The knob turned on its own.
And the door creaked open.
Ava couldn't breathe.
The attic door, which should have been sealed shut by layers of paint and age, now stood slightly ajar—just enough for darkness to spill out like ink. Cold air seeped down the stairs, brushing her skin like fingertips trailing along her arms. She staggered backward, hand gripping the banister, her nails digging into the wood.
"No… no, no, no…" she whispered, shaking her head. "I didn't touch it. I didn't touch it."
The house made no sound.
It only waited.
Ava swallowed hard. The whisper from downstairs—the one that had called her name—still echoed faintly in her skull. She could swear she felt something behind that door, leaning out into the stairwell, watching her. Listening.
A faint smell drifted down.
Dust.
Rot.
And something else—old, metallic, like rusted nails dipped in stagnant water.
Her throat tightened.
Then the door moved again.
A soft, slow, deliberate screeeak, widening an inch more.
Enough for a sliver of the attic interior to show:
Wooden beams.
Hanging ropes.
A faint trail of footprints leading inward… footprints that were wet, as if freshly made.
Her pulse pounded against her ribs.
"Stop. Please just stop…" Ava whispered into the stale air.
But the house didn't obey.
From within the darkness, something shifted, brushing against the floorboards. Lightly. Almost like fingers scratching wood. Ava's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a whimper. The candle she held flickered violently, its flame stretching toward the open attic door as though being pulled.
The whisper returned.
But this time, it wasn't calling her name.
It was breathing.
Slow… heavy… and uneven.
Like a creature forced to live with damaged lungs.
Ava backed down one step. Then another. Her foot nearly slipped, but she caught herself against the wall. She wanted to run—down the stairs, through the hall, out the front door, into the cold London air. She didn't care if it was midnight. She didn't care if it started raining or if she had to sleep outside. Anything but this.
But the house knew.
It always knew.
As soon as she stepped back, the hallway behind her darkened—every lamp, every bit of moonlight from the windows, swallowed whole as though a curtain had fallen. The only light left was her trembling candle and the thin sliver coming from the attic.
"You don't get to leave," the dark seemed to say.
Her breath hitched. "Why me…? What do you want?"
A small sound answered.
A sound like… a footstep, but wrong.
One leg dragging.
One boot scraping.
Ava's blood turned cold.
Elora's diary.
The entry from Chapter 2 came back word for word:
"He walks at night. One leg limps. One boot scrapes."
The sound was coming from the attic.
Not above the attic.
Not beyond the walls.
Inside the attic.
Moving closer.
"No…" Ava whispered again, breath shaking. "God, please…"
She took one more step back. The candle flame shrank, nearly going out. And then—
A voice.
Not a whisper.
Not a breath.
A voice shaped from something inhuman trying to imitate speech.
"Come… up…"
The words were dragged out, distorted, like the syllables were being torn through broken vocal cords. Ava's entire body broke into cold sweat. Trembling, she held her candle like a shield.
"I'm not going up there," she whispered fiercely. "I'm not."
The attic door suddenly slammed open, hitting the wall with a violent crack.
Ava screamed, stumbling and falling down two steps. The candle flew from her hand, clattering on the stair. Miraculously, the flame didn't go out—but it rolled, casting wild circles of light along the ceiling.
And in that wild, swinging glow…
A silhouette appeared at the top of the stairs.
Tall.
Bent.
One shoulder higher than the other.
One leg stiff.
Dragging.
Its head hung at an unnatural angle, as though it had once been broken and never healed properly. From its chest came the sound—the uneven breathing, wet and rattling.
Ava could not move.
Her limbs refused to obey.
She clutched the stair rail, nails splintering the old wood.
The figure took one step forward.
SCRAPE.
One step forward.
DRAG.
Another step.
Its body twitched, limbs jerking like a marionette pulled by invisible strings. Its face was not yet visible—only a pale blur, as if the candle refused to illuminate it.
Ava finally found her voice.
"G-God… please, protect me…" she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "Lord Jesus… please… don't let it touch me…"
The figure froze at the spoken name.
Not in fear—
but as though… listening.
Then its head snapped toward her with a sickening crack.
Ava screamed again, scrabbling backward, nearly tumbling down the stairs.
The creature leaned forward.
Its jaw unhinged.
And in a voice that was not a voice, it croaked:
"…don't… call… Him."
Her blood froze.
