The silence after Leah's scream was the kind that changes every things.
It wasn't just silence.
It was absence as if there was no air to breath.
Aiden stood frozen, fists clenched, eyes glued to the closed door that had swallowed Leah whole. Jonas kept whispering her name under his breath—over and over—like repetition could undo what had just happened.
Mira sobbed once, a sharp, broken sound. Ryan looked like a statue, pale and unmoving. And I… I (Damien Vale) felt the house watching us. Not from one direction—from everywhere.
The door that took Leah was old—solid wood with metal lining. The kind built to keep something in… or keep something out.
Aiden stepped forward first.
"Move," he said, voice low.
He grabbed the knob and twisted.
Nothing.
Not even a click.
He pushed harder.
Kicked the bottom.
Rammed his shoulder against it.
The door did not move.
As if it had grown roots into the floor.
Jonas snapped. "WE CAN'T LEAVE HER IN THERE!"
His voice echoed too loud, bouncing off the hall, feeding the emptiness.
Aiden pressed his forehead against the wood.
"Leah," he whispered, barely audible. "Knock. Scream. Something…"
Silence.
Then—
Thump.
A slow, heavy hit from inside.
Jonas jerked back. "She's alive—open it!"
Aiden tried again. Nothing.
Then the second thump came.
Followed by a third.
Rhythmic.
Measured.
Almost… intentional.
Mira grabbed my arm. Her fingers were ice-cold.
"That's not Leah. That's not her."
The lights above us flickered.
Just once.
Enough to make our shadows stretch unnaturally long on the walls.
Jonas put his ear to the door.
"Leah?" he whispered.
We held our breath.
At first, nothing.
Then—
A whisper.
Right against the wood.
Right behind Jonas's ear.
"…Jonas…"
Soft.
Fragile.
Wrong.
Too slow.
Too stretched out.
Like someone trying to speak with lungs full of water.
Jonas stumbled away from the door, trembling.
"That's her—that's her voice—but it's not—" He couldn't finish.
Ryan took a step backward.
"We need to leave this hallway. Now."
He wasn't wrong. The walls felt colder, as if frost was crawling beneath the wallpaper. The portraits seemed to tilt, their painted eyes gleaming faintly.
The mansion itself had grown hungry.
Aiden looked at all of us, jaw tight.
"We find her. We don't split up. No one goes anywhere alone."
We nodded.
But the house… did not care.
The first corridor
Aiden led us deeper into the mansion. Our footsteps echoed unnaturally loud—the house amplifying every sound.
The hallway ahead forked into three paths.
But here was the problem:
A moment earlier, there had only been one.
Jonas stared. "That wasn't here before."
"Of course it wasn't," Mira whispered. "It's changing."
The corridor on the left was narrow, lined with crooked mirrors that distorted our reflections.
The corridor on the right was pitch black.
The middle corridor was dimly lit, crimson wallpaper peeling off in long strips.
None of them looked safe.
"Which one?" Ryan whispered.
The answer arrived suddenly.
A cold wind blew from the middle corridor—cold enough to hurt.
A whisper floated through it:
"…this way…"
Mira covered her ears. "Stop—STOP—"
"It's not human," I said.
Aiden inhaled sharply. "We take the middle. It feels… connected."
Jonas shivered. "Everything is connected in this place."
But we followed Aiden anyway.
Every step echoed unnaturally. I swear the floorboards moved beneath us—not cracking, but shifting, adjusting to our weight like breathing lungs.
Halfway down, Mira gasped.
"What?" Aiden spun around.
She pointed to the wallpaper.
The peeling strips of crimson had begun to form shapes—letters. Words.
No.
Warnings.
"TURN BACK."
"NOT YOUR HOME."
"THE HOUSE TAKES WHO IT WANTS."
Ryan stepped closer, shining his phone flashlight on the words.
They began to bleed.
Thick, dark red liquid soaked through the wallpaper and dripped down the walls. The smell hit us next—metallic, warm, unmistakable.
