The storm outside grew louder, thunder booming through the cracked ceilings of Blackthorne Manor. Every flash of lightning cast the mansion’s walls into harsh shadows faces from old portraits leapt alive for seconds, glaring, watching, waiting.

“Okay, team,” Marcus whispered, his flashlight jittering across peeling wallpaper. “Rule number one: no splitting up. This isn’t Scooby-Doo, and I refuse to die because you two want to play detective couple.”

Ethan squeezed Clara’s hand. “Relax. We’ll just check a few rooms, prove it’s not haunted, and bounce.”

Clara raised a brow. “Not haunted? We literally just had a ghost audition for a soap opera in front of us.”

Marcus snorted. “She was dramatic, but points for presentation.”

The three shuffled deeper, their footsteps creaking against warped wooden planks. They entered what must have once been a grand ballroom. Chandeliers hung crookedly from the ceiling, their crystals clouded with dust. Torn curtains swayed despite the windows being closed.

And then—music.

A faint violin melody floated through the air, ghostly yet beautiful.

Clara froze. “Tell me one of you is playing that on your phone.”

Ethan shook his head. “Not me.”

Marcus pulled out his phone. “I only have Drake and SpongeBob trap remixes. Not me either.”

The violin grew louder, and suddenly, the chandeliers above burst into light. Golden glow poured over the ballroom, revealing a dozen spectral figures waltzing in slow motion. Men in tailcoats, women in flowing gowns—partners turning, spinning, bowing.

Clara gasped. “They’re… dancing.”

Ethan’s jaw dropped. “Whoa. This is… actually kind of beautiful.”

Marcus muttered, “Yeah, until they eat your face.”

The spectral dancers glided past the living trio, not acknowledging them at first—until one partner stopped.

A ghostly woman in pearls turned her head, her eyes locking on Clara.

“Join us,” she whispered.

The other dancers paused, their hollow gazes snapping toward the three intruders.

Ethan instinctively stepped in front of Clara, arms spread. “No thanks, she’s got me already.”

Marcus hissed, “Wrong answer, bro! That just made you look like the entrée.”

The violin screeched, a painful wail that rattled the windows. The dancers lunged forward— not running, but gliding at unnatural speed. Clara screamed, and the three bolted for the far side of the ballroom.

“Why are they chasing us?!” Clara cried.

“Because Ethan’s a terrible liar!” Marcus yelled.

They dove through a side door, slamming it behind them. Ethan jammed a broken chair under the handle, his breath ragged.

Silence.

The music cut off. The ballroom on the other side went still.

The only sound was Clara’s heartbeat in her ears.

She turned to Ethan. “I swear, if I die because you wanted a romantic ghost date, I will haunt you harder than any of them.”

Ethan laughed nervously. “At least you’d still be with me.”

Marcus groaned. “Kill me now.”

The room they stumbled into was smaller, dustier. Old bookshelves lined the walls, their spines rotting. A cracked mirror leaned against the far wall. And in the center of the room sat an ornate wooden chest.

“Treasure?” Marcus whispered hopefully.

Ethan wiped sweat from his brow. “Or another curse.”

Clara crouched and ran her fingers across the chest’s lid. The carvings showed roses, intertwining with skulls. She shivered.

And then—against all reason—she pushed it open.

Inside lay a bundle of old letters, tied with a faded ribbon.

Clara lifted one carefully, the paper brittle beneath her fingers. The ink was smeared but legible.

My dearest Annalise, If death should come for me tonight, know that I go willingly—so long as my soul remains bound to yours. For eternity, if not in this life, then the next.

Clara’s throat tightened. She whispered, “It’s… a love letter.”

Ethan knelt beside her, reading over her shoulder. “Maybe that ghost we saw—maybe that was Annalise.”

Marcus leaned in, unimpressed. “Or maybe it’s the 1800s version of sexting.”

Clara smacked his arm. “Marcus!”

“What? I’m just saying—ghosts need hobbies too.”

But her hands trembled as she set the letter down. Something about the words echoed inside her chest. Eternity. Bound souls. Wasn’t that what the ghost said?

Ethan touched her shoulder. “Hey. Don’t let it freak you out. Whatever happened here, it’s not us.”

But Clara wasn’t so sure.

The mirror across the room suddenly cracked—splintering from the inside.

All three screamed.

And then, written across the fractured glass in dripping red letters:

WOULD YOU DIE FOR HIM?

Clara’s stomach dropped. The words pulsed, as if alive.

Ethan grabbed her hand tighter. “Don’t answer that.”

Marcus swallowed hard. “Yeah, especially because I’m starting to think it’s a trick question.”

The chest slammed shut on its own. The letters inside burned away in a flash of ghostly fire.

The mirror shattered completely.

And from its shards, a figure began to crawl out.

Annalise. The ghost bride. Her gown torn, her hollow eyes glowing now with fury.

“You spoke the vow,” she hissed, pointing at Ethan. “You offered your life for hers.”

Clara yanked him back. “He didn’t mean it!”

“Yes, I did,” Ethan argued—then realized how stupid that sounded in front of a murderous ghost. “I mean—uh—yes, but not in a literal soul-sacrifice way!”

Marcus groaned. “You two are so bad at surviving horror movies.”

Annalise floated closer, her hair rising as if electrified. “Then prove it.”

The floorboards groaned beneath Ethan’s feet. A circle of spectral roses bloomed around him, their thorns curling upward like claws.

“Wait!” Clara shouted, stepping forward. “If you’re testing anyone, test me too. Why him and not me?”

Annalise’s gaze softened slightly. “Because once, I was you. I loved. I lost. And he…” She pointed at Ethan. “He reminds me of the one who betrayed me.”

Ethan’s jaw dropped. “Betrayed? I didn’t”

“Silence!” The ghost’s voice boomed, rattling the bookshelves. “You will both face the question. Would you give your life… for love?”

Clara’s hands trembled. She looked at Ethan, then at Marcus—who mouthed say no, idiot.

But deep down, she knew this wasn’t just a ghost’s question. This was a test of who they were to each other.

The roses curled higher around Ethan’s legs. The ghost raised her hand.

“Choose,” she whispered.

Clara’s voice caught in her throat. “I—”

And then—

BANG!

The bookshelf toppled, sending a cloud of dust into the air. All three coughed and stumbled back. When the dust cleared—Annalise was gone.

Only the words remained, carved into the floorboards at their feet:

LOVE DEMANDS A SACRIFICE.

The three sat in stunned silence.

Marcus finally spoke. “Okay. So. Just to recap: we danced with ghosts, found out Clara’s apparently some reincarnated soap-opera bride, and Ethan nearly got eaten by evil roses.”

Clara shivered. “It’s not funny, Marcus.”

“Yeah, well, if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry. And ugly-crying in a haunted mansion is not the vibe.”

Ethan wrapped an arm around Clara. “Hey. Whatever happens, I’m not letting anything take you. Ghost bride or not.”

Clara leaned into him, torn between comfort and dread.

Because deep down… she knew Annalise wasn’t finished with them.

And neither was the mansion.