Her candle rolled to a stop at the bottom of the stairs—flickering weakly—and in the fading light the thing took another slow, scraping step toward her.
Every instinct in Ava's body screamed for her to run.
But something else happened first.
The house exhaled.
A deep, guttural, shuddering breath that vibrated through the walls, the floor, the very air around her. The wallpaper rippled like skin pulled taut. The stairs creaked under a weight she could not see.
Ava clung to the banister with shaking hands.
The attic door behind the creature swung wider, as though urging her—forcing her—to climb up.
Her voice broke:
"God… please help me…"
The figure twitched violently, spasming as if the words burned it.
Then, with a movement both jerky and impossibly fast—
it lunged.
Ava scrambled to her feet.
And the candle finally went out.
---
It lunged.
Ava scrambled to her feet.
And the candle finally went out.
Darkness slammed over her like a falling curtain—thick, absolute, suffocating. She couldn't see her hands, the stairs, the walls… only the shifting blackness that pulsed like it was alive.
Her lungs seized as a cold gust swept past her cheek—heavy, damp, and sour, like something that had crawled out of a grave and remembered too late how to breathe.
"Ava…"
The word wasn't spoken.
It crawled through the dark.
Her knees buckled. She gripped the banister, nails tearing.
"Oh God, please—please—Jesus, protect me—"
A violent screech ripped through the dark, so loud she felt it in her bones. The creature recoiled—the sound of its limbs snapping backward, joints grinding. It wasn't a scream of pain.
It was anger.
A low, guttural snarl seeped from its throat.
"…don't… say… His… name…"
Ava squeezed her eyes shut. "Jesus—Lord, help me—please—"
THUMP.
Something slammed into the stairs right beside her.
Wood splintered. Dust exploded upward.
THUMP.
Another step.
Closer.
Her breath broke into panicked gasps. She pressed her back against the wall, praying her body could disappear into it.
The entire staircase vibrated as the thing dragged itself downward.
Scrape—drag.
Scrape—drag.
One hand brushed her ankle.
A cold so deep it burnt.
Ava screamed—raw, animalistic—and kicked blindly. Her heel connected with something soft and rotten. A wet crack filled the darkness, followed by a shuddering hiss.
She didn't wait.
She bolted downward, hands searching for the next step. She missed one, fell, her shoulder slamming into a riser with a sickening thud—but she kept moving. Crawling. Scrambling.
Behind her, the creature descended faster now.
Too fast.
Its limbs hit the steps irregularly, like it was half-tumbling, half-dragging itself toward her.
Scrape—scrape—SCRAPE—
Ava reached the bottom landing. She dashed for the hall—still blind, still swallowed by darkness—her palms searching for the wall.
Her fingers brushed the wallpaper.
It writhed.
Ava jerked her hand back, choking on a sob. The wallpaper pulsed beneath her touch, almost… breathing. She could feel something moving behind it—something large, something shifting.
She didn't scream. There was no air left for it.
She ran.
But the house changed first.
A door slammed in front of her.
Then another behind her.
Then the sound of dozens more throughout the hall—one by one, in rapid succession—
BAM.
BAM.
BAM.
BAM.
It was sealing her in.
"No—NO—let me out!" Ava cried, throwing her shoulder against the nearest door. It didn't budge. She hit it again—wood groaned but held. Her fists stung with each blow.
Behind her, the creature reached the bottom of the stairs.
SCRAAAAAPE.
It inhaled, the sound rattling like something drowned long ago.
Ava spun around, pressing herself against the locked door.
"Please… someone… help me…"
Her voice cracked under the weight of terror.
The creature moved again.
Its foot dragged across the floor.
Its hand scraped the base of the wall.
Its breath hitched, then steadied in a hoarse rhythm—
in—out,
in—out,
in—out,
like it was learning how to breathe simply to call her name.
"A…va…"
Her heart stopped.
The voice was clearer now.
Almost human.
Almost.
"No…" she whispered.
The figure stepped into the faint glow of the window—a thin sliver of moonlight cutting through the curtains. The darkness clung to its body like tar, pulling away from the light.
Ava's stomach twisted.
Half of its face was missing.
Where the cheek and jaw should have been, there was only darkness. Not an empty socket. Not bone.
Just void—like a hole punched through reality.
Its one remaining eye stared at her, milky and unfocused, yet somehow aware. The skin around it sagged, half-melted, as though it had been burned or rotted over years.
It took another step.
