Chapter 2: Enter the Haunted Manor

The four of us entered the camera-rigged mansion. To amp up the suspense, we started at 8 p.m. The sky was dark, the only light from candles set up by the crew. Red candlelight flickered on our faces. My legs turned to jelly the moment I stepped inside; I clutched my crosses and started mumbling prayers under my breath.

The air inside was thick and musty, every step echoing off the cracked floorboards. I could feel the cameras watching, but all I cared about was not passing out in front of a million viewers.

“Lila, what are you doing?”

Blake grinned, poking my shoulder. I nearly collapsed. The mansion’s creepy setup, the wind and crows outside—my heart was about to burst. My eyes stung with fear; I gripped my crosses tighter.

He nudged me, trying to lighten the mood, but all I could do was squeak out a nervous laugh. My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped my bat.

Savannah had always played the brave, clever type, often leading escape room shows with Carter and Blake. Seeing me so scared, she poked my face, barely hiding her mockery: “It’s spooky, sure, but are you really that scared?”

She raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with disbelief. She was loving every second.

As soon as she said that, the chat pounced:

“Exactly! It’s thrilling, not scary!”

“For scaredy-cats, this is torture!”

“Lila’s just faking it for attention!”

The comments flew by. I tried to tune them out, focusing on not tripping over my own feet. Easier said than done.

Thankfully, I couldn’t see any of that now. I clung to Savannah’s arm, inching forward. I just kept moving.

I squeezed her arm tight, whispering prayers under my breath.

Our task was to open every room. But with the crew’s props and jump scares, I nearly died at the first door—a fake head dropped from the ceiling as soon as we opened it. My hands and legs went numb, but I still managed to whip out my bat and whack it while chanting, “Saints above, keep us safe!”

My reflexes surprised even me. The bat connected with a satisfying thunk, and I felt a tiny spark of pride—until I realized I’d just assaulted a foam prop on national TV.

Savannah stared, stunned. Blake gave me a thumbs-up. Carter quietly moved to the next door. Figures.

For a second, I thought maybe I’d finally earned some respect. Then Carter rolled his eyes and moved on, clearly not impressed.

The chat exploded:

“What did I just see?”

“What’s in Lila’s bag? Am I seeing things?”

“Nope, it’s full of crosses.”

“Isn’t this a haunted house show? What’s with the bag of salt?”

“Guess there might be vampires too…”

“Just… wow!”

I could practically hear the audience cackling. I just hoped they were laughing with me, not at me.

We opened several more doors; I scattered a lot of salt. Better safe than sorry.

At one point, she peeked into my bag, eyes wide. “How much did you bring, Lila?” I shrugged. You can never be too careful.

At the last door, Savannah, eager to show off her fearless image, pointed at the ornate, antique door: “I’ll open this one.” She squared her shoulders, ready for her hero moment. I hung back, suddenly feeling every ounce of my backpack.

But something about that door made me uneasy. I hurriedly hung more crosses on myself and offered one to Savannah: “Want one? Just in case.”

She laughed it off, waving me away. “I’ll be fine.” Famous last words.

She refused, grinned, and grabbed my hand before I could protest.

She locked her grip on my wrist, dragging me forward. I dug in my heels, but turns out, she was stronger than she looked.

I shook my head, refusing to budge. But she dragged me to push open the heavy, ancient door. No use fighting it.