a flying chair. But seriously, a doll that can cook… He shook his head, almost laughing despite himself. If I survive this, I might actually hire her. A cooking doll? Could be a game-changer for ghost dormitory management.

His musings were cut short as the doll's shrill voice echoed through the halls: "You can't run forever, Marcus! Let me make you a final meal!"

Marcus groaned, leaping over a stack of precariously placed books. "You'd think someone who can whip up a ghostly sandwich wouldn't be so murderous," he muttered. "What's her problem, anyway? Too much salt in her recipe?"

The mansion groaned in agreement—or perhaps it was just shifting to join in the madness. Marcus spared a glance behind him, catching sight of the doll waving a chef's knife gleefully.

"Well," he muttered under his breath, ducking into a hidden alcove. "If she catches me, I'll suggest she pivot to opening a cursed bistro instead. 'Knife and Fork: Where the Food's to Die For.'"

He snorted softly at his own joke, though his amusement was short-lived as the doll's laughter grew louder, signaling she was close.

Marcus darted around the corner of the hallway, his heart pounding as he pressed himself flat against the wall. The faint click-click-click of the doll's porcelain feet echoed somewhere in the distance, growing louder and louder as it roamed the mansion in search of him.

"Come out, Marcus," the doll's high-pitched, sing-song voice echoed, laced with a sinister edge. "We're just playing a little game. Why are you hiding from me?"

Marcus wiped the sweat from his brow, muttering under his breath, "Hiding? Oh, I'm not hiding. I'm strategically evading, thank you very much."

He crouched low and tiptoed down the corridor, careful not to make a sound. The mansion seemed alive, shifting its walls and creaking as though it delighted in the chaos. Each room he passed seemed to mock him—doors slammed shut, chandeliers flickered ominously, and paintings turned to glare at him.

Turning a corner, Marcus ducked into a storage room and carefully closed the door behind him. The room was packed with old furniture draped in white sheets, their shadowy shapes looking like ghostly sentinels in the dim light. He crouched behind a large wardrobe, clutching his cane tightly.

From the hallway came the doll's voice, soft and mocking: "Marcus… you can't hide forever. Let's play!"

Marcus grimaced. Oh, I beg to differ. I've been avoiding my problems for years; I'm practically a professional at this.

Suddenly, a scraping sound came from behind him. He froze. Slowly turning his head, he saw a rocking chair in the corner begin to move on its own. Its rhythmic creak-c-r-e-a-k sent a chill down his spine.

"Great," he muttered. "The furniture's joining in now. What's next? A lamp trying to strangle me?"

The wardrobe next to him shuddered, and he jumped back just as the door creaked open. Inside, a stack of old shoes tumbled out, revealing… nothing.

Marcus let out a breath of relief. "You're getting jumpy, old boy," he whispered to himself.

But then came the unmistakable sound of porcelain tapping on the floorboards—inside the storage room.

He whipped around, his eyes scanning the dim room, but there was no sign of the doll. The room felt unnaturally still.

And then…

"Found you!"

Marcus yelped as the doll dropped from the ceiling right in front of him, landing with a thud. Her porcelain face gleamed eerily in the dim light, and her glassy eyes locked onto his. She brandished a small, gleaming knife, her painted smile growing wider as though it could stretch off her face.

Without thinking, Marcus grabbed the nearest object—a dusty candlestick—and hurled it at her. The doll ducked, giggling maniacally. "Missed me!"

Marcus didn't wait for a second chance. He bolted out of the storage room, slamming the door shut behind him and racing down the hallway. The doll's laughter echoed after him, followed by the tap-tap-tap of her relentless pursuit.

"You're terrible at this game!" the doll shrieked, her voice echoing unnaturally.

Marcus rounded another corner, ducking into a parlor filled with antique mirrors. He crouched low, peering out from behind a sofa. For a moment, all was silent except for the sound of his own heavy breathing.

Maybe I lost her, he thought, cautiously peeking over the edge of the sofa.

A sudden giggle rang out—right behind him. Marcus whipped around to see the doll climbing up onto the sofa, her knife gleaming in the firelight.

"Oh, come on!" he yelled, leaping over the furniture and running toward the nearest door.

"Stay still!" the doll screamed, her small legs carrying her unnaturally fast as she chased him through the mansion.

Marcus ducked into another room, slamming the door and bracing himself against it. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. This house… he thought, shaking his head. This house is absolutely insane.

He leaned his head against the door, muttering to himself. "A murderous doll that can cook. Maybe I should hire her. She'd be great in the kitchen. Just… keep the knives out of reach."

The sound of the doll pounding on the door jolted him back to the moment. "You can't hide forever, Marcus!" she sang.

