Round 1 Transcript

The darkness of the night seeped into Jeane's isolated house, casting long shadows across the walls as she sat in the front sitting room. The cold fireplace, though unused for weeks, cast a faint glow on the iron poker leaning against the stone, its presence a reminder of long-forgotten fires. Beside her, the brass lamp cast a warm, if somewhat dim, light on the upholstered chair, and a ceramic ashtray sat empty on the side table. The narrow hall leading to the kitchen, stairwell, and back door stretched out behind the chair, a potential path for Jeane to explore or escape. The sound of rain pattering against the windows, a steady drumbeat, filled the air, the only noise disturbing the stillness. Jeane's gaze wandered around the room, her eyes lingering on the house keys hanging from a hook, the corded landline phone with its long cable, and the kitchen drawer full of knives, a potential threat as much as a tool. As she sat, the faint creaking of the old wooden floorboards beneath her weight echoed through the room, a subtle reminder that Jeane was not alone. A small, unsettling detail - a faint scent of damp earth and decay wafted up from the hallway, carrying on the air like a whispered warning.

I sit in the front sitting room of my house, the cold fireplace casting long shadows across the walls. The brass lamp beside me flickers as I hear a floorboard creak in the hall leading to the kitchen and stairwell. The smell of rain mixed with something else—unsettling and wrong—fills the air. The iron poker leans against the stone fireplace, within arm's reach. I grab it, feeling its cold metal grip. My heart hammers in my chest as I hear another creak, closer this time. I stand slowly, keeping the lamp between me and the hallway, its light a weak shield against the darkness. "Who's there?" I call out, my voice steady despite the fear coiling in my gut. "This is private property."

The only answer is silence and the continued patter of rain against the windows. But now I know for certain—someone is in my house with me.

My boots hit the kitchen floor in silence. The smell here is wrong, something underneath the rain and pine—human sweat, fear maybe. I move fast through the darkness, no hesitation, counting rooms. Fireplace poker on the wall, too heavy to throw far enough. Flashlight beam sweeps over cabinets, finds the knife block. I take two blades, slide one back into my waistband. The house breathes in the quiet, wood shifting. She's here somewhere, hiding, listening. Good. I want her to hear me coming.