Scrivenings of the King-Beyond-The-Wall

Mirror Mirror #29

Danny always said he'd do anything for a hundred grand, and as it turned out, he wasn't lying. The ad popped up on his feed like fate calling his name: "Earn $100,000 for spending one night in the haunted Mansfield Mansion. Apply if you dare." Most would scroll past thinking it a scam, but not Danny. He was exactly three months behind on rent with a baby on the way. Desperation was a powerful motivator.

He clicked the link, filled out the form, and a week later, received a sleek, black invitation. The challenge was set for Friday the 13th—of course, it was. The instructions were simple: Enter at 9 PM, stay until sunrise, and don’t leave for any reason. Danny smirked at the dramatics. Ghosts weren’t real, after all.

That night, Danny stood before Mansfield Mansion, its towering Gothic spires silhouetted against a cloudy moonlit sky. The estate had been abandoned for decades, left to decay after a series of tragic deaths that fueled its haunted reputation. A chill ran down Danny’s spine—not from fear, he told himself, but from the cold.

He pushed open the heavy front doors. Inside, the air was thick with dust and silence, the kind of quiet that seemed to press against your ears. Danny’s flashlight beam danced over peeling wallpaper, cobwebbed chandeliers, and grand staircases that spiraled into darkness.

He set up camp in the main hall, a sleeping bag laid out on the dusty floor with his backpack as a pillow. Hours ticked by. His phone, which he used to document the night, showed 11 PM. All was quiet except for the occasional groan of settling wood—or so Danny convinced himself.

At midnight, things changed. A cold breeze swept through the hall despite the boarded-up windows. Danny pulled his jacket tighter, eyeing the shadows that seemed to creep and crawl along the walls. He reminded himself of the money, of the baby on the way, of the rent overdue. “Just old house noises,” he muttered, though his voice trembled.

By 3 AM, Danny’s confidence began to crack. The house groaned under the weight of unseen things. Doors slammed in the distance, and footsteps echoed in the upstairs corridors. Danny clutched his flashlight like a lifeline, his eyes wide and searching.

When the whispers started, soft and insidious, slipping through the cracks in the walls, Danny started to regret his decision. They grew louder, a chorus of voices murmuring secrets just beyond his understanding. “It’s just the wind,” he told himself, not believing a word.

The climax came just before dawn. A scream—a raw, terrified, human scream—shattered the silence. It came from above, somewhere in the dark bowels of the second floor. Danny’s heart raced. Part of him wanted to run, but the rational part clung to the rules: Do not leave.

He zipped his sleeping bag up to his chin, eyes fixed on the grand staircase. The screams continued, now joined by a low, mournful sobbing that filled the mansion. It was too much; it had to be a trick, part of the challenge. But who, or what, was making those sounds?

As the first light of dawn crept into the sky, the sounds faded. The mansion seemed to sigh, a heavy, relieved breath that echoed through the empty halls. Danny didn’t move until the sunlight was bright enough to chase away the shadows. He grabbed his phone and stumbled towards the exit, not daring to look back.

Outside, the cool morning air felt like salvation. Danny’s hands shook as he dialed the number given in the invitation. It rang once before someone answered. “Congratulations, Mr. Daniels. You’ve completed the challenge.”

Danny’s voice was hoarse. “What the hell was that in there? What were those sounds?”

There was a pause, the line crackling with static. “You might not understand, Mr. Daniels, but some people pay a lot to hear the dead speak. The Mansfield Mansion allows us that pleasure. Thank you for making it possible again.”

Before Danny could respond, the line went dead. The check arrived in the mail a week later, a hundred thousand dollars, just as promised. But Danny’s nights were no longer his own. Even in his dreams, he was back in Mansfield Mansion, the whispers and cries echoing in his ears. He knew they hadn’t been tricks or wind. Something was in that house, something that knew him now.

He paid his rent. He bought things for the baby. He tried to move on. But Danny never did spend another night in peace. The voices followed him, a constant reminder of the price he’d paid for that $100,000 night.

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(774 words)


Prompt: A mysterious benefactor will pay $100,000 to anyone willing to stay in a haunted house overnight.