While the rest of the group sat upstairs in silence, terrified of what might be happening to Mason, the basement sank deeper into darkness. This darkness wasn't ordinary—it thickened, pulsed, breathed. Its texture resembled skin, vibrating with an unnamed life.
Mason stood facing the specter, who wore the face of his ancestor but spoke for something much older. A shadow that knew every thought of his. Every dream. Every fear. This wasn't the ghost of a single person, but a being intertwined with generations of sin and guilt, a materialized memory of blood.
"Your grandfather... was a fool," the spirit spoke, its voice deep, full of echoes from the past. "He wanted more. More money. More influence. More power. And I gave him everything he needed. All he had to do was feed me sometimes."
Mason shuddered, though he wasn't cold. He felt something stirring within him, shifting beneath his skin, as if the memories of someone else were trying to break through to the surface. As if Noah, sleeping in his mind, was opening his eyes.
"Jake's grandfather performed rituals in secret," the shadow continued. "But yours... he was fervent. Determined. Enchanted. They were like priests trying to control an element they never understood. They thought they could use me, but I used them."
"Is that why we're here?" Mason asked. "Is that why all of this keeps repeating?"
The shadow lifted its head.
"You are the end. And the beginning. You are the bridge between worlds. The crack through which I can pass. And not only I. You came here because you knew this place was meant for you…"
Suddenly, the earth trembled. Dark liquid began seeping from the walls like oil mixed with blood. The basement ceiling groaned, and in the distance, there was a booming sound—as if another door had opened, though no one had touched it. The air thickened, and the light flickered. Screams, not of this world, rolled through the corridors like a wave.
"What will happen to the others?" Mason asked, his voice muffled, barely audible.
"Each of them carries a seed of guilt. You planted it well, Noah. And I will reap the harvest. Their fear, their secrets, their betrayals... it will all be my feast."
Noah's name rang like a death sentence. Mason felt his vision blur, as if he were sharing a body with someone who should have left long ago. The voices began to overlap. In one moment, he saw the basement, and the next, he stood on a beach, seeing Noah—smiling, but with eyes full of pain.
Suddenly, he saw scenes he had never lived—rituals in the hotel's underground, blood circles, candles, whispered incantations in a forgotten language. People in masks, including his grandfather and Jake's grandfather. All entwined in one circle. And at the center of the circle— a mirror. The same one that now trembled, pulsating like living flesh.
"If you let me through," the demon said, "no one will hurt you again. You will never be alone again. You will be everything. Mason. Noah. And me. In one body. Perfection."
Mason closed his eyes. For a moment, he remained silent, until he heard Nancy's cry from upstairs. Begging. Ripping. A reminder that there was a world outside this darkness. A world that hadn't been fully consumed yet.
He opened his eyes. And took a step back.
"Not today," he said. "You don't have me yet."
The demon howled, and the walls trembled. Debris began falling from the ceiling, and the floor cracked under the pressure. Another scream echoed from deep within the basement—a child's voice, one that shouldn't have been there. A victim's voice.
Mason turned and headed toward the stairs, but something was already chasing him. Something that didn't need a body. Something that knew the way to his soul and had the patience of centuries.
Upstairs, Nancy stared at the basement door, which began to pulse with light. She knew.
She knew Mason wouldn't come back the same.
Because Mason had never been alone.
*
Mason appeared upstairs suddenly, as if he had emerged from smoke. His clothes were soaked, dirty, as if he had crawled out from inside the earth. His face was pale, almost gray, and his eyes—black as bottomless wells. At first glance, he looked like himself, but... he wasn't himself anymore.
He didn't say a word. He only looked—at each of them. Too long. Too deeply. As if he wanted to look inside them, into their oldest memories, then walked away.
"He didn't say anything?" Jennifer whispered, pressing her hand to her mouth.
"No," Nancy replied. "But something has changed. It's not him."
From that moment, the tension in the air was almost palpable. They all sensed it—something bad was lurking just beneath the surface. Every movement of Mason's was too smooth, too calm. Too inhuman. They began noticing details that would have been easy to ignore before his silence, his sleepless nights, his lack of reaction to sounds.
Will noticed that Mason wasn't sleeping at night. He sat in the corner of the room, staring into the darkness. He didn't move. Furthermore, he didn't blink. When Olivia once approached to check if he was alright, she heard a whisper. Words repeated over and over in an unknown language, its sound sending chills down her spine.
"He was talking to the mirror," she later said, her voice trembling. "But the reflection... the reflection wasn't his."
Will furrowed his brows.
"I saw him by the wall today. He was drawing something with his finger. Circles. Rituals. Like he was planning something."
Paranoia settled over the group. Jake kept a close eye on Mason. Jennifer kept a kitchen knife in her pocket. Betty locked herself in the bathroom and refused to leave for two hours. Will and Olivia took turns keeping watch, trying to figure out how to react if... if something happened.
Nancy stayed on the sidelines. Watching. Trying to understand. Every look from Mason, every gesture was analyzed like a riddle. She felt something trying to emerge. Something that didn't yet have form but was already breathing.
Finally, when everyone was asleep or pretending to be, Nancy quietly opened the door. Stepping carefully, she made her way to the hall.
Mason was standing at the top of the stairs leading to the basement. His back to her. Motionless. Like a statue.
"Mason..." she said softly.
He didn't move, but after a moment, he slowly turned his head. Not all the way. Just enough so she could see the profile of his face. His lips curled into a smile—but that smile wasn't his. It was foreign. Sick. Like a mask worn by something much older.
She shuddered. Stepped back silently. Closed the door. Locked the bolt. Leaned against it and tried to calm her breath.
She didn't close her eyes until morning.
Because something in him was foreign. And that foreign thing wasn't sleeping.
It waited. It watched. For something. Or someone.
Everything inside her screamed that this was only the beginning. Because Mason had returned, but with him came something else. Something that was just beginning to play. And it was playing for everything.