"I wasn't planning on it," he muttered. Looking around the room, he spotted an open vent in the corner. He sighed. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

With a groan, he scrambled into the vent, crawling as fast as he could. Behind him, the door burst open, and the doll's laughter echoed through the room.

"Marcus! Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

He gritted his teeth and kept crawling. "Just until dawn," he whispered to himself. "Survive until dawn, and this nightmare ends."

The mansion groaned in response, as if mocking him. The game was far from over.

As the clock inched closer to dawn, Marcus could feel the air in the mansion change. It grew heavier, colder, and oppressive, as if the very walls had come alive and conspired against him. He darted from room to room, his heart pounding so loudly he feared the doll might hear it.

The faint chime of the mansion's ancient grandfather clock echoed through the halls. Five minutes left.

Suddenly, the floor beneath his feet creaked ominously. Marcus froze, his breath caught in his throat. He looked down, only to see the polished wooden planks begin to ripple like water.

"What fresh hell is this?" he muttered, stumbling backward as the floor began to split, jagged cracks spreading like spiderwebs.

From within the cracks, shadowy tendrils emerged, writhing and reaching for him. Marcus leapt to the side, narrowly avoiding one that lashed out like a whip.

The doll's voice echoed through the mansion, gleeful and taunting. "The house loves to play too, Marcus! It wants to see you lose!"

Marcus sprinted down the hallway, his eyes darting around for any safe haven. But the mansion had turned into a maze of horrors. Doors slammed shut as he approached them, windows sealed themselves with iron bars, and walls groaned as they shifted, narrowing the corridors and forcing him closer to the doll's laughter.

"I swear," Marcus panted as he ran, "if I survive this, I'm moving into a tent. A nice, non-haunted tent."

A chandelier above him rattled violently before breaking free and crashing to the ground in a shower of glass and metal. Marcus rolled to the side, avoiding the debris just in time.

The doll appeared at the end of the hallway, her eyes glowing with a sinister light. "You can't escape, Marcus. The house and I are one. Let's finish this!"

With a flick of her tiny hand, the shadows surged toward him, forming clawed hands that clawed at his legs. Marcus tripped and fell hard onto the floor, his cane rolling out of reach.

"Not now!" he growled, scrambling to his feet. He grabbed a nearby vase and hurled it at the doll, but the shadows absorbed the impact effortlessly.

Four minutes left.

The walls seemed to pulse, the air vibrating with an eerie hum. A mirror in the hallway suddenly shattered, and Marcus caught his own distorted reflection in the shards—wide-eyed, panicked, and utterly out of his depth.

Another door slammed open behind him, and Marcus didn't hesitate. He darted inside, only to find himself in a twisted version of the dining room. The long table was covered in rotten food, and the chairs moved on their own, screeching as they shuffled into place.

In the center of the table sat the doll. Her head turned toward him with an audible crack. "You're making this so much fun, Marcus. But time's almost up."

Marcus backed away, but the door he had just entered slammed shut behind him. The walls seemed to close in, groaning and creaking as the room began to warp.

"Think, Marcus, think!" he muttered, scanning the room. His eyes landed on a candelabra on the table, its flickering flames still burning brightly despite the chaos.

With a sudden burst of inspiration, he grabbed the candelabra and hurled it at the doll. The flames licked at her dress, and for the first time, her expression twisted into something other than amusement.

"No!" she screeched, the shadows around her recoiling.

Three minutes left.

The mansion retaliated. The walls shuddered violently, and the ceiling began to crack. Marcus ran for the nearest door, shoving it open and plunging into another hallway. The air was frigid, his breath visible in the dim light.

Paintings on the walls seemed to come alive, their subjects reaching out with ghostly hands. Marcus ducked and weaved, dodging their grasp as he sprinted forward.

Two minutes left.

The doll's laughter grew louder, echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once. "You can't win, Marcus. This is my game!"

Marcus burst into a grand foyer, the front door tantalizingly close. But as he approached, the floor suddenly collapsed, leaving a gaping void between him and the exit.

"I'm starting to think this house has trust issues," Marcus muttered, glancing around for an alternative. He spotted a chandelier chain dangling nearby and grabbed it without hesitation.

With a deep breath, he swung across the void, landing ungracefully on the other side.

One minute left.

The doll appeared in front of him, her dress singed but her determination unbroken. "You think you can survive, Marcus? You think you can win?"

Marcus raised his cane, his eyes narrowing. "I don't think. I know."

As the clock began to chime the final strokes of midnight, Marcus lunged forward, dodging the doll's shadows and racing toward the nearest window.

The first rays of dawn pierced through the glass, flooding the mansion with light. The shadows recoiled, and the doll let out an ear-piercing scream as her body began to crack and crumble.

