Chapter 4I Spent the Night in a "Haunted Mansion," and Woke Up to This Comment: "Run, Get Out Now!"

I didn’t have time to keep flipping through the journal. Gripping it tightly, I sprinted back to the landline, breathless, and picked up the receiver.

A cold, monotonous mechanical voice greeted me.

“Hello, due to current electrical issues, your call may experience interruptions. Please state your request.”

I didn’t care anymore. I blurted out, “Call the police! I need to get out of here!”

“Sorry, I did not understand your request. Please repeat.”

“I said, call the police!”

My vision blurred as frustration and fear took over. My whole body was tense, my muscles aching from the strain.

“Sorry, I did not understand your request. Please repeat.”

I collapsed onto the floor, defeated. The journal slipped from my hand and landed beside me.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut: no matter what I said, there would be no help on the other end of the line.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. “How many days will the power be out?”

My throat was dry, and I licked my cracked lips. Maybe—just maybe—the journal was wrong. Maybe what it said wasn’t true.

“Due to line maintenance in your area, the power will be out for 5 days. Please remain patient.”

Beep.

The line went dead, like someone had cut it off with precision.

Five days. It was true.

My last shred of hope was crushed.

It was all too perfectly calculated. The moment my question was answered, the phone became useless.

I had no choice. I had to save myself.

Whatever was causing this—human or not—I couldn’t just sit here and wait for things to happen.

A breeze blew in through the window, rustling the pages of the journal. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed new writing had appeared.

Shaking, I grabbed the journal again. Skipping over the blank pages, I flipped forward.

“At least I have my doll to keep me company.”

“She’s the only one I have left.”

That flower-dressed doll… it belonged to her?

No wonder she wrote about the wardrobe opening and finding it empty.

But when I got here, the doll was inside.

I kept reading.

“Stop flipping through this. The clock is almost at midnight.”

I froze. My head snapped up, and I glanced toward the clock in the living room. From this angle, I could see it clearly.

It was exactly midnight.

From behind the wardrobe, I heard it—the sound of nails scratching against the wall.

Sharp, deliberate, and relentless, like someone was clawing at the wall, trying to dig their way through from the locked room next door.

Sweat poured down my back, and a thin layer of moisture coated my trembling fingers. Steeling myself, I turned the page.

“Since you’ve read this far, let me teach you a few ways to stay alive. Follow these rules exactly!”

What?

I blinked in disbelief. My heart raced as I continued reading, unable to stop even though every word sent chills down my spine.

“On Day 5 of the countdown, you’ll face extreme danger. During the day, you’re free to move around anywhere except the locked room. However, at night, you must lock your door and never, under any circumstances, leave your room.”

“You can sleep during the day, but avoid closing your eyes at night. If you absolutely can’t stay awake, hold the doll while you sleep. If the doll goes missing, immediately open your eyes and find it.”

“Do not read past this entry until tomorrow.”

I let out a shaky laugh. Seriously? This was all I had to do? I already didn’t dare leave my room at night.

But the final line felt like a warning. My hand hesitated over the journal. With everything so uncertain, I decided to follow the instructions and closed it.

Even though it was still daytime, I didn’t dare leave my room except to grab a quick bite to eat. Afterward, I stayed put.

As the hours dragged on and the sky darkened, I made sure to use the bathroom, then locked my door securely.

I lay on the bed, clutching my dead phone like it was some kind of lifeline, a tiny source of false comfort.

To my left was the flower-dressed doll.

Then it began.

The scratching sounds returned, relentless and sharp, piercing my ears until they ached.

What terrified me the most was the realization of what it meant:

Something—someone—was pressed up against the wall, furiously clawing at it with their nails, trying to break through.

How long had this been going on? Long enough that the sound was starting to feel normal.

That’s when I heard it.

A knock at the door.