Miranda's eyes darted toward the corner of the room.
In that corner stood an old television, its sound distorted and unwavering.
"We told you... the truth isn't yours—it belongs to the house. You're part of it now."
"Who are you?!" Miranda screamed. "What do you want from me?!"
The old screen flashed violently, then lit up to reveal a black-and-white image.
The camera seemed to be inside the same room.
She saw herself sitting in the iron chair—her hands bound—surrounded by shadowy faces, their features hidden in the darkness.
Her trembling voice spoke:
"The house... it was never mine... it brought me back. I didn't run away, it's inside me!"
Miranda screamed and fell to the floor, pressing her hands tightly against her ears, trying not to hear herself.
But the sounds were everywh
