The tunnel beneath The Haunted Haven seemed to tighten around Ethan Ward as he pressed forward, flashlight beam slicing through the inky dark. The concrete walls glistened with damp rot, the air thick with that metallic bite, and every step sent echoes racing ahead into the void. Sophie Bennett stayed close, her flashlight steady despite the faint tremor in her breath. The woman’s words—Deeper. Past the threshold—hung heavy, a lure Ethan couldn’t resist, not with his parents’ journal burning a hole in his pocket and their blurry photo haunting his mind.

“So,” Sophie said, her voice cutting the oppressive silence, “any bets on what’s waiting down here? Killer clowns? Zombie janitors?” She forced a grin, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m hoping for a vending machine, personally.”

Ethan smirked, adjusting the brass key in his grip. “Yeah, ghost snacks would really tie this place together.” He swept his light across the walls, the scratched symbols growing denser—spirals, jagged lines, things that tugged at his memory from his dad’s sketches. “Whatever it is, she’s not happy we’re crashing the party.”

“She?” Sophie glanced at him, eyebrows up. “Red Dress Lady?”

“Yep. Keeps showing up uninvited.” Ethan’s jaw tightened, replaying her whisper—You’ll hear it too, the lost, the screaming. “She knows my parents. Said they crossed some threshold, heard a signal. I’m betting it’s down here.”

Sophie nodded, her grin fading. “Then we keep going. For them.”

“For them,” Ethan agreed, voice low. He didn’t say the rest—that he wasn’t sure what he’d find, or if he’d like it. The tunnel sloped sharper, the ceiling dropping until they had to hunch, and the hum started—a low, pulsing drone, like the radio’s static but alive, threading through the walls. Ethan’s flashlight flickered, and he tapped it hard, cursing under his breath.

“Getting cozy,” Sophie muttered, ducking a jagged outcrop. “Think this is the threshold?”

Before Ethan could answer, the tunnel widened into a chamber—rough-hewn, cavernous, the concrete giving way to raw stone. His light caught a shape in the center: a steel hatch set into the floor, rusted but solid, with the eye symbol etched deep into its surface. The hum swelled, vibrating in his bones, and the locket in his pocket pulsed in time, warm against his leg.

“Bingo,” Ethan said, stepping forward. “Looks like our next stop.”

Sophie grabbed his arm, her light darting to the shadows. “Wait—look.” The walls shimmered, and she was there again—the woman in red, her crimson dress stark against the stone, her pale face sharp and unyielding. She stood between them and the hatch, her eyes locked on Ethan, cold and piercing.

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“You don’t listen,” she said, her whisper filling the chamber, sharp as glass. “I warned you.”

“Yeah, I’m stubborn like that,” Ethan shot back, stepping closer despite Sophie’s grip. “Who are you? What’s this threshold? And where’s my parents?”

She tilted her head, studying him, her form flickering like a dying flame. “My name is Lydia Kane,” she said finally, the words heavy, reluctant. “I was… like them. Drawn here, chasing the signal. It’s not a gift, Ethan. It’s a curse.”

“A curse?” Ethan’s hand tightened on the key. “What signal? What’s down there?”

Lydia’s gaze flicked to the hatch, then back to him. “The Haven’s voice,” she said, voice dropping. “A frequency beneath everything—pain, loss, the lost. Your parents heard it, followed it here. I tried to stop them, but they opened it.” She gestured to the hatch, her hand trembling slightly. “They went too far.”

Ethan’s chest tightened, the journal’s words flashing—It’s alive down there. “Too far where? Are they alive?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia admitted, her eyes softening for a heartbeat. “The threshold takes. It keeps. I stayed to guard it, to keep others out. But you—” She paused, her gaze sharpening. “You’re waking it.”

“Waking what?” Sophie cut in, stepping beside Ethan, her flashlight aimed at Lydia. “Those shadow things? Something worse?”

Lydia’s lips pressed thin. “Everything. The Haven isn’t just a place—it’s a door. Every task you finish, every lock you turn, it opens wider. The lost scream louder, and they’ll pull you in.”

“Then help me,” Ethan said, voice firm. “If you guarded it, you know how it works. Help me find them.”

Lydia laughed—a brittle, hollow sound. “You think I can save them? I couldn’t save myself.” Her form flickered harder, the hum rising, and shadows bled from the walls again—tendrils, clawing, reaching. “Leave, Ethan. Last chance.”

“No,” he said, stepping toward the hatch. “I’m not losing them again.”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed, and the shadows lunged. Ethan swung the key, its glow flaring, and a shriek ripped through the chamber as the tendrils recoiled. Sophie grabbed a rusted wrench from the floor, swinging wild, her breath ragged. “Back off!” she shouted, and one shadow dissolved under her hit, hissing.

Lydia raised a hand, and the shadows froze, hovering. “Enough,” she said, her voice cracking with effort. “You’re as stubborn as they were.” She lowered her hand, the shadows retreating, and stepped aside, her form steadying. “Fine. Go. But when it takes you, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Ethan stared at her, chest heaving. “Why help now?”

“Because you won’t stop,” Lydia said, bitter. “And I’m tired of watching fools fall.” She nodded at the hatch. “That’s the threshold. The signal’s below—stronger, louder. If they’re anywhere, it’s there.”

Ethan nodded, turning to the hatch. “Thanks, Lydia.”

“Don’t thank me,” she said, fading back into the dark. “You’ll hate me soon enough.”

Sophie gripped the wrench, exhaling. “Well, she’s a peach. Ally or not, I’m keeping this.” She tapped the wrench against her palm, grinning faintly.

“Good call,” Ethan said, kneeling by the hatch. The key slid into the lock, the hum spiking, and the steel groaned open, revealing a deeper shaft—dark, endless, a faint scream echoing up from below. He glanced at Sophie, her grin gone but her eyes steady.

“Ready?” he asked, the locket pulsing in his pocket.

“Born ready,” she said, gripping her flashlight. “Let’s find them.”

Ethan took a breath, the journal’s weight grounding him, and stepped into the shaft, the Haven’s voice calling him down.