Ava grabbed the doorknob.
She twisted—
It didn't move.
She slammed her fist on the wood.
"OPEN! PLEASE—OPEN!"
Behind her, the creature groaned.
"Avaa… come… up…"
"No!" She shook her head violently. "I'm not going anywhere! I'm not—"
The creature lurched suddenly, its limbs jerking as if yanked forward by unseen strings. It stumbled, falling to its knees—but continued crawling, hands stretching toward her, fingers too long, bending at wrong angles.
Ava sobbed.
"Lord Jesus—shield me—please shield me—"
The house reacted.
The wallpaper burst open.
Ava screamed as hands—rotting, grey, bony—shot out from within the torn wall. Smelling of earth and decay, they reached for her wrists, her clothing, her hair.
Dozens of them.
They weren't trying to pull her inside.
They were holding her in place.
The creature rose again, towering, its body contorted like broken scaffolding.
Ava's voice shattered.
"Please—GOD—HELP—"
The air snapped.
A heavy, suffocating silence dropped through the hall like lead. Even the hands gripping her froze mid-motion.
The creature froze too.
Its single eye rolled upward, as if sensing something greater. Something the house despised.
Ava's breath trembled.
"…God?" she whispered.
For one moment—one impossible moment—she felt warmth.
Soft.
Featherlike.
Brushing the back of her neck.
Something behind her unlocked.
The door.
A soft click.
Ava didn't think. She didn't look. She shoved herself backward with inhuman strength, ripping free from the hands in the wall, stumbling through the doorway and slamming it closed behind her.
She fell to her knees, chest heaving, hands shaking violently.
On the other side of the door—
The creature screamed.
Not in rage.
In fury.
As if something stronger than it had intervened.
Ava slid backward until her spine hit the opposite wall, sobbing uncontrollably.
The creature pounded on the door.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
The wood cracked.
Dust rained.
Ava covered her ears, tears blurring her vision.
"Please…" she whispered. "Please… someone save me…"
The pounding stopped.
Silence.
Ava didn't dare move.
Then—
Slowly—
Something dragged itself away from the door.
Scrape…
drag…
scrape…
drag…
Up the hall.
Toward the stairs.
Back to the attic.
The house inhaled again—
and all the lights in the hall flickered back to life.
Ava trembled so violently she thought she might faint.
But the worst part wasn't the creature.
It wasn't the hands in the wall.
It wasn't even the house breathing.
It was the realization that sank in as she stared at the door she had just escaped through:
The house hadn't let her escape.
It had moved her.
Like a piece on a board.
And pieces were never moved randomly.
---
And pieces were never moved randomly.
Ava stared at the door that had moments ago thrashed under the weight of something inhuman. Now it stood silent, perfectly still, as though nothing had touched it in a hundred years. She could almost pretend she imagined everything—if not for the painful tremor in her limbs, or the burning marks on her wrists where the hands from the walls had gripped her.
Her breath stuttered through her teeth.
This wasn't survival.
This was strategy.
The house wasn't trying to kill her quickly.
It was positioning her.
Ava forced herself upright, gripping the wall for support. Her legs felt unsteady, as though the floor beneath her pulsed with each heartbeat. Or perhaps the house itself was breathing again.
A dull sound echoed above—
scrape… drag… scrape… drag…
The creature had returned to the attic.
Waiting.
Calling.
Her stomach twisted painfully. She remembered the attic door gaping open, like a throat inviting her inside. Ava pressed her shaking hand to her mouth, forcing down a sob.
"No," she whispered. "I'm not going up there. I'm not."
But the house had other ideas.
The lights flickered once—twice—then flared so brightly Ava shielded her eyes. When the brightness dimmed, she looked down the hallway.
The far end… had changed.
It stretched longer now. Much longer. The wallpaper was different too—older, darker, with faint patterns of vines and something that looked like ribs intertwined. The floorboards curved slightly, sagging inward as though a great weight moved beneath them.
Ava's stomach churned. The house was rearranging itself around her.
She hugged her arms around her shivering body.
"Stop. Please stop."
The house answered.
A soft whisper, barely audible, slithered along the hallway:
"Chosen…"
Ava's breath hitched. "Stop it. Stop calling me that."
The whisper deepened, blending with the groan of the house settling.
"…chosen… come…"
Her throat tightened as she backed away, step by trembling step. She reached the end of the corridor—her hands fumbling for the front door.
