The torchlight from the sconces seemed weaker as a feral draft passed through the corridor. The wind was covetous to snuff out the vulnerable flame. The surrounding temperature declined with every step he took and goosebumps lined his arms.

Isten recollected that his window was ajar when he first arrived in the manor, it wouldn't be a stretch to think that others were as well. There were open doors in the corridor that he had passed, though the absence of light inside them prohibited him from perceiving if their windows were open.

He edged past a room and peered inside. It was an empty abyss, though its mouth maliciously invited him in. He declined, his curiosity into that specific investigation had left him. Instead, he continued forth into the corridor.

The darkness seemed to contort itself in front of him, taking on paranormal forms that did not belong to this world. Shadows crawled up the walls, twisting into shapes of dreadful creatures that dwelled only in the mania of the insane.

Paranoia bubbled within him, and he began to have second thoughts on this expedition. He turned to look back, and it felt as if the open maw from the previous room had followed behind him. Rather than being locked into the rooms, it had escaped into the corridor, blocking his escape route.

Isten shivered again, this time in fear. He knew that he had made a mistake, but now he had to see it until its terrible end.

The haze of darkness in front began to fade away and Isten could now see in front of him. However, this was worse. It was no longer an endless path of darkness in front where he was ignorant of the journey's end. Instead, he could see the shade of a crumpled silhouette. The journey’s destination was in sight, and the end was near. The conclusion had been finalised, and Isten had to reach it.

He strained against the void behind him, trying to slow down its pursuit to give him a minute’s worth of respite. It did not relent. It pushed against him, unyielding to Isten’s resistance, to make him witness the denouement of its play.

The tangible darkness carried Isten forward until he could see it. His Uncle Eiddil, the man who had been the most accommodating to him since he had arrived at the Blodyn manor, lay in a pool of blood. His neck was snapped 90 degrees towards the left. His right arm was broken and lay at an inhumane angle.

The scene perfectly mimicked the death of the old woman at the temporary encampment. Isten screamed, violently shaking in remembrance of that tragedy, as well as at this one.

Eiddil’s body, as if drawn by the string of a puppeteer, jerked upwards. His body and limbs hung limp to his sides, gravity pulling them downwards, it was a harrowing image.

The string behind Eiddil’s head was pulled, being held up vertically by a foreign force. He stared vacantly in front of himself while Isten stared at him. They were both frozen in place, time was no longer a concept.

Eiddil’s skin was chalk white, the blood had been drawn away from his head back into his body. He had been dead for some time before Isten found him.

His face was a macabre mask. His eyes had bloated, and a smile was rigidly arranged on his mouth. Eiddil’s eyes crept across the hallway and brushed past Isten. Horrified recognition flashed through his eyes, but it disappeared and was replaced by dispassion.

Eiddil’s smile fell sullenly, then it was reformed into wicked grin; the cycle repeated itself.

Isten took desperate steps backwards, his fear consuming him. Eiddil inversed Isten's movements, taking a step forward in response. His limbs shakily moved, barely able to support his body weight. It was as if an inexperienced puppeteer were in control of his body.

Panic surged throughout Isten. He was not prepared to deal with a confrontation with whatever was in front of him. His mind was a jumble, though he managed to control his thoughts slightly.

‘Damnation! Is it mimicking me?’ Isten cursed. He took another step backwards to test his hypothesis. Eiddil followed him. He moved one step forwards, his legs dragging blood behind him and stained it the corridor's carpet.

‘What do I do? What do I do?’ Isten moaned to himself.

Unable to come to a rational conclusion, impulse took control. Isten ran down the corridor. Eiddil tailed after him, his limbs flailed about.

He was no longer moving normally. Strings pulled him forwards, headfirst, while his body floated above the ground. Eiddil picked up speed and caught up to Isten. His body collided into Isten’s, pushing into him from behind.

Isten stumbled and fell onto the floor. He shook in fear of his ghastly Uncle. Eiddil’s right arm was lifted, string pulling it upwards, and it cracked back into place. He grabbed Isten’s shoulder, turning Isten around to face him.

Isten punched out attempting to shake Eiddil off, and his legs kicked backwards. He shuffled away from Eiddil, though it wasn’t far enough. Eiddil levitated in front of Isten, his figure a grotesque monster.

