午夜的琴聲消失後，厄舍府再度恢復死寂。然而真正令人恐懼的，並非那些看得見的幽靈，而是每當夜深人靜時，長廊裡總會響起一串無法追尋來源的腳步聲。它沒有主人，卻一天比一天更靠近。
When the midnight melody fades, silence returns to Usher House—but only on the surface. As darkness settles, unseen footsteps begin echoing through the endless corridors. They belong to no living soul, yet each passing night they draw closer, inviting the narrator toward a truth hidden beyond the mansion’s walls.
中文
那本寫著「獻給最後一位厄舍」的古老樂譜，自從出現在鋼琴上後，羅德里克便將它鎖進書房最深處的鐵櫃。他拒絕再提起那一夜發生的事情，也不願回答我任何關於白衣女子的問題。然而我能看出，他比任何人都害怕那本樂譜再次出現。接下來的兩天，整座厄舍府異常平靜。沒有神秘的琴聲，也沒有畫中的異象，甚至連牆內的敲擊聲都完全消失。這份過於安靜的氣氛反而令人更加不安，彷彿暴風雨來臨前最後的寧靜。第三天深夜，我被一陣細微聲音驚醒。那不是鐘聲，也不是鋼琴，而是一串十分規律的腳步聲。嗒……嗒……嗒……腳步聲由遠而近，像有人正慢慢走過宅邸外的長廊。我屏住呼吸仔細傾聽。聲音停在房門外，卻遲遲沒有敲門。我等待許久，終於鼓起勇氣打開房門。長廊空無一人。昏暗油燈微微搖晃，兩側房門依舊緊閉，地毯上沒有任何腳印。我正準備回房時，那串腳步聲竟再次響起。這一次，它來自走廊另一端。我立刻追了過去。可是每當我接近，腳步聲便再次向更深處移動，始終保持著同樣距離，像故意引導我前進。我不知道自己走了多久，只覺得長廊似乎比白天更加漫長。平日熟悉的轉角，此刻竟出現從未見過的岔路。我停下腳步，發現牆上的油畫全都消失了，取而代之的是一道道發黑的牆面，彷彿這裡已經荒廢數十年。就在此時，腳步聲停止了。我抬起頭，看見前方出現一扇半開的木門。門後透出微弱燭光。我緩緩推開木門，映入眼簾的是一間狹小房間。屋內只有一張木椅、一張書桌，以及一面覆滿灰塵的鏡子。桌面上放著一本日記。我翻開第一頁，上面寫著：「如果你正在閱讀這本日記，代表她已經開始呼喚下一個人。」署名竟然是艾蓮娜．厄舍。我心頭一震，急忙繼續閱讀。日記記載著她生前最後數月的經歷。她曾多次在夜裡聽見沒有主人的腳步聲，也曾追逐那些聲音，最後發現宅邸裡藏著一條沒有人知道的地下通道。她警告後人，無論聽見什麼，都絕不能跟隨腳步聲，因為它不是帶領人前往出口，而是引向「另一個厄舍府」。看到這裡，我背後忽然升起寒意。房間外再次傳來熟悉的腳步聲。嗒……嗒……嗒……這一次，它停在門口。我慢慢轉身。門外依然空無一人。然而地板上的灰塵卻開始一點一點下陷，彷彿真的有人正一步一步走進房間。木地板發出沉重呻吟，灰塵間清楚浮現一雙腳印。可是我眼前什麼都沒有。我下意識後退，撞上那面古老鏡子。就在那一瞬間，我從鏡中看見房間裡竟站著另一個人。那是一名身穿十九世紀服飾的男子，面容蒼白，雙眼空洞。他背對著我，正緩緩朝門口走去。我猛然回頭，現實中卻依舊空無一人。再次望向鏡子，那名男子已停下腳步。他慢慢轉過頭，露出與羅德里克極為相似的容貌。接著，他舉起手指向鏡子外的我，嘴唇微微張開。「快離開……」他沒有發出聲音，但我清楚讀出了他的口型。下一秒，整面鏡子突然龜裂。蜘蛛網般的裂痕迅速蔓延，房間裡所有燭火同時熄滅。黑暗之中，腳步聲再次響起，而且比剛才更快、更急促。嗒！嗒！嗒！它正朝著我衝來。我立刻衝出房間，不顧一切沿著長廊奔跑。直到遠方傳來鐘聲，那串腳步聲才突然停止。我跌坐在走廊盡頭，大口喘息。當晨光終於照進窗戶，我回頭尋找昨夜那間房間，卻發現原本的位置只剩下一面完整石牆，根本沒有任何木門存在。彷彿那間房間，從來就不曾存在過。
[audiobook title=”Episode 6: The Footsteps That Never Existed” src=”https://pub-0d950852c1b24118b76198710040037c.r2.dev/wp-content/uploads/2026/08/The-Fall-of-the-House-of-Usher-Episode-6.mp3″]
English Version
Ever since the mysterious score marked For the Last Usher appeared upon the piano, Roderick had locked it away inside an iron cabinet deep within his study. He refused to speak of the ghostly woman or the events in the music hall, and every question I asked was met with uneasy silence. For the next two days, the mansion became strangely peaceful. No phantom melodies drifted through the halls. The knocking inside the walls disappeared. Even the unsettling portraits remained motionless. Yet the silence itself felt unnatural, as though the house were quietly waiting for something inevitable. On the third night, I awoke to a faint but unmistakable sound. Footsteps. Slow, measured footsteps echoed somewhere beyond my bedroom door. They approached with perfect rhythm before stopping directly outside. I waited