Ethan Ward led the way down the narrow stairwell of The Haunted Haven, the cracked watch ticking faintly in his pocket as the hum of the signal pulsed through the walls. The radio’s command—“The lost signal fades. Find its end, Ethan”—drove him deeper, the locket glowing warm against his leg, his parents’ voices a tether he couldn’t shake. Sophie Bennett followed close, her wrench in hand, flashlight beam steady despite the gloom. Lydia Kane glided beside her, crimson dress stark in the dark, her ring glinting with quiet resolve. Dr. Nathaniel Pierce brought up the rear, his receiver crackling faintly, his cold eyes scanning the shadows like a predator on a leash.

  “Round nine,” Sophie said, her voice cutting the silence. “Feels like we’re storming the final boss lair. Think it’s got a dragon down here, doc?”

  Pierce smirked, adjusting the receiver’s dial. “No dragons. Just frequencies—older than this town, hungrier than you’d like.” His device beeped, a sharp spike on its screen, and he nodded ahead. “Signal’s peaking. We’re close.”

  “Great,” Ethan muttered, the key warm in his hand, the journal tucked under his arm—The signal’s alive. “Let’s find the endgame.” He swept his flashlight across the asylum chamber—twisted beds, shattered glass—and stopped at the rusted grate they’d opened before. The shaft below yawned darker now, the wail sharper, mechanical, alive.

  Lydia stepped forward, her gaze fixed on the drop. “The core,” she said, her whisper sharp. “Where it holds them—where it held me. The signal’s end is its heart.”

  “Then we’re cutting it out,” Ethan said, stepping in. The drop jolted his knees as he landed, the others following—Sophie with a muffled grunt, Lydia silent, Pierce with a calculated thud. The chamber below was vast—stone walls slick with damp, symbols glowing green—and the eye-machine loomed ahead, its cracked lens dark but humming, wires sprawling like veins.

  Pierce raised his receiver, the beep steadying. “This is it,” he said, voice low. “The signal’s anchor—where it traps the lost.”

  Ethan’s locket flared, and he pulled it out—the photo glowed, his parents’ faces sharp, Lydia’s younger self beside them. “They’re here,” he said, stepping closer. The hum spiked, a roar building, and shadows bled from the machine—not vague now, but human, their wails piercing—dozens, hundreds, screaming faces he didn’t know.

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  Sophie swung her wrench, a clang dissolving one, but more surged. “Busy heart!” she shouted, dodging a clawing shape. “Plan, boss?”

  “Shut it down!” Ethan yelled, lunging for the machine. The key burned, its glow flaring, and he slammed it into a slot beneath the wrecked lens. The roar peaked, the chamber shaking, and a voice broke through—not the radio’s, but his dad’s, rough and urgent.

  “Ethan!” it crackled, threading through the wails. “It’s us—the signal’s us—stop it—”

  “Dad?” Ethan’s grip tightened, the shadows freezing mid-lunge. His mom’s voice followed, faint but clear: “Free us—break it—”

  Pierce grabbed his arm, his receiver beeping wildly. “Wait!” he snapped, eyes blazing. “Break it wrong, and it spills—everything, everywhere. We need to tune it—shut it off clean.”

  “Tune it how?” Ethan demanded, the key pulsing, the wails deafening.

  “The frequency,” Pierce said, shoving the receiver into Ethan’s hand. “Match it—reverse it. I built this—I know its pulse.” He pointed at a rusted dial on the machine, wires sparking around it. “Turn it. Now.”

  Ethan hesitated, the locket burning, his parents’ voices fading into the roar. Lydia stepped forward, her ring glowing faintly. “He’s right,” she said, her gaze steady. “It’s alive—kill it clean, or it takes us all.”

  “Fine,” Ethan growled, twisting the key deeper. The machine screeched, the hum warping, and he grabbed the dial, turning it as Pierce’s receiver spiked—then steadied, the beep slowing. The shadows trembled, their wails softening to sobs, and a panel slid open in the machine’s base, revealing a small, glowing core—a crystal, pulsing red, etched with the eye symbol.

  “The end,” Lydia whispered, her form flickering. “Their prison.”

  Ethan yanked the key out, the core dimming, and grabbed it—the crystal burned, then cooled, its light fading. The shadows sank into the floor, the wails dying, and the machine groaned, its hum falling silent. A faint clatter followed—a rusted keychain, etched with Haven Core, dropping from the panel.

  Sophie exhaled, lowering her wrench. “Did we win?”

  “Not yet,” Ethan said, voice raw, pocketing the keychain. He flipped the locket open—the photo glowed brighter, his parents’ faces vivid, Lydia’s beside them, but they weren’t free. “They’re still in it.”

  Pierce retrieved his receiver, its screen flat. “You stopped it—partly,” he said, voice low. “The signal’s core is dead, but they’re deeper—past this. The threshold’s heart.”

  “Then we go deeper,” Ethan said, turning to Lydia. “Where?”

  She pointed at a crack in the chamber wall, dark and endless, the hum gone but a faint scream echoing from within. “There,” she said, her ring steady. “The final door.”

  Sophie grinned, hefting her flashlight. “Round ten, doc’s deal sealed. Let’s finish it.”

  Ethan nodded, the crystal heavy in his pocket, his parents’ voices silent but close. Pierce’s shadow loomed beside him, Lydia’s gaze fixed ahead. The Haven’s end was near—and he wasn’t stopping until it let them go.