The Last Guest

The invitation arrived on a Monday.

Elegant. Gold-trimmed. Handwritten.

You are cordially invited to an exclusive weekend retreat at Blackwood Manor. One guest. One prize. One secret.

Emily Hart stared at it, heart racing.

There was no sender. No return address. But she was desperate—drowning in bills, recently laid off, and no family left to call.

Curiosity—and the word prize—was enough to make her say yes.

The manor stood atop a forested cliff, veiled in fog. Built of stone and silence.

A black-suited driver greeted her at the gates. Said nothing. Drove her up the winding path.

She arrived to find six others standing at the grand doors, holding the same invitation.

An older man with a limp. A nervous woman clutching her purse. A couple who looked like they belonged on magazine covers. A tattooed bartender. And a teenage girl in a hoodie who didn’t look old enough to drive.

The door creaked open.

A woman in a velvet dress stood smiling.

"Welcome to Blackwood," she said. "Please, leave your phones here. Privacy is part of the game."

They obeyed.

The interior was breathtaking—crystal chandeliers, gold railings, a piano that played itself.

Dinner was served in silence. Roast duck. Red wine. No introductions.

Until the hostess returned.

"Let the game begin," she said. "Seven guests. One leaves with the truth. The rest... with questions."

They laughed. Nervous, uneasy.

Then the doors locked.

"First rule," she said. "You may not leave until the game ends."

Second rule: "Every hour, one of you will be... removed. Unless a secret is confessed."

They thought it was a prank. A weird murder mystery party.

Until the lights went out.

And came back on.

And the nervous woman was gone.

Her purse still sat on the chair.

Screaming followed. Accusations.

The hostess smiled.

"Confess, or vanish."

Emily's blood ran cold.

Someone admitted cheating a business partner. The hour passed. No one vanished.

But tension mounted.

The older man confessed to hitting a pedestrian years ago and driving off. The teenage girl said she watched her brother drown and never told.

Each confession came with shaking hands and tear-filled eyes.

Emily had nothing.

No dark secrets. No terrible past.

Or so she thought.

The couple refused to speak.

Next hour, the man vanished. His wife screamed.

The bartender said he once switched pills at a club, and someone died.

The teenage girl disappeared next.

Emily’s turn came.

The hostess looked at her.

"Your turn. Speak, or be silenced."

Emily trembled.

"I... I don’t have anything. I never—"

"Lies carry weight."

The lights dimmed.

Then returned.

She was still there.

But now, the chandelier swayed.

The hostess frowned. "You're lying."

Emily ran.

Through halls that stretched endlessly.

Doors that led to brick walls. Windows that opened to darkness.

She found a study. Locked herself inside.

Found files.

About her.

About the others.

Details no one could know.

Her real name. Her childhood trauma. The baby she lost and never told anyone about. The pills she took. The friend who died in her apartment from an overdose she never reported.

Tears streamed down her face.

She wasn’t innocent.

The house knew.

The game knew.

She confessed.

Alone, to the walls.

"I let her die. I let her die because I was scared. I didn't call for help. I cleaned up and left her there. I told everyone she left."

The house listened.

The door creaked open.

The hostess stood there. "Now you're free."

Emily stepped into the hall.

Only two others remained.

The older man.

And the bartender.

The man whispered, "They won’t let us all go."

The bartender nodded. "One winner. One secret. That’s how it ends."

Emily looked at the hostess. "What is the prize?"

"Peace," she said. "Or power. It depends on what you choose."

"How do we win?"

The hostess gestured to a final door.

"Only one of you may enter. The last guest."

They stared at one another.

The older man stepped back. "I’ve lived my life. Not proud of it. But I won’t fight."

The bartender lunged.

Emily dodged.

They struggled. A knife appeared—from where, she didn’t know.

Blood spilled.

The bartender collapsed.

She stood over him, shaking.

The hostess nodded.

Emily opened the door.

Inside: mirrors. Dozens of them. Each showed a different version of her. Older. Younger. Smiling. Crying. Covered in blood.

A voice spoke:

"You carry the truth. But can you carry the weight of all your selves?"

She walked into the center.

Chose the reflection that looked back with sadness.

"I want peace. Not power."

The mirrors shattered.

She woke up in her apartment.

A week had passed.

The invitation was gone.

The house didn’t exist on any map.

The other guests were missing.

No news. No traces.

Only her.

Every night since, she dreams of the manor.

Of the chandelier.

Of the confessions.

And sometimes, she hears a knock at her door.

A gold-trimmed envelope on the floor.

Still sealed.

Final Line: What you confess may set you free. But the truth always comes with a cost.