Aiden was frozen by the bed, staring at the paradox in the mirror. In the real world, the radio played its mournful jazz, its red indicator light pulsing in the dark. But in the reflection, the radio was dead—no light, no sound, just a piece of obsolete junk.
The visual schism reminded him of his final moments in the asylum. That shattered mirror had also shown a world that wasn't, a world that had ultimately dragged him here.
The voice in the music grew clearer. It was a woman humming, her tone ethereal and sorrowful.
*"Lost in the Blackpine wood, the way home misunderstood. Only the rules can keep you safe, the breaker will be erased..."*
The lyrics sent a cold dread through him. This wasn't just a song; it was a warning specific to this place. More unsettling, he could feel the music having a direct effect on him, dredging up blurry images in his mind, like half-forgotten memories being forced to the surface.
He saw a forest of towering black pines, and beneath them, piles of white bone. He saw a woman in a blood-red robe walking slowly between the trees, the grass and weeds withering where her feet fell.
*"Don't listen to what it's saying,"* Martha's warning. Aiden clapped his hands over his ears.
But the music wasn't external. It was playing directly inside his head. Even with his ears blocked, the woman's song was perfectly clear, growing more seductive.
The visions continued: he saw the town square statue, a tall figure in a heavy robe, its face hidden in a deep hood. The statue slowly turned, pointing east, south, west, then stopping, facing north. But at the end of the vision, it swiveled abruptly to face him, revealing a pair of glowing red eyes from beneath the hood.
Aiden's eyes flew open. He didn't know how long he'd been lost in the music's trance.
Worse, the room was getting colder. His breath began to plume in a white cloud, and a delicate lacework of frost was creeping across the walls. It was a phenomenon he recognized—a drastic temperature drop always preceded a genuine supernatural event.
The image in the mirror was changing, too. The radio in its reflection was still off, but something else was now in the room: a hazy figure standing at the foot of the bed. It was wearing a blood-red robe. It was the woman from the song.
Aiden didn't dare turn to look at the real room. He could only watch through the mirror as the woman in red slowly raised a hand and pointed at the radio. Her lips were moving, as if she were speaking, but there was no sound—only the eerie song that continued to play.
Then, Aiden noticed a critical detail: the woman cast no shadow.
A rule from the booklet flashed in his mind: *"Do not speak to anyone who casts no reflection."* And another: *"If you hear a knock at your door, confirm the person outside has a shadow before opening it."*
A shadowless being was dangerous. But this one didn't need to speak; it was influencing his mind directly through the music.
Aiden forced himself to be calm and analyze the situation:
1. The booklet said to turn off the radio and surround it with salt.
2. Martha said *not* to turn it off, but to ignore what it was saying.
3. The mirror showed the radio was off, implying the one in his room was not what it appeared to be.
He thought back to his old career faking paranormal events. The best illusions always contained an element of truth. Perhaps this radio was genuinely supernatural, but also had a physical component he could deal with.
He peered at the radio, and in the dim light, he saw it: on the back panel, there were strange symbols, painted in what looked disturbingly like dried blood.
The music swelled, and the woman's voice became urgent:
*"The rules are chains, yet they protect. Defy them, and she will collect. The Red Nun finds no rest, no peace, until enough souls bring release."*
The "Red Nun." It had to be the woman in the red robe, one of the threats hinted at in the booklet's map.
But he had a more immediate problem: what to do about the radio?
Aiden took a deep breath and made his choice. He would trust Martha's warning—she was a local and likely knew the real rules. He wouldn't try to turn it off. But he would also use the information from the booklet. He would use the salt as a shield.
He moved quietly to the writing desk, opened a drawer, and found a small packet of salt, clearly left by a previous guest. Carefully, he poured it on the floor, making a complete circle around the nightstand where the radio sat.
The effect was instantaneous. The moment the circle of salt was complete, the music's volume dropped significantly. In the mirror, the Red Nun flickered and grew faint, as if pushed back by an invisible force.
And at that exact moment, someone knocked on the door.
*Knock. Knock. Knock.*
Three soft, rhythmic taps.
Aiden's heart nearly stopped. According to the rules, he had to check for a shadow. But it was the middle of the night; the hallway was dark. How could he possibly check?
The knocking came again, five times now.
*Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.*
Then, a gentle woman's voice drifted through the door.
"Sir? This is the night attendant. I heard music coming from your room. Is everything alright?"
The voice sounded normal, human, concerned. But Aiden remembered Martha's words: she was only on duty from six in the morning until ten at night. At any other time, she couldn't guarantee who would answer.
It was well past ten, and Martha had never mentioned a night attendant.
Aiden crept to the door and peered through the peephole. The hallway was lit by a few dim, flickering lamps. A young woman in the inn's uniform stood outside, looking perfectly ordinary, even worried. She was holding a small tray with a tea set.
But the crucial question remained: in this light, he couldn't tell if she had a shadow.
"Sir?" the voice came again. "I heard your radio. I was worried it might be disturbing the other guests. Would you like me to help you lower the volume?"
The explanation sounded plausible, but Aiden knew better than to be careless. He thought of the Red Nun's song: *"Defy them, and she will collect."* Perhaps this "night attendant" was just another form for her.
More importantly, if he spoke to her and she was indeed shadowless, he would be breaking a rule. He couldn't risk it.
Aiden said nothing. He backed away from the door, back to the center of the room. He remembered another unwritten rule from the booklet's subtext: when in doubt, silence was the safest bet.
The hallway was quiet for a few seconds. Then came the sound of footsteps, as if the person was leaving.
But a few minutes later, the knocking returned, louder this time, more frantic.
*KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!*
"Sir, I know you're in there," the voice was sharper now, tinged with impatience. "Your radio is genuinely disturbing the other guests. Please open the door and let me handle it."
Aiden noticed the tone had shifted. The gentleness was gone, replaced by something else... a hint of hunger?
He remained silent.
After another moment, a new sound came from the other side of the door—a slow, grating screech, like fingernails dragging across the wood. The sound was quiet, but in the dead of night, it was hideously clear.
"Open... the door..." the voice was a distorted rasp now. "You've broken the rules... Rule-breakers must be... punished..."
Aiden's throat went dry. He had made the right choice—this was no attendant. But now the thing outside wasn't leaving. It knew he was here. And it was waiting.