He ran. His legs moved—not by keyboard command, but by pure animal panic. He slammed through a door into a dining room. On the table, a VHS tape sat next to a dusty console TV. The tape was labeled:

The smell hit him first: rotting wood, old blood, and sour milk. He was standing in the exact hallway from the game. The wallpaper peeled like dead skin. A floorboard creaked under his bare foot. He looked down. He was wearing the same dirty shirt, the same jeans.

Leo’s heart stuttered. He slapped the power button on his tower. Nothing. The screen flickered, and the view shifted. Now he was looking at himself. A grainy, webcam-style feed of his own room appeared in the corner of the monitor. He saw himself sitting there, pale, mouth half-open.

The game started. But it wasn’t the main menu. No “New Game,” no “Options.” Just a first-person view of a dusty, familiar hallway. The Bakers’ ranch. The air in his room grew cold.

Behind his real-life shoulder, in the reflection on the dark window glass, stood a figure. Tall. Wide-brimmed hat. No face.