“We’ve got to get to the attic before this escalates further!” she said (though hopefully it would). Theseus grunted his acknowledgement of her subtle command and cut his way through the fog of webbing to reach the solitary door leading out of the old bedroom. As he attacked it with his boot Phoenie took the opportunity to glance over her surroundings. The sight of fresh cocoons nestled in the corners of the room made her wish she hadn’t.

“This whole room is a nest,” said John, not helping the situation, “Hundreds of critters here, so tiny you can’t see them. I can, obviously, though only with heat vision. They’re starting to swarm, actually.”

With the thought of a thousand invisible spiders devouring her flesh like the rogue nanobots of myth, and the sound of crashing cabinets below, Phoenie was glad when Theseus put his foot through the door. A few more attacks and it splintered open, and the group were quick to follow him out into the hallway beyond. It was devoid of webbing in all but the most inaccessible of places and lit by low-energy strips plastered across the walls in haphazard lines.

“At least the décor’s more inviting,” mused Theseus, “Where’d we go now?”

Phoenie was about to suggest the attic when another door crashed open only a few meters away. The reanimated dead were back, shambling towards the first sniff of flesh.

“We have to find the source of evil!” said Phoenie as the group ran. They were on the third floor, so the attic couldn’t be far away. It was their only hope. Find the spirit. Bargain with it. Get out alive.

There was a howl.

Sunset.

John squealed as his foot crashed through a weakened floorboard. He stumbled over, his laptop spinning out of his grasp. Theseus turned to grab him, but the undead were upon them. With a surge of adrenalin the two boys struggled onwards, Andromeda scooping up John’s beloved computer, but it had cost them valuable time.

Another door ahead. A cloaked figure, knife in hand stepped out to confront them. They diverted through the nearest door, stumbling through a decayed lounge filled with lifeless bodies. More howling. A chorus of howling followed by a verse of undead groans.

They opened another door and all hope was lost. Reanimated corpses lay in a pile as a cloaked figure knelt over them, its gloved hands rummaging through their tattered clothes. No doubt this was the mastermind behind everything: a sorcerer with the hideous talent for exhuming the recently deceased and possessing their decaying bodies with the spirits of demons hungry for living flesh. The figure stood at their arrival and turned to face them. The fate of Veritas was sealed. This mansion had shown them the truth and now it was time to pay the price. Soon they themselves would be shambling through the mansion, seeking out more innocent victims to continue the cycle of death.  The poetic justice was too much.

Theseus strode forward like a proud knight ready to lay down his life to protect his friends, even if the fight was futile. Phoenie reached out a trembling hand to stop him but fear gagged her throat.

“Yo,” said Theseus. So casual, so calm, like a true hero. “Didn’t expect to see you here,”

And as the rush of fear, paranoia and adrenaline slowed down and reality began to slip back into focus, and as the figured removed their hood, Phoenie realised just how consumed by the moment she’d been.

~ And the truth of the mansion is…?! ~
~ Next: What happened to Phantasia and Dante? ~

Here’s a little something I’m testing out…

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Chapter 31
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