Her fingers brushed the brass handle.
Locked.
She twisted harder.
Locked.
She slammed her shoulder against it. The frame didn't move. The lock didn't shake. It was as if the door had been sealed into the wall. Panic surged through her chest.
"Let me out!" Ava screamed. "Let me OUT!"
Her voice echoed back to her, distorted—twisted—overlapping with itself like multiple versions of her were shouting the same words from different corners of the house.
The chandelier above flickered violently—
pop
One of the bulbs burst, glass raining down like sharp, glittering shards.
Ava jumped backward, covering her face.
The air filled with the faint smell of burning wire… and something else. Something metallic. Coppery.
Blood.
A drop landed on her cheek.
She wiped it with shaking fingers.
It wasn't water.
It wasn't dust.
It was fresh.
Warm.
Ava lifted her gaze.
Above her, the ceiling moaned—and a stain began spreading slowly across the plaster. Dark red. Wet. Seeping through as though something was bleeding from the floorboards above.
Her skin crawled.
"No… oh God, no…"
A loud crack split through the ceiling. Ava stumbled away as the plaster bulged downward, swollen like a blister.
Something moved behind it.
Something heavy… and shifting.
She recognized the sound.
Scrape… drag…
Her heart plummeted.
It was coming down through the ceiling this time.
The plaster tore.
A hand—dark, long-fingered, slick with a mixture of tar-like shadow and blood—slipped through the crack. The nails were black, curved, scraping the air like it was tasting it.
Ava screamed and ran.
Not toward the kitchen.
Not toward the living room.
Her feet carried her instinctively toward the one place she didn't want to go.
The stairs.
Behind her, the ceiling split open with a wet, tearing sound. Something large dropped through, hitting the floor with a sickening thud that vibrated the entire house.
Ava didn't look. She couldn't. If she looked, she'd never move again.
Her legs were weak, but terror made her fast. She reached the stairs and grabbed the banister with both hands.
The wood pulsed beneath her palms—warm, almost feverish.
The house was alive.
It had always been alive.
Ava forced herself up step by step.
Behind her, the creature breathed.
A rattling, gurgling inhale.
A wet, heavy exhale.
Her vision spun, but she kept climbing.
Halfway up the stairs, a whisper curled around her ear.
"Ava…"
Her heart seized.
That wasn't the creature.
That voice was different. Softer.
Familiar.
Ava froze, midway on the stairs, fingers tightening until her knuckles whitened.
"…Elora?" she whispered.
Silence.
Then—
"Ava… go back…"
A woman's voice. Weak.
"…it wants you… don't go up… don't…"
Ava's breath hitched. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest.
"Elora? Are you—are you here? Please—please help me—"
"Not safe… not for you… not…"
The voice trembled, fading in and out, as if smothered under something immense.
"…it hears me… it hears… run… run—"
A violent crash exploded behind her.
Ava whipped around.
The creature had reached the base of the stairs.
But this time, it wasn't crawling.
It was standing.
Broken limbs reassembled, bent at impossible angles. One arm dangled longer than the other. Its head lolled sideways, jaw hanging open, revealing not teeth—but endless blackness inside its throat.
Its one milky eye locked on Ava.
It wheezed.
"…chosen…"
Ava stumbled upward, climbing two steps at a time, heart pounding furiously in her chest. Tears streaked down her face as she gasped for breath.
"Elora!" she cried. "Help me! Please—"
But the voice didn't return.
The house swallowed it whole.
Ava reached the top of the stairs, nearly collapsing. She grabbed the wall to steady herself, her entire body trembling.
The hallway upstairs was darker than before. The bulbs flickered in slow intervals, casting long shadows that seemed to turn their heads when she blinked.
The attic door was open.
Wide open.
Like a mouth waiting to swallow her.
Ava shook her head violently.
"No. I'm not going up there. I'm not. I'm not—"
The floor behind her groaned.
She turned.
The creature had reached the midpoint of the stairs. It climbed faster now, its limbs jerking and snapping into new positions as it moved. Her stomach lurched when she saw its fingers—longer than before—stretching, hungry, reaching.
Ava stumbled backward.
Her heel struck something soft.
She looked down.
A rug.
But it hadn't been there before.
It moved.
It shifted under her foot, tightening like a muscle contracting. Ava gasped as it wrapped around her ankle, trying to pull her down the hallway.
"No—NO—God, help—help—HELP—!"