Blood.
Mira gagged. Jonas stumbled back so fast he nearly fell.
Aiden steadied him. "Don't touch the wall."
But it was too late.
The lights flickered—
And the words changed again.
Where the warnings had been, now there were six new phrases:
"AIDEN."
"MIRA."
"JONAS."
"LEAH."
"RYAN."
"AND YOU."
My stomach dropped.
"Mira," I whispered. "It knows our names."
More than that.
It knew I was reading it.
Mira began shaking violently. "I want to leave—"
"We will," Aiden promised, though his voice was cracking. "But we're not leaving anyone behind."
The lights flickered again, but this time… they didn't come back on.
Total darkness swallowed us.
I felt something move past my leg.
Fast.
Soft.
Cold.
Not human.
Something brushed Mira's hair. She whimpered.
Jonas cursed. "Phone—phone—turn on your phone!"
I fumbled with mine—hands trembling—and the screen lit up.
That's when I saw it.
A shadow.
Standing at the far end of the corridor.
Tall.
Motionless.
Facing us.
And directly in front of the shadow, on the floor, lay something small and familiar:
Leah's scarf.
Wet.
Dirty.
Torn at the edges.
Mira rushed toward it—Aiden grabbed her arm just in time.
"STOP!"
She froze.
The shadow remained still.
But its arms… were too long.
Too thin.
Hanging down almost to its knees.
Ryan whispered, "That's not Leah."
No one disagreed.
Then the shadow moved.
Not walked.
Not stepped.
It slid.
Like it wasn't bound by the ground.
Right toward us.
Fast.
"RUN!" Aiden roared.
The chase
We sprinted back down the corridor, our flashlights bouncing wildly. The shadow glided behind us, the sound of dragging—like bone scraping wood—echoing through the hall.
The house responded.
Doors slammed shut as we passed.
Walls shifted.
Corridors lengthened.
It was herding us.
Again.
We reached the fork—but the left and right corridors were gone.
Only one path remained.
The house had made the decision for us.
We had no choice.
We ran.
My lungs burned. Mira sobbed with each breath. Jonas kept whispering Leah's name like saying it would keep him sane.
But the shadow did not tire.
Did not slow.
Did not breathe.
It wanted us.
The corridor ahead opened into a vast room—so large our flashlights couldn't touch the far wall.
A dining hall.
A massive table stretched across the center, candles lit even though no one had touched them. The chandeliers above glowed faintly.
But that wasn't what froze me.
At the far end of the table…
sat six chairs.
Five empty.
One occupied.
Leah.
Or something that looked like Leah.
Her head hung low.
Hair covering her face.
Hands resting limply at her sides.
Jonas let out a sound I had never heard from him before.
A broken, terrified whimper.
"Leah?"
Aiden grabbed him. "Jonas—WAIT—"
Jonas tore away.
"LEAH!"
He ran to her.
The rest of us stayed frozen, hearts pounding, breath shaking.
Jonas fell to his knees beside her.
"Leah… Leah please look at me…"
He reached out and touched her hand.
Her fingers were ice-cold.
Too cold.
Then her head snapped up.
SNAPPED.
Not lifted.
Not moved.
SNAPPED.
An impossible, jerking motion.
Her eyes…
Not Leah's eyes.
Black.
Bottomless.
Reflecting candlelight like two pieces of obsidian.
She smiled.
But her smile stretched too far—skin pulling, cracking at the corners.
"Jonas…" she whispered.
Not her voice.
Not even close.
Jonas screamed.
We all screamed.
Aiden ran forward, grabbed Jonas by the shoulders, and dragged him away from the thing wearing Leah's face.
Leah—or what was left of her—began to twitch.
Jerk.
Jerk.
Jerk.
Her arms bent backward.
Her spine arched sharply.
Bones cracked like branches.
Then—
She turned her head toward us.
"One… by… one…" she croaked.
The candles blew out.
The shadow behind us reappeared.
And the house—
closed every exit.