Timelines

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Part 2: The Void

(You chose: The room disappears around you.)

The second your fingers touch the velvet…

everything disappears.

Not fades. 

The séance room vanishes instantly.

The candles.

The tourists.

The old house.

Gone.

Lights out. 

You’re standing somewhere else now.

Somewhere endless.

Pitch black stretches around you in every direction, so dark it doesn’t even feel like a room anymore. 

There’s no floor beneath your feet that you can see, yet somehow you’re still standing.

Then a faint glow slowly forms somewhere above you.

Enough to see your hands. 

A bit of panic starts to set in. 

“What the hell…”

Your voice disappears into the void without echo.

Then…

you hear them.

Muffled at first.

As if on the other side of a wall. 

But above you. 

“Oh my God, is she okay?”

That was Mia. 

Another voice.

“Is this part of the act?”

“She’s fine,” the tour guide says with a nervous laugh. “Some people just really commit to the bit.”

A couple awkward chuckles follow.

You try to answer.

They can’t hear you. 

You feel the anxiety building from the pit of your stomach. 

Then the guide’s voice comes again. Lower now.

Closer somehow.

“Okay,” he says carefully. “You can stop pretending now.”

Silence.

Your pulse starts pounding.

You turn slowly in the darkness.

Looking for an exit. 

Nothing.

No walls.

No ceiling.

No end.

Just black.

Then…

a figure appears.

Far away at first.

Barely visible.

A silhouette standing motionless in the dark.

You stand there frozen. 

In shock. 

Another shape forms off to your left.

Then another.

And another.

Then you realize what they are. 

People.

Dozens of them.

Emerging slowly from every direction.

An older man with hollow tired eyes.

A woman clutching rosary beads.

A young couple holding hands.

A boy no older than ten.

You spin around quickly.

More are appearing behind you now.

Some look frightened.

Some exhausted.

Some simply… lost.

The closer they get, the clearer they become.

Not ghosts in white sheets.

Not monsters.

People.

Real people.

Your heart pounds harder.

You mutter out, “What is this?”

No one answers.

The figures continue slowly approaching through the darkness, not aggressively, not threateningly.

Hopefully.

Like they’ve been waiting for you.

Then suddenly…

a little girl steps forward from the crowd.

Maybe eight years old.

Dark curls.

Pale dress.

Wide nervous eyes.

She looks up at you carefully.

“I was wondering if you could help me.”

Part of you is terrified. 

Another part of you is calm. 

The girl wrings her hands together.

“There’s something I need to tell my mother.”

A young boy steps beside her quietly.

“Yes,” he says softly. “If you could please get a message to her… we would be very grateful.”

The crowd behind them shifts closer.

Not angry.

Desperate.

You take a small step backward instinctively.

And then more voices begin rising around you all at once.

“Please…”

“I just need her to know…”

“He never found me…”

“Tell my husband I waited…”

“She thinks I left…”

“I know who killed me…”

The darkness suddenly feels impossibly crowded.

The voices swell louder.

Closer.

Closer.

And somewhere far above you…

you still hear Mia screaming your name.

End of Part 2.  

(You chose: The Object That Remembers You.)

Part 1: The Last Sitting

“You’re coming.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

You barely glance up from the stack of records in your hand as Mia leans across the counter dramatically. “You literally close in twenty minutes,” she says. “You have no excuse.”

“It’s a ghost tour.”

“And?”

“And ghost tours are where people with microphones and costumes lie for two hours.”

Ethan laughs somewhere behind her, flipping through vinyl in the jazz section. “Honestly… fair.”

Mia points at you triumphantly. “Okay but this one ends with an actual investigation.”

“Oh my God.”

“You get to walk through the house and everything.”

“The murder house,” Ethan adds casually.

You stop mid-alphabetize.

“The what?”

Mia grins. “See? Now you’re interested.”

“No. I’m concerned there’s apparently a murder house ten minutes from my apartment.”

“It’s not ten minutes away,” Ethan says. “It’s like… eight.”

You shake your head and slide the record into place. “Absolutely not.”

Mia groans loudly enough that a customer glances over. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“You said that before drag brunch and someone broke their ankle.”

“That was one time.”

“You said it before the abandoned motel too.”

“That was ALSO one time.”

Ethan walks up holding a record in one hand. “To be fair, you almost got possessed in that motel.”

You stare at him.

“I had food poisoning.”

“Debatable.”

Mia leans closer across the counter. “Look, they let you do a séance in the room where the murders happened.”

You blink slowly.

“They what?”

“It’s gimmicky,” she says quickly. “Like theatrical. They use an old spirit board and tell the story and stuff.”

That somehow made it sound worse.

“You need to leave this store once in a while.”

You glance around the shop instinctively.

The low crackle of vinyl spinning behind the counter.

Rows of records.

Warm amber lights.

The smell of old paper sleeves and dust.

Comforting.

Predictable.

“Maybe a Victorian ghost will finally fall in love with you,” Ethan says.

