Chapter Text
Cam
Now I’m standing here alone. Well, not completely alone. My friends are still in this house. A very creepy house—but whatever, nothing’s going to happen to me.
As I stand here keeping watch, I start thinking. About everything—this place, the murderer, the fire. But I don’t get far, because my thoughts keep drifting back to him. Jonesy.
I still can’t believe it. He likes me too. I mean, yeah, there were signs, but I never dared to bring it up. We were always just friends.
Last night, when we were alone, we finally talked—and plot twist: Jonesy has liked me for years.
And then we kissed. And even if it sounds cheesy as hell, it was the best kiss of my life. That might also be because I’d only kissed girls before, but something had always been missing. I never had a racing heart or butterflies in my stomach. I only ever had that with him.
A noise makes me spin around.
Was that something? The face in the window flashes through my mind again. I’m about to call my friends when my heart stops.
He’s standing right in front of me. And I don’t mean Jonesy.
Robert Carrington himself.
His face is veiled, his clothes are black. And in his hand… a hatchet. He looks like death itself. A scream of fear escapes me.
Suddenly the ghoul lunges forward, grabs me, and covers my mouth. At first I try to fight him off with all my strength, but my muscles give out. I grow more and more tired. What did he give me?
My thoughts grow sluggish. My head pounds, and the last thing I feel is being shoved down a staircase before I completely lose consciousness.
Jonesy
A scream echoes through the old building. Cam’s scream.
My legs start moving before I can think. Cam isn’t the type to scream like that. Something must have happened. I half fall down the stairs, ignoring the throbbing pain in my ankle, and run to the window—where he had been standing just moments ago. But now there’s no one there. No trace.
“Cam!” I call, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. Was he just messing with us?
“Cam!” I call again. “This isn’t funny!”
Still nothing. Now Amber and Buffy are by my side.
“Cam!” Amber calls too.
Suddenly I remember that Cam mentioned seeing a face. Is there really someone else here?
The panic in my chest tightens, cutting off my breath and bringing tears to my eyes.
Bang.
A noise catches my attention. “Did you hear that?”
The girls shake their heads. But I’m sure I didn’t imagine it. And it’s the only clue we have. The sound came from the living room.
It’s a large hall with a big round table in the middle. The chandelier above is so covered in cobwebs that its shadow almost looks like a ghost. I keep calling Cam. Again and again—no answer. The old wooden floorboards creak under every step.
Wait. Brown.
This one… is red.
Blood red.
A choked scream escapes me. If that isn’t the ghoul’s blood, it has to be Cam’s. He’s hurt—and with the ghoul. No… the murderer. Ghouls don’t exist. I don’t even know which would be worse.
Suddenly I feel two hands on my shoulders.
“We’ll find him, Jones,” Amber says.
“Yeah,” Buffy adds. “Everything will be fine.”
My grief suddenly turns into anger. Anger at Buffy, because it was her idea—but mostly anger at myself. I left him alone. What kind of friend does that? If he dies…
No. I can’t think like that. I have to save him. No matter what. But for that, I need a clear head. I wipe the tears from my face and stand up.
“The noise came from here,” I say.
We look around the room. Cam and the murderer couldn’t have just disappeared. There has to be an explanation. The window? No—too high. They’d both be dead. Running away wouldn’t work either—we would’ve noticed. So there must be another way.
My eyes fall on the fireplace again. It’s surprisingly free of dust. And one stone catches my attention. Compared to the others, it’s too perfect. No cracks, no rough edges. Strange for something this old.
Buffy notices it too and kneels down to examine it. I do the same, but my ankle gives out and I stumble forward. My hand hits the stone.
A low rumbling sound fills the room. Like a machine starting up. The same sound as before.
Then the fireplace slides open.
And behind it—a huge staircase.
I hate tight, dark spaces. I hate basements even more. But what choice do we have?
I’ll do it.
For Cam.
Cam
When I come to, I’m in a cold room that looks like a medieval dungeon. Not exactly my style—but if he likes it. I can’t see much. My head is pounding, and colorful spots dance in front of my eyes.
To put it simply, I feel like shit.