"No! This isn't fair! We were just starting to have fun!"

Marcus shielded his eyes as the light consumed her, leaving behind nothing but silence. The mansion seemed to sigh, the oppressive atmosphere lifting as the sun rose higher into the sky.

Marcus collapsed onto the floor, his chest heaving. "That," he muttered, "was the worst game of hide-and-seek ever."

He sat there for a moment, staring at the now-ordinary room around him. Then, with a wry grin, he said, "A murderous doll, a sentient house, and a game that nearly killed me. Maybe I should start charging rent for them too."

Marcus grabbed his cane, his fingers tightening around the worn handle as he hauled himself to his feet. His chest still heaved from the ordeal, but his expression shifted, a wild grin spreading across his face. His eyes glinted with a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration, the kind of look that said he had been pushed to his limit—and found something dangerous waiting on the other side.

He brushed the dust off his coat, muttering to himself, "Survive until dawn? Sure, I played along. But now..."

Marcus raised the cane, inspecting it as though it held the answers to the universe. Then he slammed it against the floor with a resounding thud.

The sound reverberated through the room, unnaturally loud, as if the mansion itself had paused to listen. The air around him seemed to shift, growing heavier, but this time it wasn't oppressive—it was commanding.

His grin widened into something almost feral. "Now it's time to play my game!"

The tap of his cane sent a ripple through the floor, and the room darkened, the light of dawn replaced by an eerie glow. The walls trembled slightly, as if unsure whether to resist or obey. Marcus could feel it—the power in the mansion, the lingering presence of its strange rules and malevolent will. But he wasn't afraid.

"No more running, no more hiding. You wanted to play? Let's see how you like being the one hunted."

The room grew colder, and the shadows that had once chased him flickered uncertainly. A low hum filled the air, growing louder as Marcus twirled his cane and planted it firmly in front of him.

"I've had it with creepy dolls, sentient furniture, and this haunted Airbnb special. Time to turn the tables."

The shadows crept closer, hesitant, as if testing his resolve. Marcus tilted his head, his grin never faltering. "Come on, don't be shy now. Let's see who breaks first—me or this house of horrors."

The mansion groaned in protest, and for the first time, Marcus thought he heard something almost like fear in the sound. He chuckled darkly.

"Tick-tock, little doll. Dawn may have saved me, but now I'm the one setting the rules. Let's dance."

With another sharp tap of his cane, the glow intensified, and the room seemed to shift under his command. Marcus took a step forward, his grin sharp enough to cut through the dark. The mansion wasn't the only one with tricks anymore.

Marcus raised his cane, his eyes gleaming with madness and resolve. With a deliberate motion, he tapped it against the floor again.

THUD!

The mansion groaned in response, an unsettling sound like the creak of old wood under immense strain. The walls seemed to shudder, the floor beneath him quivering as though the very structure feared what was to come.

He grinned wider, baring his teeth. "You hear that? Even your precious mansion knows who's in charge now!"

THUD!

Another tap of his cane echoed through the eerie silence, and this time, the entire hallway seemed to compress, the walls groaning under invisible pressure. The faint glow from the candles flickered wildly, as if caught in a storm. The squeaks and creaks of the mansion grew louder, almost like a cacophony of terrified whispers.

The doll emerged from a nearby shadow, its beady eyes glinting with malice. But as Marcus took a step forward, it hesitated, its porcelain face twitching unnaturally.

THUD!

Marcus slammed the cane down again, and this time, the chandelier above him swung violently, its chains straining. The floors beneath the doll cracked, sending jagged splits through the wood. The mansion screamed in protest, its sinister will faltering under the weight of his defiance.

"Go ahead, run if you want!" Marcus sneered, his voice laced with taunting bravado. "I'm not just playing your game anymore—I'm rewriting it!"

With each step, each tap of his cane, the mansion seemed to bend and groan, the oppressive force that had been hunting him now recoiling like a wounded animal. The air grew thick, but not with dread—it pulsed with a sense of rebellion, as though Marcus's will was carving cracks into the very soul of the house.

The doll lunged at him, but Marcus sidestepped effortlessly, swinging the cane to knock it aside. The porcelain creature skittered across the floor, but when it tried to stand, the ground beneath it warped, tilting unnaturally as Marcus tapped the cane again.

THUD!

The sound reverberated like a thunderclap, and the mansion shuddered violently. Walls began to twist, the oppressive atmosphere giving way to sheer chaos as Marcus laughed, a deep, resonating chuckle that echoed through every corner of the house.

"Creak all you want!" Marcus roared. "This is MY game now!"

The mansion let out one final groan, louder than ever, as though on the verge of collapse. The doll froze, its tiny fists trembling, and for the first time, Marcus swore he saw fear in its lifeless, painted eyes.

