A deafening bang shattered the cool night air, my ears ringing as the shot echoed through the darkness. One of the wolves staggered back with a pained whimper, its glowing eyes narrowing in shock. The others recoiled, momentarily stunned by the noise. Seizing the brief window of opportunity, I sprinted towards the mansion doors, my heart pounding in my chest. The sharp tang of gunpowder lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of damp earth as I ran, every instinct screaming for me to move faster, to reach safety before the wolves recovered.

I pull the door open, its hinges screeching against the old timber. I hear the wolves behind me recover and begin chasing after me. I need to hurry. With no time to waste, I muster all the strength I can, forcing the door open just enough to squeeze through. Slipping inside, I immediately grab the handle, trying to close it shut.

But I'm too late.

One of the wolves manages to wedge its head through the gap, snarling. It’s the same wolf I shot earlier; a fresh bullet wound oozing blood across its head. Before I can react, its jaws clamp down on my left forearm. Pain explodes through me as its jagged teeth sink deep into my flesh, and a crimson stream begins to flow down my arm.

Instinctively, I yank my arm back, but the pain intensifies, tearing through me as the wolf’s teeth rend my flesh. Desperate and out of options, I let go of the door handle, reaching for my revolver. I point the barrel directly at the wolf’s head and pull the trigger.

The gunshot reverberates through the narrow space, and the wolf’s jaws slacken as its body slumps against the door. I don't hesitate—I kick the lifeless creature out and shove the door closed with every ounce of strength I have left, the wood groaning as it shuts. My hands fumble with the bolt, the metal cold and rough against my fingertips, but I manage to secure it just as the other wolves slam against the outside, their howls now muted, a chilling reminder that they’re still out there.

I stagger back, clutching my bleeding arm, the sharp sting of torn flesh making my vision swim. The air inside is thick and stagnant, carrying the scent of mildew and something else—something rotten and long dead. My pulse races, the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, almost drowning out the distant, persistent scratching at the door.

I force myself to take a deep breath, though it comes out shaky and shallow. The pain is sharp, biting, and relentless, but I grit my teeth and fight through it. I glance around the dimly lit foyer, where the walls loom tall and oppressive, draped in shadow. Faded, peeling wallpaper hangs in tatters, revealing the raw, splintered wood beneath. Dust particles swirl in the weak beams of light filtering through cracked windows, and the floorboards creak ominously under my weight.

My vision blurs, dark spots dancing at the edges, and I sway on my feet, the adrenaline that carried me this far beginning to wane. The realization that I’m alone in this decaying mansion, with no one to rely on but myself, hits me hard. But I don’t have time for fear. The wolves outside are the least of my worries now—I can feel the mansion itself watching me, its malevolent presence pressing in from all sides, as if it’s alive and aware of my intrusion.

I must keep moving. Standing here, vulnerable and bleeding, is a death sentence. I glance down at my arm, where blood seeps through my coat sleeve, staining the fabric a deep crimson. The sight of it makes my stomach churn, but I push past the nausea. I need to stop the bleeding. I tear off a strip of fabric from my coat, gritting my teeth as I wrap it tightly around the wound. The makeshift bandage does little to ease the pain, but it’s better than nothing. I can’t afford to slow down—not now, not when I’m this close to answers.

I grip my revolver tightly, the cold metal a reassuring weight in my hand. The darkness ahead feels impenetrable, but I have no choice but to push forward. I take a deep breath and attempt to clear my mind, finally beginning to observe the environment that I’ve gotten myself stuck in.

The entrance hall of the Elmer mansion is a grand relic of a time long past, but now, it stands as a decaying testament to what once was. The floor beneath my feet is a sea of cracked marble, the intricate patterns barely visible under layers of dust and debris. Every step I take causes the ancient stone to creak and groan, as if the house itself is protesting my presence.

Tall, arched windows line the walls, their once-clear glass now clouded with grime and cobwebs, allowing only the faintest slivers of moonlight to filter through. The weak light casts long, eerie shadows that stretch across the hall, making the room seem even larger and more foreboding than it already is. The air is thick with the scent of rot and decay, mingling with the lingering traces of something far more sinister—an almost metallic tang that sets my nerves on edge.

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Above me, a massive chandelier hangs precariously from the ceiling, its once-sparkling crystals now dulled and coated in dust. A few of the crystals have fallen, shattered pieces of glass littering the floor like forgotten memories. The chandelier sways slightly as if stirred by an unseen hand, its movements almost hypnotic in the dim light.

