The air felt like soup and folklore—thick, wet, and dense with stories nobody ever told twice the same way.

Riley Vance squinted at the towering silhouette of Aokigahara Manor, the so-called most haunted house in Japan. No neon signs. No roadlights. Just slanted, rotting shingles, moss-choked stone lanterns leaning like broken teeth, and a gate that looked ready to sue for trespassing. Perfect.

"Okay," she muttered to no one in particular, "if an abandoned fever dream and a taxidermy shop had a baby, this would be it."

The van door slid open behind her with a metallic wheeze, and the rest of the crew spilled out. Joey was already cradling his EMF reader like it was an actual newborn, eyes wide with a mixture of awe and dread. Mina adjusted her shoulder camera rig with a sigh so heavy it might've dislodged a ghost or two. She didn't speak, but her expression screamed 'Why do I still follow you into cursed places?'

Joey squinted up at the house. "Locals say it eats time. Like—people walk in for ten minutes and it's three hours later when they come back out. One guy said he heard himself screaming before anything even happened."

Riley gave him a flat look. "Yeah? My phone eats battery faster than that. *Terrifying.*"

She turned to glance at her girlfriend—her medium. She was already at the gate, fingers just barely brushing the cold iron bars. The gesture was soft, searching. Deliberate. Like she was listening for something only she could hear.

Mina clicked on her camera. "Rolling."

Riley stepped forward and turned to face the lens. Her flashlight cast long, twitching shadows across the gravel path and the edge of the old gate. She flipped her hair over one shoulder, planted her feet, and turned on the charm.

"Welcome to the Aokigahara Manor," she said, voice smooth, clear. "*Allegedly* the most haunted house in Japan. Built on cursed land. Home to unsolved disappearances, mysterious voices, and spirits who whisper your regrets into your ear and convince you to—" she leaned in slightly, arching a brow, "unsubscribe."

Joey snorted quietly behind the camera.

"We'll be spending two nights inside. Full lockdown. No lights except what we bring, no contact with the outside world, and no excuses if anyone freaks out." She shot a glance toward her girlfriend, who was now lighting a thin stick of incense and murmuring something too low to catch.

"We brought our very own medium," Riley added, a lopsided grin tugging at her lips. "So if anything decides to talk back, we'll know. Or at least we'll pretend convincingly."

The sarcasm didn't bite. It wasn't sharp. It was the steady, casual sort—well-practiced. Like someone who'd long since stopped expecting anything real to answer back.

Mina gave a subtle nod and lowered her camera. The lens cover clicked into place with a soft finality.

Riley turned, stepping toward the gate, and gave her girlfriend a gentle pat on the shoulder in passing. "C'mon, babe. You know we don't need all that."

She nodded toward the incense with a teasing smile, then jerked her chin at the house's yawning, crooked front entrance. Without waiting for a reply, she pushed the gate open. It groaned like something waking up. And she walked through.

The gravel crunched under her boots. The air shifted—just slightly colder on the other side. Behind her, the others hesitated. Riley didn't look back. She just muttered to herself under her breath, a familiar mix of amusement and challenge:

"Let's get this over with, haunted Barbie Dreamhouse."