The mansion groaned deeply, a sound like a dying beast, as if Marcus's defiance had awakened something it wanted to forget. The oppressive weight of the house, once stifling and overpowering, now seemed to retreat, replaced by a faint tremor—a trembling fear that reverberated through every wall and floorboard.

The doll, once bold and relentless, now staggered back, its painted face cracked slightly as if the pressure of Marcus's will was too much to bear. Its tiny, lifeless eyes darted around the room, no longer filled with malice but something far more human: panic.

Marcus smirked, his shadow stretching unnaturally along the warped walls as he stood tall. "What's the matter? Didn't expect a little pushback?" He tapped the cane again, and the sound seemed to ripple through the mansion like a thunderclap.

THUD!

The chandelier above swayed violently, its crystals scattering fractured light across the room. The paintings on the walls, once eerily still, tilted askew as if recoiling. Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed shut with a force that sent a gust of wind rushing down the hall.

The doll let out a high-pitched whine, a sound too unnatural for a toy. Its tiny body twitched and convulsed as if it was being torn between fight and flight. Then, for the briefest moment, it looked up at Marcus, and he swore he saw something deeper—a flicker of recognition, as though it had seen this before.

"You remember, don't you?" Marcus said, his grin widening. "You know I'm not just some guest in this cursed house. I'm your reminder."

The doll stumbled backward, its small hands trembling. The mansion creaked again, louder this time, as though crying out in protest. Marcus laughed, a deep, resonating sound that filled the space. "Oh, this is rich. You're afraid, aren't you? Afraid of the old master you once served!"

As he spoke, the air in the room seemed to grow colder, and an unseen weight pressed down on everything. The mansion itself seemed to shiver, its malevolent presence shrinking under the weight of something ancient and powerful—something Marcus had awakened.

The walls began to warp and bend, not to trap Marcus, but as if the house itself was trying to flee. The doll's movements became frantic. Its jerky motions betrayed its fear, and for a moment, it looked as though it wanted to plead with Marcus, its tiny arms reaching out before dropping limp.

"You thought you could scare me?" Marcus said, tapping the cane one last time. The floor beneath him cracked like a spider's web, the sound echoing like thunder. "This isn't your game anymore. It's mine. And the next time you think about hunting someone, remember me—and remember the one who made you."

The doll let out one last shriek before disappearing into the shadows, and the mansion went silent, its oppressive aura retreating entirely. Marcus exhaled, standing tall amidst the eerie calm that followed.

Marcus slammed the cane down one last time, his voice cutting through the suffocating stillness like a blade. "Get back here!" he roared, his voice filled with a commanding authority that sent shockwaves through the mansion.

With the tap of his cane, the entire house seemed to shudder and groan. The oppressive darkness that had scattered moments before now converged, pulled inexorably toward a single point—the place where the cane had struck the floor. Shadows and whispers alike twisted and spiraled, as though the very essence of the house was being forced to bow before him.

The little doll appeared once more, dragged from the depths of the shadows by an unseen force. Its once-menacing presence was now pitiful, its tiny body trembling violently as it was pulled to its knees before Marcus. The painted cracks on its face spread further, and its head twitched erratically as though resisting the inevitable.

"Do you yield?!" Marcus bellowed, his voice reverberating through the mansion with a terrifying finality. The walls creaked, the windows rattled, and the chandelier above shattered, its shards raining down in slow motion, glinting like stars caught in Marcus's orbit of dominance.

The doll let out a faint, keening whimper, its once-defiant eyes now wide with terror. Its tiny limbs twitched, trying to resist, but the weight of Marcus's will was absolute.

"Submit to me!" he demanded, his eyes blazing with a maddening intensity. He raised the cane high, then brought it down with a deafening CRACK. The point of impact glowed, a fiery ember spreading like veins through the floorboards, walls, and ceiling, until the entire mansion seemed caught in the throes of submission.

The doll's painted mouth opened, and for the first time, it spoke in a cracked, wavering voice:

"I... yield. Master."

The mansion stilled, its chaotic energy dissolving into a profound silence. The oppressive presence was gone, replaced by an eerie calm that hung in the air like the aftermath of a storm.

Marcus stepped forward, looking down at the doll with a mixture of triumph and disdain. "Good," he said, his voice cold yet satisfied. He leaned down slightly, tapping the doll's cracked head with the tip of his cane. "Next time, don't make me remind you who's in charge."

The doll's form shuddered, then slumped lifelessly to the floor, its body limp as if the very life had been drained from it. Marcus straightened his coat and adjusted his hat, a crooked grin spreading across his face.

"Now," he muttered, turning on his heel, "let's see what else this madhouse has to offer."