Still holding the diary, Emma made her way back to the main floor. As she walked, the noise grew louder and more urgent, as if something was pulling itself across the floor. Emma felt an unshakable tingle of being watched; still, she persisted out of curiosity. In the large vestibule, she found a mirror, its glass cloudy and dusty. As she brushed some dust off the mirror, her image echoed for just a moment as she caught a glimpse of a dark figure directly behind her. Emma turned around quickly, only to find nothing there. Only her heart pounding rapidly. She told herself that her eyes were playing tricks on her and that she was just on edge. Regardless, the subtle image still lingered like a shadow. With determination, Emma pushed further into the secrets of the manor, and in one of the upstairs bedrooms, she found a locked door behind a heavy velvet curtain. After considerable effort, she finally got the door open. The room’s contents were preserved nearly as if time had stood still— a shrine to the family’s devastating history. In the center of the room was an ornate coffin, and all the walls were scrawled with symbols of protection and warding spells in faded paint. It was clear to Emma that this was no mere family crypt, but a place where the living and dead had blurred boundaries. As midnight drew near, the atmosphere became stifling. A dense fog began to push through the damaged windows, and the temperature began to drop. Emma felt an indescribable urge to venture toward the manor’s center—a calling to face the ghosts of the manor. In a sudden moment of rational thought, she understood that the diary and the crypt were connected; Redwood Manor’s past was not only a procession of deep sorrowful moments, but a repeated loop of sorrow feeding the evil residing within the manor. The house suddenly shook, and it felt like it was breathing. The walls moaned, and an unsettling sound hung in the air, a funeral story for mourned souls lost long ago. Emma gripped the diary tightly and returned to the crypt, her flashlight made endurance one spin in every 5 feet. Upon returning to the crypt, the temperature dropped to a disturbing low. In a final act of bravery, she opened the coffin. Within it lay a figure covered with a torn, soiled funeral shroud, and its face draped in darkness. For an instant, Emma thought it was Lillian, but as she directed her light onto the figure, she realized it was not the young girl at all, but a creature, whose eyes glimmered with a chilling, drab light. Before she could comprehend the situation, the being stirred—its limbs shifting in unnatural angles. A low throaty sound echoed throughout the room, as the stench of decomposition engulfed the air. Emma stumbled backward as the being climbed out of the coffin, a sense of dread washing over her whole and engulfing the entire room. She felt her rational mind began to tremble as its focus centered on her with its finger drawn long and bony, accusing her of disrupting its eternal slumber. At this point, the reality of the manor set in. The walls throbbed with a malevolent life force—life—while the floor beneath her feet appeared to pulse like dark water. The being began advancing slowly with its ever-hollowed eyes fixed intent on Emma. In a burst of desperation, she began to run down the hallway in any direction as it dove deeper into the nightmare that was unfolding around her. The manor appeared to distort around her, hallways twisting inward, doors leading to nowhere. Each time she went around a corner, she’d see flashes of ghostly silhouettes—faces contorted in pain, hands reaching for a salvation that would never come. The sound of the advancing pursuer echoed through the silence, proof she was not alone in her plight. Just when it seemed hope was lost, Emma came across a narrow, forgotten passage, hidden behind a fallen stone wall. With no other options, she found the strength to wriggle through the narrow opening, her body bruised, her mind on the fringe of insanity.