She kicked desperately, tearing her foot free. The rug snapped back, flattening itself innocently.
Her heart hammered against her ribs so hard she thought something might break.
She turned toward the attic door—toward the gaping darkness.
The creature reached the top step.
Ava had two choices:
Go into the attic.
Or be taken by whatever crawled behind her.
Her chest rose and fell in shallow, painful breaths.
Her legs moved before her mind could decide.
She ran into the attic.
The moment she crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind her with deafening force—plunging her into darkness so absolute it felt carved from the void itself.
She wasn't alone.
A whisper slid through the black.
Soft.
Female.
Broken.
"…Ava… you shouldn't have come…"
Ava's lungs froze.
"Elora?" she whispered.
Another whisper answered.
But this one wasn't Elora.
It was deeper.
Hungrier.
Closer.
"…chosen…"
Ava fell backward, scrambling on the floor, her palms brushing dust and something… sticky.
Her fingers slid over cold wood, then cloth, then hair.
Her heart seized.
She touched a face.
A woman's face.
Cold.
Motionless.
Half-decayed.
She yanked her hand away, choking on a cry.
Something shifted in the darkness.
Dozens of something.
Whispers rose from all around her—
women's voices, layered, distorted, some crying, some begging, some repeating the same fragmented phrase:
"Not a house… never a house… we tried… we failed…"
Ava clamped her hands over her ears.
"STOP—PLEASE STOP—"
The voices howled—
the floorboards shook—
the walls breathed—
and the creature entered the attic behind her.
Its footsteps were wrong.
Bent.
Backward.
Dragging bone and shadow.
Ava crawled forward, desperate to escape, desperate to breathe—
—and her hand touched something on the floor.
A notebook.
Elora's.
She recognized the cover instantly.
She lifted it with trembling fingers.
A new page lay open.
Ink still wet.
Three new words, written in a frantic scrawl:
DON'T TURN AROUND
Ava froze.
Her blood iced.
Behind her…
the creature inhaled.
A slow, rattling breath that lifted the stale air and pressed cold against the back of her neck.
Ava trembled violently.
The creature leaned closer.
She felt its fingers brush a strand of her hair.
She felt its jaw open behind her ear.
She felt hot, foul breath slide across her skin.
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
She couldn't scream.
She couldn't move.
She couldn't breathe.
"You're… chosen…"
The creature whispered again—
right behind her.
---
The creature whispered again—right behind her.
Ava spun so fast her knee buckled, her breath tearing from her throat like fabric ripping. "No—no, please—!"
But nothing stood there.
Nothing visible.
Only the hallway, stretching into darkness like an open throat. The wallpaper trembled, as though the house itself had inhaled, holding its breath in anticipation of her next step.
Ava pressed her back to the wall, fingers digging into peeling paper. Her heart hammered. Her ears roared. And still, she swore she could feel it—the shape of something leaning close, its presence brushing her shoulder like frostbitten fingers.
"Don't—don't touch me," she whispered.
The air tightened.
Something laughed.
Not loud. Not even fully formed.
A wet, breathy sound, like lungs filled with water.
Ava ran.
Her bare feet slapped the wooden floor as she sprinted down the corridor. Every lamp flickered violently as she passed, bursting with a soft pop, showering sparks. The hallway dimmed behind her in a cascading blackness that chased her like a tide.
She turned the corner—
—and froze.
The study door stood wide open.
The same room where she had found the frantic notes.
The same room she swore she had shut.
A faint, pale glow seeped from inside, flickering like candlelight—though she hadn't lit a candle.
Ava shook her head rapidly. "No. Not again. I'm not going in there again."
And yet her feet carried her forward.
Every step was a betrayal.
---
The study was colder than the rest of the house—cold enough for her breath to mist. Papers that had been scattered earlier now lay arranged neatly across the desk, as though someone had taken time to smooth every page.
Or something.
The glow came from the corner of the room.
Ava's stomach dropped.
It was the old oil lamp she had never seen before. It sat on a small table, flame flickering inside, wick unmoving—as if the flame were not truly fire at all.
Shadows swayed unnaturally along the walls. Long, too long, bending over each other like limbs.
Then she noticed the writing.
New sentences had been carved into the desk surface—fresh, the wood still splintered, as if fingernails had gouged it out moments ago.
YOU ARE STILL PLAYING.
Her pulse spiked.
"No," she whispered. "I'm not. I won't. Please—stop this."
