Dean Winchester hated quiet houses. They always wait until you relaxed.
"Tell me again why we're in the middle of nowhere," Dean muttered, loading rock salt into his shotgun.
Sam glanced at his laptop . "Three disappearances in five years . No bodies ,Locals say the house breathes."
Dean froze. "Yeah, nope. That's never a good sign." The house stood alone at the edge of lyana forest, wood darkened like it had been absorbed too much rain and too much blood. Windows stared outward, unblinking. As they stepped onto the porch, the door creaked open by itself.
Dean sighed. "Rude."
The air inside was warm. Too warm. Like lungs holding breath.
The door slammed shut behind them.
The house inhaled.
Sam felt it immediately-the presence change, the way the walls flexed ever so slightly. "Dean... this place isn't just haunted."
Dean scanned the room. "Great. Because i was worried it'd be normal."
They moved slowly, EMF spiking, floorboards groaning beneath their boots. The house sighed again, long and satisfied.
Then the voice came.
Dean."
Dean spun, gun raised. "okay, that's cheating."
The voice sounded like John Winchester.
Sam's face went pale. "That's not Dad."
"No kidding, "Dean said, jaw tight. "Dad doesn't whine
The walls shifted. The hallway stretched impossibly long.
Sam swallowed. "This feels like a soul sink.
Something's binding spirits into the structure."
"Like a ghost net?" Dean asked.
"More like a stomach."
The basement door creaked open.
Something scratched from the inside.