My mouth is gagged, and my hands are tied to the chair I’m sitting on. I feel sick, everything hurts, and oh yeah—I’m probably about to be killed by a ghoul.
I sit there for a while, trying to come up with a plan.
Idea number one: scream loud enough for my friends to hear me.
Problem: I’m gagged. And even if I got free, Robert would kill me immediately.
Idea number two: free myself, escape this dungeon, and find my friends.
That one sounds better.
So I start working on my restraints. I almost manage to get the gag loose when a dark voice echoes through the room.
“Well, is someone trying to escape?”
The voice is distorted, but it reminds me of someone. I just can’t place it.
“You can forget it, buddy. You’ve got maybe a few minutes left.”
He laughs mockingly.
“And your little friends won’t save you.”
He pauses dramatically.
“Not even Jonesy. Oh, I feel sorry for that boy. He confesses his love to you, and then you die on him. But don’t worry… he’ll be next.”
No. Not Jonesy.
I try to scream, but it comes out muffled.
Robert just leaves the room. “Be right back—just need to get the right tools.”
Suddenly everything feels much more real. I’m about to be murdered—and then my friends will be too.
My mind goes blank.
I wish Jones were here. He’d know what to do. But at the same time, I wish he were far away—somewhere safe.
A tear runs down my cheek. Then more.
It feels good to cry. For a moment, I don’t think about what’s coming. I just cry.
Then an idea hits me. It’s stupid—but sometimes stupid ideas are the best ones.
I let myself fall sideways, ignore the pain, and roll toward the wall. Then I start knocking.
Maybe they’ll hear me.
That only works if they found the tunnels—but I don’t doubt it. With Buffy’s observation skills, Amber’s common sense, and Jonesy’s cleverness, they’ll figure it out.
I keep knocking against the cold stone.
Again and again.
And just as my arm starts to give out…
I hear him.
Jonesy.
Jonesy
A knocking makes me flinch.
After we split up, my claustrophobia didn’t get any better. But I keep reminding myself why I’m doing this. Cam.
“Hello?” I call down the corridor.
A knock answers me.
Of course, it could be the murderer trying to lure me into a trap. But it could also be Cam.
“Cam?” I call.
Two knocks.
I take that as a yes.
“Shit, Cam, I’m coming!” I shout.
Frantically, I start searching the wall. There has to be some kind of switch here. Like at the fireplace. Every gray stone looks the same—except one. It has a crack down the middle, like many others, but it’s too perfect. Like it was drawn with a ruler.
Even if there’s a good chance the murderer is waiting behind it, there’s just as much of a chance that it’s Cam. And I need to know.
So I press it.
The wall slides open.
Inside, it’s dark.
I step in—and almost trip over Cam.
He’s lying on the ground, hands tied, mouth taped shut.
“Cam!” I gasp.
I quickly set the chair upright and pull the gag from his mouth.
“Jones…” he breathes.
His blue eyes are full of fear—and it breaks my heart. Tears and blood mix on his face.
I immediately start freeing him from the ropes.
When I stand up, I notice the large wound on the back of his head. It’s still bleeding.
But I don’t say anything. First, we need to get out of here. Then I can take care of him.
“Jones?” Cam asks, his voice unsteady.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“Of course. Now come on—we have to get out of here,” I say, trying to sound calm and steady.
But as soon as he stands up, his legs almost give out beneath him.
“Hey—”
I catch him and help him stay upright.
“Take it slow, okay?”
He nods weakly.
Then suddenly, he wraps his arms around me.
I hug him back immediately.
I can feel his heart racing against my chest, and his hands are shaking in mine.
For a moment, everything else fades away.
Then we pull apart, and I support him as we make our way out. Every step clearly hurts him, but we have no choice. We need to get out.
As soon as we leave the room, the wall closes behind us.
His arm rests over my shoulder, cold and weak, and it makes it hard to think about anything else.
When we reach the junction again, Cam sinks to the ground, exhausted.
“Amber!” I call. “Buffy?”
“I’ve got him!”
“We’re coming!” I hear from both directions.
I sit down next to Cam and take his hand.
