PART 2-THE INTERVIEW AT BLACKTHORN HOUSE

Maya ran.

The moment the lights flickered back on, she shoved past the old woman and sprinted through the hallway.

Behind her came footsteps.

Fast now.

No longer dragging.

Chasing.

The mansion seemed different than before. The hallways twisted in impossible directions. Doors appeared where there hadn’t been doors seconds earlier.

And every portrait on the wall was watching her.

Actually watching.

Their eyes moving.

Their mouths twitching.

One of them whispered as she passed:

“She remembers.”

Maya slammed into a staircase and nearly fell.

At the top stood a man in a gray suit.

Tall. Thin. Smiling too wide.

His neck bent slightly sideways like it had been broken once and healed wrong.

“The interview isn’t over,” he said calmly.

Maya backed away.

“Who are you?”

“I conduct second interviews.”

Then he rushed toward her.

Not running.

Gliding.

Maya screamed and stumbled into the nearest room, locking the door behind her.

Silence.

For a moment, silence.

The room looked like an office buried in time. Papers covered the desk. Filing cabinets lined the walls.

And there were photographs.

Dozens of them.

Missing people.

Every applicant who had entered Blackthorn House.

Some dated back fifty years.

Maya grabbed one photo — and nearly dropped it.

It showed HER standing in front of the mansion.

Smiling.

On the back, written in faded ink:

“First arrival — June 14th, 1987.”

“No…” Maya whispered.

“That’s impossible.”

But deep inside her head, something cracked open.

A memory.

Rain.

Screaming.

Hands dragging her across the floor.

Bricks.

Cold bricks.

Then darkness.

Maya staggered backward as another memory hit her.

She had been here before.

Not for a job interview.

For a murder.

Suddenly the office door shook violently.

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

The man outside laughed softly.

“You buried the memory for a reason, Maya.”

Another slam.

The lock began to split.

Maya searched desperately through the papers until she found a newspaper clipping.

LOCAL GIRL VANISHES AFTER JOB INTERVIEW — BODY NEVER FOUND

Below the headline:

MAYA HOLLOWAY, AGE 24

The date was 1987.

Maya’s blood turned cold.

She wasn’t alive.

She had never left this house.

The door exploded open.

The man in gray stepped inside slowly.

Behind him stood the old woman… and dozens of other people.

Men.

Women.

Children.

All pale.

All smiling.

Dead smiles.

“You were our best employee,” the old woman said gently.

Maya shook her head.

“No…”

“You helped us choose the others.”

The memories flooded back completely now.

Every interview.

Every victim.

Every scream behind the walls.

Blackthorn House wasn’t hiring caretakers.

It was feeding.

And she had once been part of it.

The man in gray extended his hand.

“Come back to work.”

Maya looked toward the cracked mirror beside the desk.

No reflection.

Only darkness.

Then, from somewhere deep inside the walls, came scratching.

Hundreds of fingernails scraping wood.

The voices whispered together:

“Stay with us…”

The house groaned.

The lights died again.

And in the darkness, Maya finally remembered the worst part.

She had never been murdered.

She had volunteered.