The matchlight flickered, casting a weak orange halo around Aarav's trembling hand. His breath came uneven, chest tight as his eyes locked on the symbol carved into the floorboards. It wasn't just a ring. It was circular, intricate, with small lines curling inward like grasping fingers. And at its center… a faint shimmer of red, wet, almost fresh.
Aarav's mind raced. Blood? Whose blood?
The whispering in the walls grew louder. At first, it was just a jumble of sounds—murmurs, sobs, cruel laughter. But then, like strands weaving together, the voices formed words.
You cannot leave… You belong to her… Say yes… take the ring…
He staggered back until his spine pressed against the door. Panic clawed at his throat. He raised the match higher, as if the tiny flame could protect him from the suffocating darkness pressing in from all sides.
The door behind him creaked. Aarav froze. Slowly, the wood groaned open, and pale light from the corridor spilled in.
The innkeeper stepped inside. His frail frame was wrapped in an old robe that dragged slightly against the floorboards. His face was lined with countless wrinkles, his hair a tangled white mess, but it was his eyes that chilled Aarav most—they were cloudy, almost blind, yet somehow sharp, as though they saw straight through flesh and into the soul.
"You shouldn't have lit that," the innkeeper said, voice low, calm, yet filled with something heavy.
Aarav's throat felt dry. He forced himself to speak. "W-what is this? What's happening to me?" He pointed at the glowing ring carved into the wood. "Why is that there?!"
The old man's expression hardened. He looked at the mark as if it were a wound. "She found you quicker than I expected."
Aarav's heart thudded. "Who… who found me?"
The innkeeper shut the door gently. The whispers in the walls faded into a low hum, almost disappointed. "The Bride," he whispered. "The cursed soul who haunts this road, and now… this inn."
"The Bride," Aarav repeated, his voice shaking. His mind flashed back to the vision in the car, the pale face, the veil dripping with shadow. He swallowed hard. "She's after me."
The innkeeper's milky eyes seemed to glint in the dim light. "She isn't after you, boy. She has chosen you."
Aarav's blood ran cold.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, I never agreed, I never—"
The old man cut him off. "Choice has little meaning here. Once her gaze falls upon you, the path is set. You either endure… or you join her."
Aarav's hands shook. He dropped the burnt-out match and fumbled for another, striking it desperately. The tiny flame flared, trembling. "What do you mean join her?"
The innkeeper moved closer, his steps slow, deliberate. The smell of old wood and damp cloth clung to him. "You've seen the ring. That is her mark. Every soul she binds must either resist until dawn or surrender to her call. If you resist, you may leave this place… for a time."
"For a time?" Aarav asked, voice rising.
The old man nodded grimly. "Her curse does not break easily. But if you fail—if you speak when the walls whisper, if you answer when she calls your name, if you accept the ring she offers—you will be hers. Forever. A groom to a bride who never rests."
Aarav's knees felt weak. He wanted to laugh, to deny everything, but the terror in his chest silenced any protest.
He whispered, almost to himself, "My father disappeared here… on this highway. Was it her?"
The innkeeper's head tilted, as though weighing the truth. Finally, he said, "Many men vanish. Many promises broken. But yes… if your father came this way, she took him. She always takes."
The words cut like a knife. Aarav's vision blurred for a moment. His father's face flashed in his memory—his laugh, his hand ruffling Aarav's hair, the day he left and never returned.
"No…" Aarav muttered, clenching his fists. "I won't let her. I won't let her take me too."
The innkeeper's cracked lips curved into a faint, bitter smile. "Bravery will help you survive the night. But heed me well, boy: bravery without wisdom feeds her faster."
Suddenly, the whispers in the walls surged again, louder, more urgent. The sound was unbearable—like dozens of mouths pressed against the wood, murmuring his name. Aarav… Aarav… open the door, come to me…
He pressed his palms over his ears, shaking his head. "Stop it! Just stop!"
The innkeeper grabbed his wrist with surprising strength. His grip was icy, almost inhuman. "Rule one," he said firmly. "Never speak when the walls whisper. They are her mouth, and if you answer, she will hear you clearly."
The whispers grew agitated, the walls trembling as if alive. Aarav bit his tongue, forcing himself to stay silent. His breath came in shallow bursts, sweat beading on his forehead.
Finally, the voices faded, leaving the room in heavy silence.
The innkeeper let go. His cloudy eyes softened slightly. "Good. You endured."
Aarav swallowed hard. "And if I hadn't?"
"Then the door would have opened," the old man said simply. "And she would have walked in."
A chill shot down Aarav's spine.
The innkeeper turned toward the glowing ring on the floor. It pulsed faintly, the red shimmer spreading like veins through the wood. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Rule three: never accept her ring. That is her vow. The instant you place it on your finger, you cease to be yourself. You become hers. Body, soul, memory—gone."
Aarav's gaze stayed fixed on the glowing mark. It seemed to throb in time with his heartbeat, calling, tempting. His chest tightened. For a moment, he thought he heard his father's voice inside it. Son… don't be afraid. Come closer.
His breath caught. His body moved forward instinctively.
"No!" The innkeeper's voice snapped like a whip. He pulled Aarav back by the shoulder. "That's how she lures you. Not with terror, but with longing. She will sound like those you love most. Never trust the voice in the ring."
Aarav's eyes burned with unshed tears. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, to ask if his father was truly gone. But fear anchored him.
The innkeeper sighed deeply, as if carrying centuries of sorrow. "You must endure until dawn. If you survive, you may yet escape. If not…" He glanced once more at the glowing ring, his voice trembling. "…you will be her groom."
The lanterns along the corridor flickered violently, then went out. Darkness swallowed the inn. The whispers began again, louder, hungrier. And this time, Aarav heard a single phrase, clear and cold, echoing through the walls:
"The wedding begins tonight."