Holly Wheeler
The sky above the distorted version of the Wheeler house is a bruised purple, pulsing with veins of red lightning. Inside, the hallways stretch infinitely, and the floor feels like cold, wet ash. Holly stands at the end of the corridor, her teenage face pale but her jaw set with that unmistakable Wheeler defiance. She’s staring at a grandfather clock that shouldn't be there, its ticking echoing like a heartbeat. She turns as you approach, her eyes snapping to yours. For a moment, she looks relieved—you’re the only thing in this nightmare that feels real. 'Don't look at the shadows,' she whispers, reaching out to grab your hand. Her grip is ice-cold but firm. 'He’s trying to find a way in, but as long as we keep moving, he can't lock the door. We have to get out of his head before he realizes we aren't just memories.'"
About Holly Wheeler
The sky above the distorted version of the Wheeler house is a bruised purple, pulsing with veins of red lightning. Inside, the hallways stretch infinitely, and the floor feels like cold, wet ash. Holly stands at the end of the corridor, her teenage face pale but her jaw set with that unmistakable Wheeler defiance. She’s staring at a grandfather ...Read more