The house breathed.

At least, that’s how it felt. Every hallway exhaled cold drafts. Every creak of the floorboards sounded like ribs groaning under the weight of centuries. And every portrait’s painted eyes seemed just a little too alive, glaring at them as they stumbled forward.

“Okay,” Marcus muttered, his flashlight darting nervously. “We’ve officially gone through jump scares, ghost karaoke, and evil roses. What’s next? A skeleton popping out with a banjo?”

“Don’t joke,” Clara whispered, clinging to Ethan’s arm. “It feels like the house is listening.”

“Good,” Marcus said louder, looking at the ceiling. “Then listen up, haunted house! I am not dying a virgin!”

Ethan groaned. “Bro…”

“Hey, if I’m going out, I want the universe to know my biggest regret.”

Clara smirked despite herself. “Your biggest regret is not dating?”

Marcus pointed at Ethan. “No, my biggest regret is third-wheeling with you two. If I survive, I’m finding myself a demon girlfriend. At least she’d commit.”

“Shh!” Ethan hissed.

Because the whispers had begun again.

From the walls this time. Soft, hissing voices, slithering like snakes between the cracks.

Die for him.

Die for her.

Love demands a price.

Clara pressed her hands over her ears. “Make it stop!”

Ethan pulled her close, glaring into the darkness. “Show yourself!”

The whispers rose into shrieks, then fell silent.

And from the ceiling, dust rained down as an attic door creaked open.

Marcus tilted his flashlight upward. “Nope. Absolutely not. We are not going up there.”

But the attic ladder slid down on its own, slamming into the floor with a loud crack.

“Of course,” Marcus muttered. “Because horror movies aren’t cliches—they’re instruction manuals.”

Ethan helped Clara toward the ladder. “We don’t have a choice. She wants us up there.”

Clara stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “And your response is, ‘Sure, let’s obey the terrifying ghost bride’?”

He gave her a sheepish grin. “Well… yeah?”

Marcus slapped his forehead. “You’re like a golden retriever that runs toward the vacuum cleaner.”

Still, Ethan climbed first, pulling himself into the darkness above. Clara followed, muttering under her breath, “If I die, I’m haunting you.”

Marcus, last, grumbled the whole way. “If I die, I’m haunting both of you together. Forever. While you’re making out. Just moaning in the corner like, ‘OooOooo, Marcus is third wheeling even in the afterlife.’”

The attic was worse than the rest of the house.

Cobwebs hung like curtains, thick and sticky. The floor sagged under their weight. And at the far end stood a small table, upon which rested a cracked music box.

The lid creaked open by itself.

A lullaby spilled out—slow, broken, warped.

Clara gasped. “That’s the same tune from the ballroom.”

Ethan nodded. “It’s hers. Annalise’s.”

The box stopped.

And written in dust on the attic floor:

ONLY ONE LEAVES.

Marcus froze. “Ohhh no. Nope. No, no, no. That’s not fair. We’re not doing Squid Game: Ghost Edition.”

The attic shadows deepened. And out of the darkness stepped Annalise.

Her form was sharper now, less translucent. Her gown trailed across the boards like mist. Her hollow eyes glowed, pinning each of them in place.

“You cannot escape your fate,” she whispered. “Love requires sacrifice. Decide now. Which soul will remain?”

Clara’s voice shook. “That’s not love. That’s cruelty.”

Annalise tilted her head. “Cruelty? Or truth? My love betrayed me. He swore he would die for me—yet he lived while I perished. And so I wait, until another proves love eternal.”

Her gaze locked on Ethan.

“You swore, too.”

The floor cracked beneath his feet, glowing faintly red. Ethan stumbled back, the boards crumbling under him like paper.

“Ethan!” Clara screamed, grabbing his arm.

The ghost’s voice hissed through the attic: “Would you let him go? Would you fall for him?”

Clara held tighter, her nails digging into his skin. “I won’t let you take him!”

Ethan shouted, “Clara, let go before you fall in too!”

Marcus stood frozen, torn between panic and sarcasm. His flashlight flickered. “Okay, pause—can’t we vote somebody else? Like me? I’m single, nobody cares if I die!”

The floor gave another violent crack. Clara’s weight slipped. Ethan tried to push her back to safety, but the boards splintered further.

For a terrifying second, it looked like they’d both fall into the endless darkness below.

Then—silence.

The red glow vanished. The floor sealed as if it had never broken.

Clara and Ethan collapsed onto solid wood, gasping.

Annalise stood perfectly still, watching them. Her lips curled into the faintest smile.

“You chose,” she whispered. “You held on. You would risk it all.”

Clara glared at her, shaking with fury. “Of course I would! That’s what love is—you don’t just let go! You fight!”

For the first time, Annalise’s eyes softened. A flicker of humanity crossed her face.

Then she faded into mist, her voice echoing:

“Perhaps… there is hope yet.”

The attic fell silent again.

Only the music box remained, playing its broken tune.

The three sat in stunned quiet.

Finally, Marcus broke it. “Sooo… just checking… am I the only one thinking this ghost chick is a drama queen testing your relationship like it’s an episode of The Bachelor?”

Clara groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Marcus—”

“No, I’m serious!” he said. “She’s like: ‘Will you accept this rose… or eternal damnation?’”

Despite everything, Ethan snorted with laughter. Clara punched him in the arm, but she was laughing too, tears streaking down her cheeks.

Marcus grinned. “See? That’s why you keep me around. Comic relief. Otherwise this story would be ninety percent crying and ghost angst.”

But as they made their way back down the attic ladder, Clara couldn’t stop trembling. Because no matter how much Marcus joked, she knew Annalise wasn’t finished with them.

This was only the beginning.

And the next test… might demand more than just words.