The walls are lined with portraits, their subjects long dead and forgotten, yet their eyes seem to follow me as I move. The faces are faded, their features blurred by time, but I can still make out the sharp, severe expressions that seem to radiate disdain. The frames are gilded, but the gold is tarnished, flaking away to reveal the dull wood beneath. Cobwebs cling to the corners, their delicate threads swaying with each breath of air.

A grand staircase dominates the centre of the hall, its once-polished banister now chipped and splintered. The steps themselves are covered in a threadbare carpet that was once a deep, regal red but is now faded and worn, its colour leached away by time. The staircase spirals upwards into the darkness, disappearing into the shadowed recesses of the upper floors.

To the left, a pair of massive double doors stand slightly ajar, revealing only darkness beyond. To the right, another door, smaller and less ornate, is closed tightly. The whole place feels like a mausoleum, a tomb preserved in a state of perpetual decay, holding within it the secrets of a family long gone, yet still haunting these halls.

A shiver runs down my spine as I take in the details, each one adding to the weight pressing down on me. I swallow hard, pushing down the rising fear. I’ve come too far to turn back now. Whatever secrets this mansion holds, I must uncover them—if they don’t uncover me first.

Suddenly, a cold draft brushes past me, carrying with it the faintest whisper of a name—Catherine. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. The voice is soft, almost tender, yet it sends a shiver down my spine. It’s the same voice from the vision outside, the one that seemed to know me, to beckon me closer. But why does it feel like my name? I blink, shaking my head, trying to clear the confusion. Catherine. It echoes in my mind, uncomfortably familiar, as if it has always belonged to me. But that’s not right… is it?

I begin to follow the whisper, its eerie cadence drawing me toward the double doors on the left. Every creak of the floorboards beneath me, every shadow flickering at the edges of my vision, feels like a lurking threat, poised to strike at any moment. The wolves may be outside, but something far more dangerous lies within these walls, waiting for me.

I begin to follow the whisper, its eerie cadence drawing me toward the double doors on the left. Every creak of the floorboards beneath me, every shadow flickering at the edges of my vision, feels like a lurking threat, poised to strike at any moment. The wolves may be outside, but something far more dangerous lies within these walls, waiting for me.

With a deep breath, I cautiously push open the doors. As they groan on their rusted hinges, I catch a glimpse of the room beyond—the dining room. The moment I step inside, a cold chill runs down my spine. This is the room where Silas drugged his wife, Catherine—where treachery and madness once dined together.

The room is a decaying relic of its former self, ravaged by time and neglect. A heavy layer of dust blankets the long dining table, once grand and imposing, now sagging under the weight of disuse. The chairs, once sturdy, now teeter precariously, their wood splintered, and upholstery torn. Faded, moth-eaten drapes hang limply from tarnished curtain rods, barely clinging to the walls as if they, too, are weary of the room’s dark history.

The remnants of a chandelier dangle overhead, its crystals clouded and cracked, casting fragmented, distorted reflections on the crumbling walls. The air is thick with the musty scent of decay, mingling with something else—a faint, sickly sweet odour that lingers just beneath the surface, a ghostly reminder of the poison that once tainted the air here.

I still remember the visions Catherine had—no, the visions I had—sitting at this very table. Silas, with his piercing gaze and twisted smile, sliding a goblet toward me. I feel a sudden dizziness, as if the ground beneath me has shifted. Was that really Catherine’s memory… or mine? My grip on the revolver tightens, knuckles white, as I fight to steady myself.

I step further into the room, my footsteps stirring up small clouds of dust. I remember the clink of the goblet as Catherine sets it down, her hand trembling as the drug begins to take hold. Silas rises slowly, his movements deliberate, as he walked over to me—a predator savouring the moment before the kill.

But I know this wasn’t the start of Catherine’s suffering. Her suffering didn’t start with that goblet; Mary’s death, that is where it began. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, but I push it aside. I must keep moving.

I pause, glancing back at the decaying room, half-expecting to see the ghost of Catherine herself, replaying that moment of betrayal. But there’s nothing—only silence, the weight of the past pressing down on me. I press a hand to my temple, a sudden headache throbbing behind my eyes. For a split second, I can’t remember if it’s Catherine’s ghost I’m expecting… or my own. The thought chills me to the bone, but I push it aside. I can’t afford to lose myself—not here

Once again, the faint whisper calls for Catherine, now back towards the entrance hall, up towards the grand staircase.