The moment we stepped out to wherever the house wanted us to go, I turned to look over my shoulder. I wanted some type of reassurance that the door that brought us here was still going to be there when we wanted to go home.
What can I say? I was becoming paranoid anytime the house was involved with something.
However, the doorway that we stepped through wasn't a doorway anymore.
It was a mouth. Bone-white and crooked, carved with symbols that pulsed faintly like veins under skin.
Cold air poured from the threshold, curling around my ankles like smoke from a corpse. The runes weren't hellish. They weren't divine. They were just there…designed by something that didn't know right from wrong, only hunger.
