The Guest Room is not haunted

"I remain just one thing, and one thing only - and that is a clown. It places me on a far higher plane than any politician."

-Charlie Chaplin

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Chapter 10 - Sam's Performance – A Voice Not His Own

As soon as Sam steps onto the stage, the air changes. The faint murmurs of the audience fade into nothing, swallowed by an eerie silence. The stage lights cast long shadows, stretching unnaturally across the floor.

Sam's grip on the script tightens, but he barely looks at it. He doesn't need to. The words are already there—burned into his mind.

He inhales slowly, and when he speaks, his voice is different.

> "You think I wear this face because I want to?"

The words drip with something sinister, something unshakable. His tone is smooth, measured—but underneath it, there's a slow-building tension, like a storm waiting to break.

> "You think I kill because I have to?"

A pause. The room holds its breath.

> "No… I do it because it's the only time I feel real."

A strange chill creeps through the room, the kind that makes your skin prickle, that makes you want to pull your jacket tighter even when there's no draft.

Sam isn't reading anymore. He's inhabiting something else.

> "I watch you all—pretending, laughing, living your little fragile lives."

He lets out a soft chuckle, but there's no humor in it. It's wrong. It sounds almost… layered. As if another voice is laughing with him.

> "And it's so easy—breaking you. Peeling back your masks. Tearing apart everything you swore made you human."

Something shifts behind him.

No one can see it, but the presence is there. It leans in, listening. Almost… pleased.

Sam's shadow—stretched unnaturally across the stage—doesn't quite match his movements.

> "The difference between you and me?"

A long, unbearable silence.

Sam tilts his head, just slightly. The movement is small, but for some reason, it feels unnatural—like a puppet whose strings were just yanked.

> "I've already accepted what I am."

Another pause.

A cold breath brushes against his neck.

> "You're still lying to yourself."

For the briefest second, a flicker of movement in the dark wings of the stage. A shadow pulling back. Watching. Waiting.

Then—

The moment shatters.

The cold vanishes. The lights return to normal. The world snaps back into place.

But the silence lingers.

Sam swallows. His mouth feels dry. The entire room is still. No whispers. No shifting seats.

The judges are frozen, their expressions unreadable.

Then, finally, Lillian Cho clears her throat, but her voice is not as steady as before.

"… That was unexpected."

But Sam barely hears her. His pulse is still racing. His hands are still cold.

And in the back of his mind—

Something whispers.

Something laughs.

As Sam steps down, his body feels wrong. His skin is cold, his breaths uneven. He rubs his arms, realizing with quiet horror—he has goosebumps.

Ethan claps him on the back, grinning. "Damn, where did that come from?"

Alex doesn't respond right away. His gaze lingers on Sam, his expression unreadable. Then, finally—"Yeah… that was something."

But his voice is quieter than usual. Almost hesitant.

In the distance, a draft snakes through the auditorium, rustling a few loose papers.

Sam shivers. For the first time, he wonders—

Was he the only one on that stage just now?

THIRD POV : Judges' Conversation Before Sam's Performance

Lillian Cho tapped her pen against the clipboard, exhaling slowly as another student finished their audition. The performance had been fine—technically sound, but utterly forgettable.

"Well, that was… something," Darren Holt muttered, his tone dripping with boredom as he scrawled a half-hearted note on his paper.

"Better than the last one," Professor Grant commented, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Lillian wasn't convinced. Predictability bored her. Even the so-called strong contenders lacked a spark.

"Lucas did well," Grant continued. "Solid technique."

"Victoria, too," Darren admitted with a shrug. "A little dramatic, but at least she commits."

Lillian hummed in vague agreement. But where was the unpredictability? The kind of performance that made her forget she was watching an audition?

"Still waiting for someone to surprise me," she admitted, twirling her pen between her fingers.

Darren scoffed. "Good luck with that. Most of these kids are just trying to get through this without embarrassing themselves."

Lillian sighed, glancing at the next name on the list.

#17 – Sam.

She barely registered it. Just another student. Another audition.

Darren let out a skeptical huff. "Hope this one's not another letdown."

Lillian wasn't expecting much either. What could a student really bring that would make her sit up and pay attention?

Then, Sam stepped onto the stage.

And within seconds, everything changed.