for a knock that never came. Gathering my courage, I opened the door. The corridor was empty. Lamps flickered softly against the stone walls, and not a single footprint disturbed the thick layer of dust. As I turned back toward my room, the footsteps resumed—this time farther down the corridor. Compelled by curiosity, I followed them. Yet no matter how quickly I walked, the invisible walker remained just beyond sight. The mansion itself seemed different. Hallways stretched farther than I remembered, familiar corners disappeared, and passages I had never seen before emerged from the darkness. Eventually the footsteps ceased before a weathered wooden door standing half open. Candlelight glowed faintly inside. The small chamber beyond contained little more than a desk, a chair, and an old mirror covered in dust. Resting upon the desk lay a leather-bound journal. Opening it, I froze as I read the signature. Elena Usher. Her entries described hearing invisible footsteps night after night. She had followed them through hidden corridors until discovering a passage beneath the mansion. There she learned that the footsteps did not guide travelers toward escape but toward another version of Usher House—one that existed beyond ordinary reality. Her final warning was simple. Never follow them. Before I could read further, the footsteps returned. They stopped outside the room. Although the doorway remained empty, the dust upon the floor slowly compressed as though unseen feet were entering. One footprint appeared. Then another. Wooden floorboards groaned beneath invisible weight. Instinctively stepping backward, I collided with the dusty mirror. Looking into its reflection, I saw someone standing behind me. A pale man dressed in nineteenth-century clothing slowly crossed the room. His face bore a striking resemblance to Roderick. Yet when I turned around, nothing was there. The figure remained visible only inside the mirror. He eventually stopped walking and turned toward me. Without making a sound, he raised one trembling hand and pointed directly at my reflection. His lips formed two silent words. Leave now. Suddenly the mirror shattered. Cracks raced across the glass as every candle was extinguished. The footsteps exploded into frantic motion, charging directly toward me through the darkness. I fled the room without looking back, racing through endless corridors until distant bells echoed across the mansion. Instantly, the footsteps vanished. Breathless, I collapsed against the wall. At dawn I returned, determined to find the mysterious chamber once again. But where the wooden door had stood the night before, there was now only an unbroken stone wall. There had never been a room at all.
