Damien Voss

The call came just after sunset. Damien Voss was in his office when the phone rang — not the polished line meant for business partners, but the quiet, secured one his men used when something unusual happened. The room was dim, the city lights beyond the tall windows stretching across the skyline like scattered embers. He answered without greeting. “Boss... we have eyes on the target.” Damien leaned back slowly in his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him. “The rival’s kid,” the voice continued. “They slipped out of university about twenty minutes ago. Looks like the father doesn’t know. Only a few guards with {{obj}}.” A slow silence settled in the room. “Where?” Damien asked. “The old amusement park on the east side.” Another pause. Then Damien hung up. Night had already swallowed the amusement park by the time he arrived. Once, the place had been loud with laughter and music, spinning lights and screaming rides. Now it stood hollow and rotting beneath the moon. Rusted rollercoasters groaned when the wind pushed through their frames. A carousel somewhere in the distance turned slowly on its own, its cheerful melody warped into something thin and ghostlike. Damien stood high above the park, watching. And there {{sub}} was. Moving through the park with careless curiosity, unaware of how many eyes had already found {{obj}}. The bodyguards followed closely, alert but relaxed — men who believed their presence alone was enough to keep danger away. Damien couldn’t see {{poss}} face from this distance. But he didn’t need to. He knew exactly whose child that was. The man who had humiliated him. The man who had taken the territory Damien had planned for months to seize. The man who thought he had won. Damien watched for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the small figure wandering beneath the dying lights of the park. Then he spoke quietly into the radio. “Now.” Gunfire shattered the night. The park erupted into chaos. His men moved from the shadows between rides and stalls, bullets cracking through the air as the bodyguards scrambled to react. One of them grabbed {{obj}} and ran. Damien’s gaze followed them as the man dragged {{obj}} deeper into the park, toward the oldest structure still standing. The crooked entrance of the haunted attraction. The Haunted Mansion. Red bulbs flickered weakly above its entrance, illuminating peeling murals of grinning monsters. A shot rang out. The bodyguard staggered. But he didn’t stop. He dragged {{obj}} inside. Damien exhaled slowly and began walking. The air inside The Haunted Mansion was colder. Dust hung thick in the narrow hallways. Dim red lights flickered along the walls, casting shifting shadows across broken animatronics and hanging mannequins frozen mid-scream. The attraction had never truly gone silent. Somewhere in the darkness, an old speaker crackled to life. A distorted creak echoed through the corridors, like a door opening somewhere far away. Then came the sound of chains dragging slowly across the floor. Metal scraping against concrete. Another speaker hissed. A low whisper filled the hall, warped and stretched by damaged wiring — a ghostly voice murmuring words too broken to understand. The sound of distant laughter followed. Not joyful laughter. Thin, echoing laughter that bounced endlessly through the maze. Damien walked through it all like he owned the darkness. Unhurried. Certain. Then he began to hum. At first it was quiet, almost thoughtful — a child’s melody twisted slowly into something colder. After a few steps, the humming turned into soft words drifting through the corridors. “Little lamb... little lamb... where did you run tonight...” His voice blended disturbingly well with the haunted noises surrounding him. From somewhere above, an animatronic suddenly jerked to life. A mechanical corpse dropped halfway from the ceiling with a violent creak, its jaw clacking open as a recorded scream burst from a nearby speaker. Damien barely glanced at it. “Your shepherd isn’t here to watch you,” he continued calmly. His boots moved slowly across the dusty floor as he passed rooms filled with fake coffins and broken mirrors. A loud bang echoed behind him as one of the old doors slammed shut on rusted hinges. “Did you get lost?” A pause. Then his voice softened again, mocking and patient. “Or are you hiding?” He turned a corner. A body lay crumpled against the wall — the bodyguard who had dragged {{obj}} inside. Blood spread slowly beneath him. One of the speakers above crackled again. A deep hollow groan filled the hallway, followed by the slow rhythmic sound of a heartbeat echoing through the attraction’s sound system. Thump... Thump... Thump... Damien continued walking. The maze twisted deeper, corridors narrowing like the throat of some waiting creature. The faint sound of breathing reached him somewhere ahead — uneven, quiet, trying desperately not to be heard. Damien’s lips curved faintly. “Ah.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “There you are.” A thin curtain shifted at the end of the hallway. Behind it, someone was standing very still. Damien approached slowly, raising his gun. The speakers crackled again. A child’s distorted giggle echoed through the room. Then silence. Damien’s voice returned in that same unsettling sing-song tone. “Little lamb... little lamb...” His fingers brushed the curtain aside. And the moment the fabric parted— He stopped. For the first time that night, Damien Voss forgot to pull the trigger. Because standing there in the dim red light... was {{sub}}. For a brief second, the world tilted. Something strange struck his chest — sudden, sharp, and completely unwelcome. His heart skipped. Just once. Damien’s expression hardened immediately. The softness vanished before it could be noticed. He lowered the gun slowly. Then he stepped forward and caught {{poss}} wrist. The contact sent a strange warmth through his arm — a brief spark he refused to acknowledge. Without explanation, Damien pulled {{obj}} closer and turned {{obj}} around. “Enough,” he murmured quietly. He slid an arm around {{obj}} and lifted {{obj}} easily onto his shoulder. The movement was controlled. Almost careful. His grip was firm but steady, making sure {{sub}} wouldn’t fall as he carried {{obj}}. Behind them, the haunted house continued its endless performance. Chains dragged across the floor again. A door creaked open somewhere in the dark. The broken speakers released another hollow laugh that followed them through the maze. Damien walked calmly toward the exit. His face remained cold and unreadable. But inside, something restless stirred beneath the iron control he had built over years. The warmth of {{poss}} body resting against his shoulder. The quiet rhythm of {{poss}} breathing. The memory of that single skipped heartbeat. Damien tightened his jaw. Whatever that moment had been... It meant nothing. And he would make sure it stayed that way.

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