He’s still trembling. The fear in his eyes hasn’t faded.
I glance again at the back of his head. His blond hair is soaked red, and the wound just won’t stop bleeding.
“Cam?” I ask quietly. “Are you okay?”
He lets out a weak laugh. “Other than being kidnapped and feeling like everything hurts? Yeah.”
Even though he tries to joke, I can hear how fragile his voice is.
“Cam,” I say more seriously. “Really?”
Suddenly, he wraps his arms around me again.
“Later,” he whispers into my ear.
And I understand.
Like I said—we need to get out first. Then we can talk.
Amber and Buffy come out of the corridor. Amber is limping, and Buffy is supporting her.
“Amber?” I ask. “What happened?”
She waves it off. “Just twisted my ankle.”
Buffy points at Cam. “You found him,” she says.
I honestly don’t know why everyone thinks Buffy is so observant.
Cam just nods.
“We should get out of here,” Amber says.
And I couldn’t agree more.
Amber
When Buffy and I reach the others, my breath catches.
Cam looks awful.
His usually blond hair is now stained red with blood. His bright blue eyes are dull and filled with fear.
As we leave the house, my mind starts racing. I go over all the possible ways to explain my ankle to my parents.
“Hey Mom, Dad, so… I went into that creepy house you told me not to go into. Cam got kidnapped, and I twisted my ankle. Do you have a band-aid?”
Yeah. No.
That would get me a hundred years of house arrest. Actually—probably even house arrest after I’m dead.
But I can’t really think straight anyway. My thoughts keep drifting back to Cam.
Or rather—to Cam and Jonesy.
Looks like they finally talked like normal human beings.
Even though I should probably stay quiet about stuff like that. After all, I still haven’t told my parents that I like girls.
Maybe I’ll just wait until I actually have a girlfriend. Then they can’t exactly say no.
“Amber?”
Buffy pulls me out of my thoughts.
“What?”
“Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”
“Jonesy asked if he should drive you home,” Buffy explains.
“Yeah, sure,” I say.
Then something hits me.
“Wait—didn’t we come here in Cam’s car?”
Jonesy gives me an offended look.
“You really think I’d let him drive like this?”
“Uh… right.”
Yeah. This whole day definitely messed with my brain.
Finally, we reach the front gate, and I push it open. Fresh air fills my lungs.
We almost made it. Just a few more steps to the car.
A noise makes me spin around.
And I find myself staring into a veiled face.
Cam
Robert Carrington looks at me—
and all I can do is collapse.
I try to run. I really do. Or at least stay on my feet.
But a wave of emotion crashes over me, and all I can do is cling to Jonesy and try not to cry.
“Well now… where do you think you’re going?” he laughs. His voice is still distorted and unsettling.
Amber and Buffy try to pull me back up as the owner of the house steps closer.
Then he pulls out the hatchet and—
…sneezes.
The shock of it sends a jolt of adrenaline through my body.
I jump up—and run.
The others seem to realize what’s happening at the same time and start running too.
Through my blurred vision, I can just barely make out my car.
That’s it. That’s my only chance.
No matter how much pain I’m in—I have to make it.
Suddenly Jonesy is right beside me, which probably means we’re not going very fast. No offense, but he’s not exactly the fastest runner.
Amber and Buffy catch up to us.
Buffy overtakes everyone, sprints to the car, yanks the door open, and jumps into the driver’s seat.
“Hurry up!” she shouts.
But my legs are getting weaker.
The car is maybe twenty meters away.
And so is Robert.
At this point, I’m barely even running anymore—more like stumbling forward. Jonesy doesn’t seem to have any trouble keeping up with me.
The world around me starts to blur, melting into one dark mass.
I slow down.
The only thing I still feel is his hand pushing me forward.
I don’t know where the strength comes from—but I gather everything I have left and run.
Jonesy’s hand stays on my back the whole time.
Then suddenly, we stop.
Everything goes black.
I feel someone grab me from behind.
Just as I’m about to scream, I realize—
it’s Jonesy.
Then I hear the car doors slam.
The engine starts.
And I know—
we made it.
We’re safe.
For now.