A black shadow formed around Eiddil from behind and it shrouded him. Eiddil reached out and touched Isten on the wrist. Isten recoiled, withdrawing his hand while he propelled himself backwards.

However, Isten didn’t notice that a black mark was left on his wrist. It slowly dissipated into the skin, eventually leaving no trace.

After propelling himself away from Eiddil, there was enough distance for Isten to stand. He turned and ran again down the hallway.

The sconces guided the way, their torchlight flickered as he ran past. Eiddil was dragged after him, his limbs limp yet he still could move after Isten. Every torch that Eiddil passed were extinguished.

Isten knew the evil that lay before him, and it could only be worse than what was in the abyss of darkness. The thick shadows covered most sconces in the distance. Isten was visually impaired. He ran straight into its open mouth.

Despite torches guiding his way, he could only see the light of two torches ahead of him. When Isten passed a sconce, a new one would replace it from the darkness ahead. The ones that fell behind were extinguished by Eiddil. They converged into the void.

The temperature fell again, this time below freezing. Isten saw frost creeping out of the darkness and up the walls. His breath was pale against the light and it came out in short wheezes.

Eiddil croaked out a muffled word which Isten couldn’t understand, then threw out a knife. It scuffed past Isten’s left arm, tearing apart the silk of his pyjama top, and it pierced into the floor.

Isten cried out in shock and grabbed his arm. He whimpered in fear of Eiddil, it was a harrowing tribulation. Finally, he neared his room and tugged at the handle to open the door.

The door didn’t budge, it had been locked.

‘Hell!’ He internally screamed.

Eiddil caught up, and punched Isten into the door. Isten bounced off the door and was struck again, this time in the face. Eiddil withdrew another dagger from his pocket, however, the arm involuntarily snapped back and began to writhe uncontrollably.

Isten shook off the stupor and slipped out of Eiddil’s grasp. He continued to sprint, this time he charged down the spiralled staircase. He knew of nowhere else to go and decided to take the risk of hiding inside the bathhouse.

He pushed through the twin doors and entered inside. There was a strong smell of saltwater due to the water being cleaned. He scrambled, searching to find something to block the twin doors, but alas, there was nothing available.

‘Air vent!’ Isten remembered. ‘Inside the changing room!’

He took the last chance available for him and sprinted for the air vent. To give himself more time, he moved the mirror in front of the changing room door, then entered the air vent. When he crawled inside, he heard the bathhouse doors slam open.

The air vent wasn’t large, it was only big enough for a skinny teenager to squeeze through. He shuffled inside it, and finally passed a distance far enough that Eiddil would not be able to reach him from outside the vent.

He heard the sound of the mirror being smashed, it was followed by a muffled voice. He stopped in place. He refused to move in order to not give himself away from his clothes rubbing against stone. He hoped Eiddil would leave the changing room, yet there was no sound of movement. The silence dragged out and time slowed.

Isten could only hear his breath, coarse and irregular. He tried to slow his breathing, but he couldn’t. He was filled with adrenaline and fear.

A rough dragging broke the silence. It was the sound of fabric rubbing against stone. Isten wasn’t moving. It could only be Eiddil.

‘Bloody hell!’ Isten cursed.

The sound drew near. He felt something snatch his foot. He kicked out, pushing forwards and began scurrying away, attempting to move deeper into the tunnel.

Whatever had ensnared him refused to let go of his leg. It grappled with him, dragging him backwards with incredible force.

Isten resisted. He dug his fingers into the stone vent; however, it wasn’t enough. The friction of being dragged caused his fingernails to split, some were pulled out before he could withdraw his hands. Blood spurted out from them, and he cried out in pain.

Isten was thrown out of the air vent, he landed awkwardly on the floor. Eiddil loomed over him menacingly, the shadow convulsed and writhed above it in fury. An arm of unnatural proportion whipped into position; it had extended to an absurd length to fish Isten out of the air vent.

Eiddil’s other hand clawed for Isten’s throat. It seized Isten by the neck, wrenching him into the air. Eiddil walked forwards onto the patio of the bathhouse and threw Isten into the basin.

Cold, salty water engulfed Isten into its unwelcoming embrace. He gasped. Water flooded his lungs, maliciously choking him. Its desire to kill him was unbridled. However, before it had its opportunity to drown him, the pool froze over. Isten was turned into ice alongside the salty water.