Ethan Ward locked the front door of The Haunted Haven as dusk settled over Hopeville, the last of the day’s visitors—Ryan Carter and Isabelle Pierce included—fading into the twilight. The ghost house stood silent, its peeling paint and fake cobwebs glowing faintly in the dying light, but Ethan felt its pulse—the hum from below, the weight of the locket in his pocket, the journal’s secrets pressing against his spine. Sophie Bennett leaned against the ticket counter inside, counting the day’s take—sixty bucks, a new record—her flashlight twirling like a baton.

“Not bad for a haunted dump,” she said, grinning as she tucked the cash into her backpack. “Think we should splurge on pizza? Celebrate surviving the skeptic squad?”

Ethan smirked, dropping his keys on the counter. “Pizza’s tempting, but I’d rather not choke on it when the radio decides to play DJ again.” He glanced at the office door, the faint crackle from last night still lingering in his ears. Isabelle’s words—There’s something alive—had stuck with him, sharper than he’d liked. She’d seen too much, and Lydia’s whisper in the manor room hadn’t helped.

Sophie followed his gaze, her grin softening. “You’re still spooked about Red Dress, huh? She’s got a knack for popping up at the worst times.”

“Yeah,” Ethan said, pulling the locket out and flipping it open. The blurry photo stared back—his parents, maybe, frozen in time. “She knows them—my mom and dad. Said they crossed the threshold, heard the signal. I need to know what that means.”

“Then let’s ask the DJ,” Sophie said, hopping off the counter. “It’s been quiet since the tunnel. Maybe it’s got a new mixtape ready.”

Ethan nodded, grabbing his flashlight and the journal. “Let’s hope it’s not another shadow party.” They crossed to the office, the air growing heavier with each step, and the radio flared to life as they entered—static hissing, sharp and sudden, the dial spinning on its own.

“Welcome back, Ethan,” the voice rasped, deep and deliberate, curling through the room like smoke. “The clock ticks for the lost. Find their echo in the tower.”

The static cut off, leaving a ringing silence. Ethan’s grip tightened on the journal, his pulse quickening. “Clock tower,” he muttered, flipping through the pages—his dad’s sketches, his mom’s notes—until he landed on a rough drawing: a spire above the Haven, labeled Signal Point. Below it, in his mom’s shaky hand: The echo’s loudest there.

“Tower?” Sophie frowned, glancing around. “This place has a tower?”

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“Apparently,” Ethan said, shutting the journal. “Outside, maybe. We’ve been so deep in the basement, I barely checked the roof.” He grabbed the locket, the key already warm in his pocket. “Let’s move.”

They stepped back into the park, the night air crisp and biting, the abandoned rides looming like skeletons under the stars. Ethan swept his flashlight across the Haven’s facade—sagging eaves, broken shutters—until it caught a glint: a narrow spire jutting from the roof, half-hidden by a rusted weathervane. A ladder clung to the wall beside it, its rungs bent but intact.

“Jackpot,” Sophie said, her flashlight joining his. “Think it’s safe?”

“Nope,” Ethan said, already climbing. “Stay down if you want.”

“Fat chance,” she shot back, following him up. The ladder groaned under their weight, metal flaking off in Ethan’s hands, but it held. They reached a small platform at the top, the spire rising beside them—a clock tower in name only, its face shattered, hands frozen at midnight. The hum was louder here, pulsing through the air, and the locket burned against Ethan’s leg.

“Echo in the tower,” Ethan said, scanning the structure. His light caught a panel at the base, the eye symbol etched into it, and he pulled the key out, its glow flaring. “Here we go.”

“Wait—” Sophie started, but he was already sliding it in. The panel clicked, swinging open, and a wave of sound hit them—not the radio’s voice, but voices, layered and frantic, spilling from a small, tarnished speaker inside. Ethan staggered, the locket flaring hot, and one voice cut through—his dad’s, rough but clear.

“—signal’s here, Mary,” it said, crackling. “The lost—they’re screaming. We can’t leave them.”

“John, we have to,” his mom’s voice replied, faint, urgent. “It’s too much—it’ll take us—”

The static surged, drowning them out, and Ethan’s chest seized. “Mom? Dad?” He lunged for the speaker, hands trembling, but it went dead, the hum softening to a low drone. The locket glowed, and he flipped it open—the photo sharpened again, his parents in the tunnel chamber, their faces pale, a third figure blurred beside them.

“Ethan,” Sophie said softly, gripping his arm. “That was them.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice raw. He pulled the key out, the panel slamming shut, and a small object clattered to the platform—a brass badge, etched with the Haven’s logo: a house with an eye above it. He picked it up, the metal cool against his skin, the hum fading to silence.

“They were here,” Ethan said, staring at the badge. “Trying to save someone—the lost. That’s why they didn’t come back.”

Sophie nodded, her usual spark dimmed. “And the Haven’s still calling them. Us, too.”

Ethan pocketed the badge, the locket’s glow fading. “Then we answer. We find them.” He turned to the journal, flipping to a new page—his dad’s final note: The signal’s alive. It wants us to hear. Below it, his mom’s last words: Hope’s the echo. Don’t lose it.

“Hope,” Ethan murmured, the badge heavy in his hand. He looked at Sophie, her flashlight steady despite the night. “That’s what we’ve got left.”

“Then we hold onto it,” she said, forcing a grin. “Next round, boss?”

Ethan nodded, the tower’s silence pressing in. “Next round.” The radio crackled faintly below, a tease of what was coming, but for now, he had their echo—proof they’d fought, proof they were close. He wasn’t losing hope, not yet.