It was just past midnight when Detective Laura Greene stepped out of her car and looked up at the old Ashford Manor. The house stood like a skeleton against the moonlight—abandoned for decades and now the center of a chilling case. A teenage girl, Emily Dawson, had vanished without a trace two nights before. No forced entry, no signs of struggle—just silence. This was the third disappearance in under a year, and the only connection between the victims was that they had all dared to enter Ashford Manor on a dare.

Inside, the air was heavy with dust and time. The wooden floor creaked under Laura’s boots as she moved through the front hall, her flashlight flickering slightly. She had been a detective for over ten years, but something about this house made her uneasy. Then, she saw it—a photo frame on the floor. The picture inside was old and faded, but the girl in it looked exactly like Emily.

That was the first clue.

As she searched deeper into the house, Laura found journals hidden behind loose panels in the wall. They were filled with entries from the late 1800s, written by a girl named Eliza Ashford. The pages spoke of strange voices in the night, of dreams that bled into reality, and of a secret passage under the house where “the Master” waited.

Laura found the entrance just after 1 a.m.—a trapdoor beneath a rotting carpet in the parlor. She opened it slowly. The stairs below were made of stone and smelled of damp earth and something fouler. Holding her breath, she descended into the dark.

At the bottom, she found a room lined with mirrors. In each one, she saw herself—but distorted, twisted into shapes that didn’t belong in the human world. In the center of the room was a small music box. When she touched it, it opened on its own, playing a tune that chilled her bones. The mirrors began to shimmer, and for a moment, she saw Emily—alive, but trapped behind the glass, screaming silently.

Laura realized the truth. This wasn’t just a house. It was a prison for the lost—those who had been taken by the house’s curse. The disappearances weren’t random. The house needed them. At midnight, every year, it took a soul to feed whatever darkness lived below.

Now, as Laura turned to run, the trapdoor slammed shut above her. The last thing she saw was her own reflection smiling back at her… though she was no longer smiling herself.

The house had found a new secret to keep.