Chapter 1

My podcast, "Crimson Echoes," was dying a slow death.

The metrics were brutal, a flat line of listener engagement that screamed boredom. I needed something new, something raw, something that listeners couldn't get anywhere else.

That' s when the email landed in my inbox.

The subject line was just two words: "The Blackwood Experience."

It promised an exclusive, five-person event, a weekend locked inside the infamous Blackwood Manor, a place steeped in dark local legends of disappearances and madness. It was advertised as the ultimate haunted mansion experience.

For me, it was content. Pure, unadulterated, potentially viral content. I pictured the episodes, the spooky audio I could capture, the narrative I could weave. It was a professional opportunity I couldn't pass up.

I signed up without a second thought.

The confirmation email was specific and unsettling.

"Five participants. No more, no less. Arrive at dusk. The gate will open once, and close once."

A week later, I was driving down a long, unpaved road, my recording equipment tucked safely in my duffel bag. The trees arched over the path, their branches like skeletal fingers, blocking out the last of the evening sun.

Blackwood Manor rose from the gloom. It wasn' t just old, it looked sick. The wood was dark and water-stained, windows like vacant eyes stared out over a yard choked with weeds. A tall, wrought-iron fence surrounded the entire property, its black spikes pointing accusingly at the sky.

A black car was already parked near the gate. A man leaned against it, his arms crossed. He was dressed head-to-toe in black, his long dark hair falling over his face. He looked up as I approached, his expression a mix of impatience and suspicion. This had to be the Goth Guy, Ethan.

I parked and got out, giving him a brief nod. He just stared back.

Soon after, a sleek, expensive-looking sedan pulled up. A woman in a sharp business suit stepped out, her heels crunching on the gravel. She was on her phone, her voice crisp and commanding. She ended the call with a sigh and surveyed the scene with a critical eye. That would be Chloe, the Tech CEO.

Next came a beat-up hatchback that sputtered to a stop. A young man with glasses and a nervous energy bounced out, wearing a t-shirt with a pixelated video game character on it. He looked around with wide, excited eyes, as if he' d just stepped into his favorite game. Alex, the Gamer.

Finally, a ridiculously flashy sports car roared up the drive. A woman with perfect hair and a full face of makeup emerged, already holding her phone up to film herself.

"Hey guys! It's your girl Britney, coming to you live from the literal creepiest place on Earth! Don't forget to like and subscribe!"

The Influencer. Of course.

That made five of us. Me, the Podcaster. Ethan, the Goth. Chloe, the CEO. Alex, the Gamer. Britney, the Influencer.

The exact number promised in the email.

We stood there in a weird, silent tableau, a collection of strangers sizing each other up. The air was thick with unspoken questions.

Just as I was about to break the silence, a rattling sound came from down the road.

A beat-up bicycle wobbled into view, ridden by a young man who looked like he' d just stumbled out of a college library. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder and a wide, almost goofy grin on his face.

He skidded to a stop near the gate, breathing heavily.

"Wow, I made it! I'm Mark. Found the flyer for this on the campus bulletin board. Can you believe it? So cool!"

We all stared at him.

Then we looked at each other.

I did a quick mental recount. One, two, three, four, five... and now him.

Six.

The email had been clear. Five participants.

A wave of unease washed over the group. Chloe lowered her phone, her brow furrowed. Ethan pushed himself off his car, his posture suddenly rigid.

"The ad said five people," Chloe stated, her voice sharp.

Mark' s smile faltered. "Oh. Are you sure? The flyer didn't mention a number."

Before anyone could answer, a loud, grinding screech echoed through the twilight.

We all turned towards the gate. The massive iron doors were swinging shut on their own, the ancient metal groaning in protest. They closed with a deafening clang, the sound final and absolute. A heavy lock clicked into place with a sound that echoed in the sudden silence.

We were trapped.

For a moment, nobody moved. The reality of the situation settled over us like a shroud.

Alex was the first to react. He ran to the gate and grabbed the bars, shaking them violently.

"Hey! Hello? This isn't funny!" he yelled.

The bars didn't budge. They were solid, immovable.

Chloe marched over, her professional demeanor cracking. She examined the lock, then the hinges, her sharp mind looking for a logical flaw.

"There's no mechanism," she said, her voice tight. "No keypad, no motor. It just... closed."

Ethan walked the perimeter of the fence, his hands in his pockets. He stopped and kicked a section of it. The resulting thud was disappointingly solid.

"It's solid steel, and at least ten feet high," he announced to the group, his voice flat. "We're not climbing that."

Panic started to bubble up. Britney had stopped filming, her phone hanging limply at her side. Her perfect smile was gone, replaced by a mask of genuine fear.

"This has to be part of the show, right?" she asked, her voice trembling. "A prank to scare us?"

No one answered her.

We all knew, deep down, this wasn't a prank. The arrival of the sixth person, the gate closing on its own... this wasn't part of any show.

This was something else entirely.

We had willingly walked into a cage, and the door had just been locked behind us.