The Last Guest
April 4, 2025
The invitation arrived with no return address.
A thick black envelope, sealed in red wax. Inside, a single card:
“You are cordially invited to dinner at Black Hollow Manor. Midnight. Dress well.”
Tasha laughed. “What is this, a murder mystery party?”
Her roommate Rachel frowned. “Who even sent it?”
“No idea. Probably some weird viral thing.” Tasha grinned. “Either way, I’m going.”
“By yourself? You’re seriously going alone to a creepy house at midnight?”
Tasha held up the card. “Free dinner. Fancy vibes. Might be fun.”
Black Hollow Manor stood like a corpse dressed in lace.
Old stone. Shattered windows. A gate that creaked open all by itself.
Tasha stepped out of her car, heels crunching on gravel. “This better be the best charcuterie board of my life.”
She walked to the front door. It opened before she knocked.
Inside, the house looked nothing like the decayed exterior. Polished floors. Candlelight. A long, gleaming dining table.
Seven chairs.
Six filled.
Every guest wore black. None spoke.
Tasha took the last seat.
“Bit dramatic,” she muttered. “But okay.”
A man at the head of the table raised a crystal glass. “Welcome.”
She glanced around. No one moved. No one smiled.
“Is this… some kind of performance?” she asked.
The man turned to her. His eyes were all pupil. “You accepted the invitation. That means you agreed.”
“To what?”
“To replace the one who broke the rules.”
Tasha blinked. “Okay, seriously. What the hell is going on?”
The woman beside her leaned close. “Don’t get up.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you stand before the clock strikes one, you stay.”
A grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly. The hands hovered at 12:15.
Tasha stood.
The room groaned.
The candles flared high and blue.
The man at the head of the table smiled, revealing teeth that were too long. “So eager.”
She bolted for the door.
It was gone.
Just wall.
“No—no, no, no—”
The guests all turned their heads in unison. Their eyes pitch black, their smiles wrong.
“You sat. You stayed. You rose,” they chanted.
“What does that mean?!”
The man stood. “You are now the seventh.”
Tasha screamed as the floor beneath her softened—like flesh. Her heels sank. She tried to lift her feet, but hands reached from the floor, gripping her ankles.
“You can’t do this!”
“It’s already done,” the woman whispered. “I broke the rules before you. Thanks for taking my place.”
She winked as Tasha was pulled under.
The table reset.
The door appeared again.
And outside, another invitation was dropped into another mailbox.
Midnight. Dress well.