Ethan Ward sat cross-legged on the floor of The Haunted Haven’s office, his father’s journal open in his lap. The leather cover was cool against his hands, but the words inside burned—scribbled notes about frequencies, thresholds, and a line that wouldn’t let him go: The Haven’s alive. It chooses who hears. The locket rested on the desk beside him, its tarnished surface catching the dim glow of a flickering bulb. Sophie Bennett sprawled across a chair nearby, flipping through her own notes, her blonde hair a tangled mess after the carousel chaos.

“That chick in the red dress,” Sophie said, breaking the quiet, “she’s got some serious vibe. Creepy, sure, but she stopped that ride like it was nothing. Think she’s on our side?”

Ethan didn’t look up, his eyes tracing his dad’s handwriting. “Doubt it. She told me to leave, not exactly a team-player move.” He flipped a page, landing on a sketch—a rough outline of the carousel, arrows pointing to something labeled core mechanism. “But she knows something. Those eyes—same as the painting. She’s part of this, whatever ‘this’ is.”

Sophie leaned forward, peering at the journal. “Your parents’ ghost groupie, maybe? Like, their secret weapon?” She tapped her pen against her chin, then grinned. “Or their bouncer. Keeping the riffraff out.”

Ethan snorted, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “If she’s the bouncer, we’re already on the blacklist.” He closed the journal, rubbing his face. The woman’s voice—Leave, or you’ll hear more than whispers—echoed in his skull, sharp and cold. He didn’t scare easy, but something about her felt… final, like she’d seen the endgame and wasn’t impressed.

The radio sat silent on the shelf, its dial still, but Ethan could feel it watching, waiting for his next move. He stood, stretching, and grabbed the locket. “She said ‘find them,’ same as the radio. My parents, maybe. Or something else lost in this dump.”

Sophie hopped up, brushing dust off her jeans. “Well, we’ve got the locket and that key from the painting lady. Maybe they’re a set—unlock whatever’s next?” She nodded at the journal. “Anything in there about a lock?”

“Not yet.” Ethan pocketed the locket and key, then hefted the journal. “But there’s a ton I haven’t read. Dad was obsessed—pages of tech stuff, weird symbols. Mom’s handwriting’s in here too, softer, like she was trying to balance him out.” He paused, the weight of it hitting him. “They were chasing something big. Bigger than a ghost house.”

“Then let’s chase it too,” Sophie said, her usual spark back. “Starting with that key. We’ve poked around inside—maybe it’s outside? The carousel’s out there, after all.”

Ethan nodded, grabbing his flashlight. “Worth a shot. Let’s go.”

The night air hit them as they stepped into Hope Haven Amusement Park, crisp and biting, the stars muted by a haze of clouds. The carousel loomed ahead, its horses still and silent now, but Ethan’s skin prickled as they passed. He swept the flashlight across the midway—rusted ticket booths, a toppled Ferris wheel spokes—but nothing screamed lock. Sophie darted ahead, her beam bouncing off a row of boarded-up shacks near the park’s edge.

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“Over here!” she called, waving him over. “This one’s got a padlock—big, nasty-looking thing.”

Ethan joined her, the beam landing on a shack smaller than the rest, its wood weathered but solid. A heavy padlock secured the door, rusted but intact, the eye symbol from the key etched faintly into the metal. “Bingo,” he muttered, pulling the brass key from his pocket. It fit the lock perfectly, sliding in with a click that echoed too loud in the quiet.

Sophie raised an eyebrow. “You sure about this? Last time we opened something, we got a face full of shadow freaks.”

“Too late to back out now,” Ethan said, turning the key. The lock popped open, and the door creaked inward, revealing a steep staircase plunging into darkness. A damp, earthy smell wafted up, mixed with something sharper—metal, maybe, or old blood.

“Basement vibes,” Sophie said, peering down. “Think it’s a VIP haunt?”

“Or a death trap.” Ethan aimed his flashlight down the steps, the beam barely touching the bottom. “Stay close.” He started down, the journal tucked under his arm, Sophie’s footsteps echoing behind him. The stairs were narrow, slick with moss, and the walls closed in—concrete, rough, scratched with faint lines he couldn’t read.

At the bottom, the space opened into a low-ceilinged room, the air thick and cold. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with junk—rusted tools, cracked jars, a radio chassis missing its guts. In the center sat a workbench, strewn with papers and wires, and above it, bolted to the wall, was a steel door. No handle, just a keyhole with that same eye symbol.

Ethan’s pulse quickened. “There’s our lock.” He stepped forward, pulling the key out again, but Sophie grabbed his sleeve.

“Look,” she whispered, pointing her flashlight at the workbench. A photo lay half-buried under the papers—two figures, blurry but familiar, standing in front of the Haven. His parents, younger, smiling, a third person cropped out at the edge. Ethan’s throat tightened. “That’s them.”

“Yeah,” Sophie said softly. “And check this.” She lifted a sheet of paper scribbled with his dad’s handwriting: Threshold reached. Signal’s stronger below. She’s here.

“She?” Ethan’s eyes flicked to the steel door. “The woman in red?”

“Maybe.” Sophie glanced at him, her usual grin gone. “You opening it?”

Ethan hesitated, the key cold in his hand. The radio’s voice, the carousel’s laugh, the woman’s warning—all of it swirled in his head. But the photo, his parents’ faces—they pulled harder. “Yeah,” he said finally, stepping to the door. “Let’s see what’s waiting.”

He slid the key in, the lock clicking with a sound like a gunshot. The door swung open, revealing a tunnel—dark, endless, stretching into the earth. A faint whisper drifted out, not the radio’s, but hers—soft, sharp, and close. “You shouldn’t have come,” it said, and the air turned ice-cold.

Ethan froze, flashlight trembling. Sophie gripped his arm, her breath visible in the beam. “Round four?” she asked, voice shaky but defiant.

“Looks like it,” Ethan said, staring into the dark. Whatever was down there—his parents, the woman, or something worse—he was in too deep to turn back now.