Locked In: A Chilling Encounter in the Dark

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She turned around anyway. The stairwell behind her was empty. No footsteps, no shape in the lantern light — just the wooden steps curling up into darkness, and the cold draft pushing in from the door that had slammed shut on its own. "There's no one there," she said, her voice thinner than she meant it to be. Elliot didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice had changed — flatter, careful, like a man picking his way across ice. "That's not what I asked you to check." "Then what—" "Was the door locked when it shut?" Mara turned back to it. The old iron bolt, the one that used to stick every autumn from rust, was thrown clean across. Someone had locked them in from the inside — and there was no one in the stairwell to have done it. Unless they were already up here. "Elliot." She kept her eyes on the stairs now, refusing to blink. "How many people did you say you were hunting?" A long pause. Too long. "I said who really killed the others," he said slowly. "I never said how many were left." The lantern flame bent sideways, as if something had moved past it that neither of them could see. Somewhere above, faint as a held breath, a second set of footsteps started down. Elliot's hand closed around her wrist. "Whatever comes down those stairs first," he whispered, "don't say my name back to it." "Why not?" His grey eyes didn't leave the dark. "Because I don't know which one of us it's going to answer to."