Chapter 9
The chapel smelled of dust and old wood, a stifling scent that wrapped around Olivia's chest. Her fingers trembled as they hovered over the cold, dark surface of the mirror, the reflection of Lila's lifeless face staring back at her. She was too still, too unnatural, like a doll or a corpse locked in a world where time never moved.
"Don't forget me."
The words echoed in Olivia's ears, swirling around in her mind, tangled with the other thoughts she couldn't quiet. Lila wasn't dead, not fully. But she wasn't alive either. The thing in that mirror, the thing calling her sister's name—it was something else. Something… older.
Behind her, Henry's breathing was ragged. "What is this, Olivia? What the hell are we dealing with?"
She couldn't answer. Not yet. Her eyes stayed locked on the reflection. There was something wrong with Lila's eyes. They were clouded, hollow, but when Olivia blinked—just once—the reflection shifted.
Lila's eyes snapped open.
"Help me," Lila whispered, barely a breath, but it was there. Her mouth didn't move, but the words still formed.
Olivia recoiled. The air in the room grew thick. The edges of the mirror darkened, as if pulling the light into itself. Her pulse quickened, the sharp ache of dread slashing through her chest.
Henry took a step back. His hand went to his chest, his breath labored. "Olivia, please. We have to leave this place. It's cursed. You've seen it, you've felt it. We're not safe here."
But Olivia couldn't leave. She couldn't tear her gaze away from Lila. Not when the words had come through. Not when her sister's voice still lingered in the air.
"Don't forget me."
Was it Lila? Or was it something pretending to be her? Was her sister still somewhere inside the thing that stood in that mirror?
"I'm not leaving," Olivia whispered, the resolve tightening in her chest.
The coldness in the room deepened. A gust of wind rushed through the cracked windows of the chapel, sending the old wooden pews groaning under pressure. The fire in the corner flickered violently before sputtering out entirely, leaving them in total darkness.
Henry grabbed her arm, his voice tight. "Olivia! Stop! This isn't Lila! This is some… twisted thing!"
But Olivia shook him off, her heart thundering in her ears. "I need to know what's happened to her."
⸻
Back at the house, they sat in the parlor, the tension thick enough to slice with a knife. Henry couldn't sit still. He paced, his anger burning hot. James was silent, his face pale and drawn. The trauma was wearing them all down.
Olivia couldn't look at him. His eyes—those hollow eyes—kept reminding her of the thing she'd seen in the mirror. The memory of Lila's voice had never stopped echoing in her mind.
Her mother's journal, the one she had found in the library, still sat on the table beside her, unopened since the last entry she had read.
But the journal had become something else to her now—a guide. It might have answers, might hold the key to unraveling what was happening. She had to finish it.
She reached for the journal.
Henry watched her, his face hard. "You still think that thing in the mirror is Lila?"
Olivia nodded. "I have to believe it. She's there. She's somewhere. I just… need to reach her. I need to know what happened."
James cleared his throat. His voice was barely a whisper. "She's gone, Olivia. The Lila we knew is gone. And what's left… it's not her. It's not human."
The words hit her harder than she expected. It was true. The thing in the mirror wasn't human. The look in Lila's eyes wasn't just blankness—it was hunger. Olivia felt the truth like a cold weight in her stomach.
She opened the journal again, the pages turning slowly. She scanned the lines, finding another entry beneath her mother's last words.
The house never gives up what it wants. It feeds on them. It devours the soul, hollowing it out and leaving only what remains—the memory of who they were. And it keeps them. It keeps them trapped, part of the house forever.
Scarlett's curse is not a killing curse. It's a recycling curse. The house takes what it wants, but the soul never fully leaves. It keeps the essence of the person, their energy, their spirit, and traps it inside the house, turning them into something else. Something worse.
Olivia's breath caught in her throat. The words seemed to be written just for her. It wasn't just Lila. The house didn't kill; it changed. It possessed. And Scarlett—Scarlett—was at the center of it all. Scarlett was the one who controlled it, who manipulated the curse. The ghostly figure wearing Lila's face… she wasn't Lila. She was a vessel.
Her heart raced as her eyes scanned the rest of the page.
Lila's not lost, but she's not who she used to be. She'll be trapped, like the others, until the house is destroyed. Until the curse is broken. But breaking it isn't simple. It never is. The house will fight. It will do everything in its power to keep the family inside, to keep them forever.
⸻
"Olivia?" Henry's voice broke through her thoughts.
She looked up. His face was twisted in fear, his eyes frantic. "I heard something. From upstairs."
Olivia felt her heart drop. "What?"
He nodded slowly, glancing over his shoulder at the stairwell. "Footsteps."
James stood suddenly, his face drained of color. "It's her. It's Lila."
⸻
They all froze, listening.
The soft sound of footsteps—barely there. As if someone was walking across the old wooden floor above them, just out of sight.
And then, the laughter. Lila's laugh. Soft. Twisted. A sound that didn't belong to her.
Olivia bolted to her feet, heart hammering in her chest. She rushed up the stairs, Henry and James following close behind, their steps too loud in the silence.
The footsteps led them to the hallway outside the attic.
It was cold here—colder than anywhere else in the house.
"Lila?" Olivia called, her voice shaking.
Nothing answered.
Just the low hum of a wind that wasn't there. The sound of something watching.
And then—at the end of the hallway, the door to the attic creaked open. A small, pale hand reached out from the dark, fingers stretching toward them.
Olivia's breath caught.
She stepped forward. Slowly.