The laughter from the main hall faded behind her as Emma hurried up the grand staircase. Every step creaked ominously, echoing through the mansion like a warning. The diary clutched in her hands felt heavier with each second, as though it were absorbing the fear around her.
She paused on the landing, peering down the long hallway. The snow outside glittered under the pale moonlight, but the glow did nothing to warm the mansion's chill. The whisper from earlier still haunted her ears: "Emma…"
Shaking her head, she tried to convince herself it was imagination. "It's just the house settling," she muttered. But then—a shadow flickered across the wall. Not a shadow of herself, or anyone else in the house. Something long, thin, moving with unnatural speed.
Her breath caught. The diary slipped from her grasp again. She snatched it up, flipping pages at random. One line burned into her memory:
"The first to wander alone will see the surprise. Beware the snow, for it hides what is waiting."
Emma's stomach twisted. Something was in the house with her, something patient. Her eyes darted toward the nearest room—the guest bedroom. The door was ajar, and a faint light flickered from within, though the hallway remained dark.
She crept closer, heart hammering, trying to steady her shaking hands. The light grew brighter as she approached. When she peered inside, the room was empty—but the window was open, snow drifting in like tiny, ghostly fingers. On the floor lay footprints. Not human. Long, uneven, dragging as if something had moved with difficulty, yet impossibly fast.
Emma froze. The footprints led toward the closet. Her rational mind screamed to turn away, but her curiosity—or perhaps something darker—pushed her forward.
The closet door creaked as she neared it. She reached for the knob, her fingers icy. She twisted it slowly. Inside, the closet was empty… except for a single gift box, wrapped in faded red paper. No ribbon, no tag. Just the box.
A voice—low, raspy, almost a hiss—echoed from the shadows: "Open it…"
Emma's hand hovered over the box. Something in her gut screamed to leave it, but the pull was irresistible. She lifted the lid.
Inside was a small snow globe. She shook it instinctively. Snow swirled inside, but the scene frozen in the glass was not a peaceful winter village. It was her family—her parents, Lucas, cousins—trapped inside, screaming silently as shadows slithered through the snow, reaching for them.
Emma stumbled backward, dropping the globe. It shattered on the floor, glass scattering like tiny icicles. The screaming stopped. Silence pressed down on the room, heavy and suffocating.
Then the whisper returned. Louder this time. Clearer. "You shouldn't have seen that…"
She turned to run, but the hallway stretched impossibly long before her. The staircase she had climbed moments ago was gone. In its place, a narrow corridor led to darkness that seemed to swallow the weak moonlight. Panic surged.
"Lucas!" she shouted, voice cracking. No answer. Only the whisper, now all around her, coming from the walls, the ceiling, even the floor: "You will see the surprise…"
A cold hand brushed her shoulder. Emma spun. No one was there. Her back hit the wall, and she slid down to the floor, clutching the diary. Every instinct screamed to flee, but her feet refused to move. The walls seemed to close in, breathing. Shadows crept along the baseboards, twisting like black smoke.
From the corner of her eye, she saw movement—something crouched, waiting. It wasn't human. Its face was pale, stretched, features blurred like a melted wax figure. Its eyes glowed faintly red. The whisper became a voice, clearer now: "Tonight… the surprise is yours."
Emma scrambled to her feet and ran blindly down the corridor. Behind her, footsteps echoed—heavy, dragging, but too fast to be human. She didn't dare look back. Every door she passed was open, dark, revealing glimpses of distorted rooms she didn't recognize. Some rooms seemed to stretch endlessly; others had ceilings too low, walls too close.
Finally, she burst through a doorway into the library—the one place in the house she thought she could hide. Books lined the walls, towering shelves creating a maze. She pressed her back against the cold wood, trying to catch her breath.
But the library was not empty. At the far end, a shadow moved. Tall, thin, with limbs that bent at unnatural angles. Its face was obscured, but Emma felt its gaze, piercing through the darkness, focusing on her.
The diary slipped from her hands again. The whispering became a chorus, filling the room: "You cannot hide. You will see the surprise…"
Emma's chest tightened. She had to escape. She had to warn her family. But deep down, she knew—whatever haunted the Harper mansion was not done. And the Christmas surprise was only beginning.
A single candle flickered to life on the library table. On it lay a note, written in spidery handwriting:
"The first to wander alone will set the chain in motion. Midnight approaches."
Emma's blood ran cold. Midnight. The hour of the surprise. And she had no idea what horrors awaited.
The shadow moved closer.
And then, the candle went out.