Dead Curious
(See what I did there?)
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If there’s one thing about being dead (or, you know, ghost-adjacent), it’s that it gets boring really fast.
Aaron isn’t exactly Mr. Social, either. He goes out, comes back, barely acknowledges me—like I’m not the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to him. I mean, hello? A ghost in your penthouse? A beautiful, charming, totally not deranged ghost?
Nothing.
So, with absolutely nothing to do except haunt his extremely expensive furniture, I decided to entertain myself the old-fashioned way: breaking and entering.
Okay, fine. Maybe not breaking. Or entering. More like snooping in a house I technically live in. And when you think about it, this is his fault. You don’t give a ghost an entire mansion and expect them to sit in one room like a well-behaved houseplant.
Which brings me here.
To the only locked room in the mainhouse.
And I really don’t like locked doors.
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A Room Straight Out of a Horror Movie
The moment I step inside, I know I’ve made a mistake.
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For one, the air is heavy—like the kind of thick, static-charged atmosphere you get before a storm. The lights flicker slightly. The room itself is mostly bare, aside from a reinforced glass case in the center and a worktable covered in… knives?
I pause. Narrow my eyes.
Yeah. Knives. A lot of knives.
Some of them look normal enough. A few even seem ceremonial, like they belong in a museum. But there are others—pitch black, unnatural-looking—like they’ve been forged from something that isn’t metal.
I should probably be concerned about this.
Instead, my attention is completely stolen by the thing in the glass case.
It looks like a swirling mass of darkness, shifting and pulsing, like smoke trapped in a bottle. It doesn’t move like smoke, though. It reacts—like it knows I’m there.
And the best part?
The glass has weird inscriptions along the edges.
Now, I don’t read Eldritch Horror, but I’m going to take a wild guess and say this is not standard billionaire decor.
I cross my arms, staring at the thing in the case.
"Okay. Either you moonlight as a doomsday cult leader, or this is some next-level weirdness."
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Caught in the Act
"You break into my house, snoop around, and I'm the weird one?"
I jolt. Spin around.
Aaron is standing at the door, arms crossed, zero expression on his face. Classic.
He looks at me. Then at the very obvious fact that I’ve been poking around his forbidden room.
I gesture vaguely at the swirling void in the glass. "I mean, come on. That thing looks like it’ll eat my soul."
Aaron tilts his head. Smirks—just barely. "Where do you think the super in superhero comes from?"
I squint. "Okay, I hate that you have a point."
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The Lair Hunt Begins
After Aaron shoos me out of his creepy murder room, I follow him down the hall, still buzzing with a million questions.
"Okay, but seriously. Where’s your Batcave?"
Aaron doesn’t even look at me. "Don’t have one."
"Liar. You’re rich, brooding, and have a suspiciously large collection of throwing knives. If that doesn’t scream ‘secret lair,’ I don’t know what does."
He sighs. Keeps walking.
So naturally, I double down. "Come on. You can tell me. What, is it behind a bookshelf? Hidden in a fireplace? Ooh—do you have a secret elevator?"
Still nothing.
Until we reach my room.
And then—without warning—he reaches under my bed.
There’s a soft click.
And suddenly, the entire bedframe lifts up, revealing a hidden passage beneath.
I stare. Blink. Stare some more.
Then whip around to face him.
"You perv," I accuse. "Why would it be under my bed?"
Aaron gives me the blankest look imaginable. "Your room?" He tilts his head. "I don’t remember giving you a room."
Oh.
Oh, I hate him.
I open my mouth—ready to unleash the most spectacular roast of all time—but before I can, Aaron steps inside the hidden passage, glancing back at me.
"You coming or not?"
I should say no.
I should be cautious.
I should not follow a man into a dark, secret tunnel under my own bed.
… But I’m me.
So I follow him anyway.
Because if nothing else, this is way better than being bored.