The shadows twitched.
Ava.
Her name slithered across the room.
"No—don't say my name—"
AVA.
The flame lunged higher.
And then something stepped out of the wall.
Not through a door.
Not through a crack.
Directly out of the wallpaper, as if peeling itself from the blooming floral pattern. Its shape warped in the dim light—thin, impossibly long, the outline of a human that had been stretched like taffy.
Its face was wrong.
Flat. Featureless.
Except the eyes.
Hollow holes, too deep, too wide, swallowing the light.
Ava screamed.
She stumbled backward, knocking into the desk. Papers fluttered like dying birds, scattering at her feet.
The creature leaned forward.
And the wall behind it moved—as if something massive pressed from the other side, pushing the plaster outward like skin.
The creature reached a hand toward Ava.
No—not a hand.
Something like a hand. Fingers too many, too thin, bending at angles that flesh should never allow.
Ava fell to her knees, sobbing.
"Please! Stop! In the name of God—stop!"
The creature froze.
Not because of her plea.
But because something else had entered the room.
---
A wind.
Cold, sharp, slicing through the house like a blade.
The papers lifted.
The lamp guttered violently.
The wallpaper along the left wall rippled as though breathed on by something vast and ancient.
The creature turned its head—slowly, crackling like breaking twigs.
And through the open doorway behind Ava, footsteps echoed.
Soft. Bare.
Deliberate.
Ava crawled backward, desperate, nails scraping the floor.
A shape formed in the doorway.
A second figure.
Smaller.
Human-shaped.
But it stood unnaturally still, arms limp at its sides.
Its head was tilted slightly—just slightly—too far.
Ava's lungs seized.
"No… no, no, no—there aren't two of you—"
The small figure twitched.
And then she saw its feet.
Blackened. Charred. As if burned.
It took one step into the room.
The creature from the wall hissed low, like a cornered animal.
The smaller figure raised its head.
And Ava choked on her breath.
It had no mouth.
Only a stretched, melted smoothness where lips should be.
But its eyes—
Its eyes were human.
Brown.
Soft.
Sad.
They stared directly at Ava.
And suddenly tears spilled down her cheeks.
"Who are you…?" Ava whispered.
The wall-creature snarled, retreating half an inch. Even it seemed wary of the newcomer.
The mouthless figure lifted an arm slowly—slowly—pointing toward the corner of the study.
Ava followed its gesture.
There was nothing there.
Nothing but wallpaper.
… and something scratched beneath it.
Faint.
Steady.
Like someone writing on the wall from the other side.
Ava crawled closer despite herself, trembling.
The wallpaper bulged outward.
A word pressed through the paper, carving into the surface from behind, as though an invisible pen were dragging fiercely beneath it.
RUN.
Ava's heart stopped.
The mouthless figure backed away, its sad eyes dimming.
The creature on the wall lunged—
Ava ran.
---
She barreled out of the study, tripping into the hallway. Her shoulder slammed the wall. Pain flared but she didn't stop. She sprinted toward the stairs, her breath ragged.
Behind her, the creature shrieked—a sound like metal tearing.
The house shook.
The floorboards rattled.
The lights overhead exploded in bursts of tiny glass.
Ava stumbled onto the first stair—
—and froze when something cold closed around her ankle.
"No!" she screamed, kicking wildly.
The grip tightened, pulling.
She clawed at the banister, fingernails snapping as she held on.
The thing in the dark tugged harder.
Her body slid down one step—
Then two—
The stairwell groaned, wood splintering under an unseen force.
"LET ME GO!" Her voice cracked, raw with terror.
The thing didn't listen.
It dragged her faster.
Harder.
The banister bit into her palm, tearing skin. Blood smeared warm along the wood.
Then—
A low, mournful sound echoed through the house.
A hum.
Almost a lullaby.
Everything stilled.
The grip on her ankle loosened.
Ava yanked her leg free, scrambling up the stairs on all fours.
The lullaby grew louder, drifting from the upper landing—
No.
Not drifting.
It was coming from her bedroom.
Ava's stomach dropped.
She backed away from the door frame slowly, shaking her head, whispering, "No… please, don't be in there…"
The lullaby stopped.
A single creak answered her.
The door to her bedroom opened a few inches on its own.
The darkness inside looked thick enough to swallow her whole.
Then,
very quietly,
someone inside whispered—
"Ava."
And the house exhaled.
---