Ravenscroft Whispers: The Phantom Maze.

3. Spectral playmates.

Fiona stole a glance out of the kitchen window, half-expecting to see the man she'd been searching for. However, an empty scene greeted her, sending a slight shiver down her spine. Dismissing the strange feeling, she sauntered to the entrance, hauling her luggage to her room with a slight struggle.

Having slipped into more comfortable night clothes, she zipped up her jacket as an unaccountable cold seeped through the walls, something far more chilling than her London days. With her stomach protesting and weariness settling in, she made her way to the kitchen, thoughts set on a quick dinner.

Among the groceries, a lone pack of pasta caught her eye. The fridge yielded carrots and capsicum, just enough for a simple pasta dish. With a practiced hand, she washed and sliced the vegetables, the rhythmic sound almost soothing. The stove flickered to life under her touch, water beginning to simmer for the pasta.

Suddenly, an odd sound, like something scraping against the ground, reached her ears. She furrowed her brow and hurried to the living area where the sound seemed to be coming from. She looked at the door, which was securely closed. She brushed off the uneasy feeling and returned to the kitchen to continue making the pasta.

After a tranquil dinner, Fiona meticulously secured each door and window in the lobby before retiring for the night. She entered her room and flopped onto the bed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. The payment from Ravenscrofts, her employers, was a balm to her worries, enough to cover her mother's hospital bills and upcoming college fees, a comforting thought that brought a smile of relief before she surrendered to sleep's embrace.

Amidst the hush of the night, a sound jarred her awake. It was as though playful children were frolicking just outside her room. A shiver of unease cascaded down her spine; she was certain she was the only resident in the mansion. She sighed, her gaze resting on the firmly latched door. Rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes, she reached for the jug on the table, pouring water into a glass to quench her parched throat.

Then, it came again. The children's voices, faint but distinctly audible this time-whispers, laughter, and a spectral playfulness that chilled her to the bone. She gulped down the water, the cool liquid doing little to quell the rising unease. Gathering her resolve, she swung her legs out of bed, her hand hovering over the doorknob. Her pulse quickened, torn between investigating the source of the eerie commotion and retreating deeper under the covers.

As if on cue, a child's shrill scream tore through the air, a crescendo of agony that seemed to pierce her very soul. The decision was made for her; her fingers scrambled to unlock the door. Stepping out into the corridor, she was met with an inky darkness, the only illumination a feeble trickle of moonlight filtering through the smudged glass windows. Her heart raced, thudding against her chest, her eyes darting in search of the unseen.

A second passed, laden with an eerie anticipation, and then the corridor seemed to exhale a breath of emptiness. The silence was deafening, the air thick with uncertainty. The echoes of the children's laughter lingered, now a haunting memory, and Fiona stood alone, suspended in that ominous darkness, where reality and something else altogether seemed to converge.

She was on the brink of making a turn, the uncertainty gnawing at her, when once again, that eerie laugh reached her ears. This time, it echoed from below. With hesitant steps, she advanced, her feet carrying her across the dimly lit corridor. Nervously, she descended the staircase, her heart pounding so hard it seemed to have lodged itself in her throat. This was uncharted territory for her, and the fear was palpable.

Suppressing her trepidation, she swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, her mouth dry as sand. Finally, she arrived in the lobby, the source of that faint, unsettling laughter guiding her to a door. She stood there, a moment's hesitation gripping her, before summoning the courage to grasp the cold doorknob.