You point at him without missing a beat. “You’re the first one dying if something happens.”

“You’re probably right.”

Mia claps her hands together. “So we’re going?”

You sigh.

A long one.

While grumbling out a “…fine.”

Mia immediately cheers loud enough to embarrass you.

“You’re all insane!”

“Correct,” Ethan says.

***

Rain follows the city all evening.

Not heavy.

Just enough to leave the streets shining beneath the lights.

The tour group gathers outside a narrow Victorian townhouse tucked between newer brick buildings downtown.

Most people walking by probably wouldn’t notice it if not for the lantern hanging beside the front gate.

Black iron fencing.

Tall windows.

Faded green paint.

The house feels strangely untouched compared to everything around it.

Like time just decided to skip over it.

“Okay,” Mia whispers beside you. “This is already creepy.”

“You’re the one that dragged me here.”

“Well, and now I’m scared.”

A small group gathers beneath the steps while the guide introduces himself.

Late thirties maybe.

Long coat.

Confident smile.

“Welcome,” he says theatrically. “To Blackthorn House.”

Ethan leans toward you slightly.

“Definitely not the real name.”

“Definitely.”

The guide continues.

“In the late 1800s, the Blackthorn family became one of the wealthiest families in the city through shipping and trade.”

He gestures toward the house.

“But they became far more famous for what happened inside these walls.”

A couple people shift closer.

“The lady of the house, Lenora Blackthorn, was known for hosting private spiritual gatherings here during the height of the American Spiritualist movement.”

“Table tipping,” Mia whispers dramatically.

“Shh.”

The guide smiles slightly like he’s heard it before.

“Séances. Automatic writing. Mourning rituals. People traveled from all over the country to attend her sittings.”

The lantern light flickers across the front windows behind him.

“Some believed Lenora could truly communicate with the dead.”

A pause.

“Others believed she was practicing witchcraft.”

You feel Ethan glance toward you.

“Why are stories always so mean to women?” he mutters quietly.

“Because history hates weird women,” Mia whispers back.

You shoot back, “and that’s exactly why I’m ok just being in my record store.”

The guide continues walking toward the front doors.

“Then one evening during what would become known as The Last Sitting… something happened.”

The group follows him inside.

The air changes immediately.

Cooler.

Your footsteps echo softly across old wood floors as you enter the foyer.

Portraits line the walls.

Tall ceilings.

Heavy wallpaper darkened with age.

Everything smells faintly like candle wax and old books.

The guide keeps talking as everyone filters deeper into the house.

“Neighbors reported hearing screaming sometime after midnight,” he says.

“Some claimed they saw lights moving through the windows. Others believed something had gone wrong during the séance itself.”

The group enters a long sitting room.

Velvet curtains.

A grand piano in the corner.

Oil paintings staring down from the walls.

And there, near the center of the room, sits a round table surrounded by old wooden chairs.

You suddenly find yourself feeling a bit anxious.

You don’t know why.

“The following morning,” the guide says, “members of the Blackthorn family were found dead inside the home.”

A girl near the back laughs nervously.

“No signs of forced entry,” he continues. “No confirmed suspect. The town quickly turned against the surviving members of the family, believing they had invited something unnatural into the house.”

You glance toward the table again.

Something about the room feels…

familiar.

Not scary.

Familiar.

Your eyes drift toward a glass case sitting against the far wall.

Inside rests a single dark velvet glove.

You stop walking.

Mia notices immediately. “Oh my God. You’re locked in.”

“What?”

“You have the look.”

“I don’t have a look.”

“You absolutely have a look.”

You barely hear her.

The glove pulls your attention strangely hard.

Elegant.

Old.

Beautiful.

For a second…

you could swear you remember what the fabric feels like against your skin.

Weird.

The guide notices the group staring toward the display.

“That,” he says, “reportedly belonged to Lenora Blackthorn herself.”

Someone near the back jokingly asks if it’s haunted.

The guide grins. “Depends how brave you are.”

A few people laugh.

Then he gestures toward the séance table.

“Now,” he says. “Who’s ready to speak to the dead?”

Mia immediately points at you.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Ethan’s already laughing.

“You’re participating now. You have haunted glove face.”

“I hate both of you.”

The group gathers around the table while the guide places an old spirit board carefully at the center.

Candles flicker softly around the room now.

Some people pull out phones.

Others laugh nervously.

The guide raises both hands dramatically.

“Please refrain from summoning anything demonic,” he says. “The paperwork is exhausting.”

A few people laugh again.

But you barely hear them.

Your eyes drift back toward the velvet glove.

The guide notices.

“You can hold it if you’d like,” he says casually. “Some people say objects carry energy.”

Mia immediately gasps.

“Oh my God DO IT.”

“This is how horror movies start.”

“And yet here we are.”

You hesitate.

Then slowly walk toward the glass case.

The guide opens it carefully.

Up close, the glove somehow feels even older.

Not fragile.

Preserved.

You reach toward it slowly.

The second your fingers touch the velvet…

End of Part 1.