It looked abandoned.
Peeling wood. Shattered shutters. Ivy clinging like veins, choking the walls as if the house itself were being strangled by time. The windows were clouded with grime, and the front door leaned open—just enough to suggest it had been waiting for them.
The students gathered at the edge of the unkempt yard, where the bus's dim headlights barely reached the brittle grass. Mist swirled around their legs, curling like smoke from an unseen fire.
No birds. No insects. Just silence.
Ava stood near the front of the group, still gripping her inhaler. "This can't be here," she murmured. "We didn't pass any buildings on the way."
"We were probably driving in circles," muttered Tasha, arms crossed, hoodie pulled tight around her face. "Fog messes with your head. Makes you think you're somewhere you're not."
Daniel held up his phone. "No signal. No bars. Nothing. Not even GPS." He tapped the screen. Nothing responded. Just a spinning circle.
Behind them, the bus sat like a tombstone in the mist. The road had vanished completely, swallowed by fog. It was as if they'd never arrived by road at all.
They were alone.
Completely.
The air had shifted—cooler now. Heavier. It pressed against their skin like wet cloth. Each breath felt borrowed. Ava shifted uncomfortably, noticing how quiet everyone had become. The usual chatter and complaints had dissolved into tense silence, as though speaking aloud might break something.
Then the front door creaked wider.
No one had touched it.
The students froze. A few instinctively stepped back, bumping into each other. The wood groaned again, louder this time, as if sighing in anticipation.
"I don't like this," whispered Leah, voice barely audible. "It feels... wrong."
Ava's hand trembled slightly as she held her inhaler—not because she needed it, but because it grounded her. Her lungs were clearer than they'd been in months, but that didn't comfort her. Something in the air felt wrong. Like breathing inside a dream you couldn't wake from.
Reuben glanced around, trying to keep calm. "It's probably just an old ranger cabin," he said. "Someone must live out here. It's creepy, yeah, but maybe they've been gone a while."
"Or something made them leave," muttered Dax.
Marcus, the tall, quiet one from the back of the bus, stepped forward. "You want to wait out here all night? Freeze? Get eaten by wolves?"
"Wolves?" someone repeated, nervous laughter following.
"I'm serious," Marcus said. "It's getting colder. Either we stay here and panic or we go inside and figure out what's going on."
Silence. Then shuffling. Uneasy glances.
Then, without warning, Leah stepped forward and climbed the porch steps. She paused only once before placing her hand on the door and giving it a gentle push.
The door yawned open.
It groaned like it hadn't moved in years. The hinges shrieked against the silence.
The hallway beyond was dim and cold. Light flickered from a single chandelier hanging crooked above. Only a few of its bulbs still worked, casting pale, yellow light on cracked wallpaper and warped portraits.
The ceiling was high, almost too high, stretching into darkness like a mouth waiting to close.
Dust danced in the air. The floorboards beneath the faded runner looked like they would give with the wrong step.
Leah stepped through. One foot, then the next. Then more followed—drawn forward by some unspoken pull.
Ava hovered in the doorway, heart pounding. Her instincts screamed at her to turn around, but her feet disobeyed. There was no logic to it—only gravity. As if the house itself had pulled her in.
The threshold felt like a line between worlds—once crossed, something intangible shifted.
Daniel stayed close to her, scanning the corners. "We shouldn't be here," he whispered.
"No one should," she replied.
As the last student crossed the threshold, the door behind them slammed shut.
Hard. Violent. Final.
Gasps filled the hallway. A scream. Someone lunged back toward the door, yanking the handle.
"Open it!" Tasha shouted, pounding the wood.
Marcus tried it next. "It's not locked," he said, shaking his head. "It's... sealed."
The chandelier above flickered, casting shadows that danced across the walls. The air seemed to hum. Not with electricity—something else.
Ava stared at one of the paintings. The face was warped, the eyes smudged into dark hollows. But as the light flickered again, it almost seemed to turn and look at her.
She blinked. It hadn't moved. Probably.
Tasha continued banging on the door. "This isn't funny! Somebody better explain what the hell is going on!"
No one responded. Even the most talkative students were silent now. Something primal had settled over them—a shared understanding that whatever this was, it wasn't just an old house.
Then—
A sound.
From deep within the house.
A rolling sound.
Soft. Rhythmic.
Clack... clack... clack...
Daniel flinched. "Is that... dice?" he whispered.
No one answered.
Because they all heard it.
The unmistakable sound of dice rolling across wooden floors. It echoed through the halls. From somewhere deeper inside. Somewhere unseen.
It wasn't just the sound—it was the sensation of something ancient waking up. Listening.
The floor vibrated faintly with each roll, like the house was holding its breath.
A cold breeze suddenly swept through the hallway, though no doors or windows were open. The portraits rattled lightly on their hooks. Dust shifted in the chandelier's glass.
Maya, standing near the back, gripped Nadia's arm. "Why are we still standing here? We need to leave—now."
"We can't," Ava said flatly. "The road's gone. The door sealed. There's no signal. No one knows we're here."
Dax added, "It's like we vanished. Off the map."
Then—
A voice.
Not a scream. Not a shout. Just a whisper.
But it came from everywhere at once—walls, ceiling, floor, even inside their own skulls.
"The first game begins at dusk."
The chandelier buzzed once.
Then flickered.
Then went out.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Someone whimpered. Another held their breath. Shoes shifted on the old floorboards.
Ava couldn't see her own hands. Couldn't see Daniel, though she felt him tense beside her.
And still, in the blackness, the dice kept rolling.