Chapter 2

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. The only sound was Alex continuing to rattle the gate, a useless, frantic rhythm of denial.

"Okay, stop," I said, my voice louder than I intended.

Everyone looked at me. Alex let his hands fall from the bars.

"Panicking isn't going to help," I continued, trying to channel the calm, analytical persona from my podcast. "We need to figure this out. First things first, we should probably know who we're trapped with."

Chloe scoffed. "And what good will that do? We need a plan to get out, not a group therapy session."

"She's right," Ethan muttered from the shadows near the fence. "Knowing your name won't stop whatever is going on here."

"Maybe," I conceded, "but running around like headless chickens won't either. We're stuck here together. We might as well have a basic understanding of who everyone is. It builds a little trust."

A flicker of interest crossed Chloe's face. Trust was a currency she understood.

"But," I added, looking around at the tense faces, "I also suggest we don't use our real names. Our full names, anyway. This whole thing is weird. Let's just use first names, or even nicknames. Protect our privacy, just in case."

This seemed to land better. The idea of maintaining some anonymity was comforting. It created a buffer, a small shield against the creeping intimacy of our shared predicament.

"I'll go first," I said, deciding someone had to take the lead. "You can call me Sarah. I host a podcast. A true-crime one. I came here for material for my new season." I left out the part about my failing numbers. No need to show weakness.

The attention shifted to the others.

Ethan, the Goth, spoke next, his voice a low grumble. "Ethan. I'm a graphic novelist. I needed inspiration for a dark story." He looked at the mansion. "Looks like I found it."

Chloe, the CEO, straightened her suit jacket, a pointless gesture of reclaiming control. "I'm Chloe. I run a tech company. I do extreme challenges. Iron Mans, mountain climbing. I thought this would be a mental one."

Alex, the Gamer, pushed his glasses up his nose. "Alex. I'm a game developer. I was hoping to find some, you know, real-life easter eggs. See how a horror experience is designed from the inside." His voice was shaky, his initial excitement completely gone.

Britney, the Influencer, raised her phone again, though she didn't seem to be recording. It was more like a nervous habit. "Britney," she said, her voice a little too bright. "I'm a content creator. My followers love spooky stuff."

All eyes then turned to the last arrival. The sixth man.

Mark.

He seemed to shrink under the collective gaze. His earlier enthusiasm had evaporated, replaced by a nervous energy.

"I'm Mark," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm a student. I just... I thought it sounded fun. The flyer was on the main board at the university student center."

Chloe' s eyes narrowed. "A flyer? We all got personalized emails. It was an exclusive invitation."

"I... I don't know," Mark stammered. "It was just a piece of paper tacked to the board. It said 'Haunted Mansion Experience' and gave this address."

The suspicion in the air was so thick you could taste it. He was the anomaly. The sixth person. The one who didn't fit the pattern. His story was different, his presence unexplained. He was the wrench in the machine.

Was he part of the "show"? A plant sent to mess with us? Or was he something else?

The question hung there, unanswered.

With the introductions over, the fragile sense of purpose I had tried to build dissolved. The silence returned, but this time it was different. It was heavier, laced with paranoia.

We were six strangers, trapped outside a malevolent-looking house.

And one of us was not supposed to be here.

The foundation of our little group was already cracked, and the night had barely begun.