Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound echoed through the silent house.
Evelyn's breath hitched as she stared at the front door, her pulse pounding in her ears. Her mother's voice had come from the other side—but that was impossible.
Her mother was dead.
Her hands trembled as she took a step back. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but something in the air felt suffocating—like the house wouldn't let her leave.
Then—
The handle rattled.
A whisper seeped through the wood.
"Evelyn... let me in."
Her stomach twisted.
The same words.
The same voice from her childhood memory.
She shook her head, gripping the wall for support. "No," she whispered. "You're not her."
Silence.
Then—scratching.
Slow, deliberate. Nails dragging down the wood.
Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
Then—the voice changed.
No longer soft. No longer pleading.
It twisted, deepened, turning into something unnatural.
"Evelyn."
The floorboards beneath her feet groaned. The walls shuddered.
Then—
The door burst open.
What Lies Beyond
A gust of freezing air slammed into her, forcing her back.
The doorway gaped open—but the outside world was gone.
No street. No town.
Just endless darkness.
And then—something stepped forward.
A figure.
It was her mother.
Or at least, it looked like her.
Same face. Same dark hair. Same tired eyes.
But something was wrong.
The edges of her form wavered, flickering like a dying flame. Her limbs were too thin, her fingers too long.
Her lips curled into a sickly, knowing smile.
"You left us," the figure whispered.
Evelyn's throat closed.
This wasn't real. It wasn't her.
But the thing in the doorway tilted its head, watching her.
And then—it took a step inside.
The Chase Begins
Evelyn ran.
She spun, sprinting down the hallway, her pulse a hammer in her skull. The floor shifted beneath her, the house warping. The walls stretched, bending wrong, like the house itself was alive.
Behind her—footsteps.
Slow. Unhurried.
The thing was following.
She reached the stairs, gripping the railing as she bolted upward. The air thickened, pressing against her chest, making it hard to breathe.
A whisper curled around her ear.
"There's nowhere to run."
Evelyn ignored it.
She reached the second floor, darting toward the master bedroom—her mother's room. The door was open, and she stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind her.
Silence.
She pressed her back against the wood, heart racing.
Then—
A slow knock on the other side.
"Let me in, Evelyn."
Her hands clenched into fists.
"Think. There has to be a way out."
Her eyes darted around the room—until they landed on the old writing desk.
Her mother's journal.
It sat untouched, covered in dust.
She lunged for it, flipping through the pages with shaking hands. There had to be something—some clue.
Then, she found it.
A passage, written in hurried, messy script.
"The house is his. The house is his. The house is his."
"He waits beneath."
"He is hungry."
"Do not open the door."
Evelyn swallowed hard.
Too late for that.
The knocking stopped.
The air grew still.
Then—a whisper.
"I'm already inside."
Cold breath on her neck.
Something was behind her.
Evelyn turned—
And screamed.
The Shadow That Wakes
Evelyn spun around—but there was nothing.
The air was cold, thick, suffocating, pressing against her skin like unseen hands. The whisper that had crept over her shoulder was gone, but the feeling of being watched—closer than before—remained.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
She wasn't alone.
The journal trembled in her hands.
She glanced down at the pages, heart hammering, reading the last scrawled words over and over.
"He waits beneath."
"He is hungry."
"Do not open the door."
Too late.
The door had already opened itself.
And now—something had come through.
The Room That Changed
The bedroom felt... different.
Wrong.
The furniture was there but shifting, like oil swirling on the surface of water. The bed warped, the wooden dresser seemed to breathe, the shadows in the corners stretched toward her.
She took a step back—
And the floor groaned.
Not like wood under pressure.
Like something underneath it moved.
Her breath hitched.
A slow, rhythmic thump-thump-thump rose from below, faint but unmistakable—a heartbeat.
The house was alive.
And it was listening.
Then—the whisper returned.
Close. Right by her ear.
"You shouldn't have come back."
Evelyn whirled.
And saw it.
The Thing in the Corner
A shape.
At first, it was just a shadow, blending with the darkness near the old wardrobe.
But then—it moved.
Emerging from the corner, its body unnatural, twisting. Not walking, but unfolding. Its limbs stretched, too long, its fingers curling in slow, deliberate movements.
And then—it smiled.
A wide, unnatural grin, teeth glinting like something sharp hidden in the dark.
Evelyn's stomach turned.
Her body screamed at her to run, but her feet refused to move.
The thing cocked its head, watching her. Studying her.
Then—it whispered.
"You let us in once before."
The words sent a shockwave through her chest.
Her breath hitched.
"No," she rasped. "I—I don't remember—"
The thing laughed.
Not a sound of amusement.
A sound of knowing.
Of mocking.
Of waiting.
The floor beneath her shuddered. The walls pressed inward. The heartbeat from below grew louder.
She had to move.
Evelyn turned, bolting for the door.
The House Fights Back
She lunged for the handle—
But the door melted.
Right in front of her, the wood turned to liquid, sinking into the wall like water rippling over stone. The exit was gone.
Panic seized her.
Her breathing grew ragged, frantic. She turned back to the shadowed figure—
It was closer.
Barely a foot away.
The smell of damp earth and decay filled her lungs.
She staggered backward, heart racing. "What do you want?"
The thing grinned wider.
It lifted one long, thin finger—
And pointed down.
The Crawlspace Below
Evelyn followed its motion, her gaze drifting to the floorboards.
The wood at her feet was splitting apart.
Thin cracks crawled outward like veins, revealing something beneath the house.
A hollow space.
Something moved inside it.
Shadows slithered through the cracks, curling like smoke, reaching toward her ankles.
Evelyn's body locked up.
She knew what was beneath.
She had been there before.
The memories she had fought to suppress clawed their way back.
She had opened the door as a child.
She had seen what waited below.
And now—
It was waiting for her again.
The Choice
The thing in the corner watched her, its head tilting, its smile patient.
It didn't lunge. It didn't attack.
It wasn't here to kill her.
It was here to bring her back.
To make her remember.
To make her choose.
The cracks beneath her feet widened. The whispers grew louder.
A name echoed through the room, curling around her like a ghostly breath.
"Evelyn."
Not the monster's voice.
A different one.
A familiar one.
A child's voice.
Her own.
Evelyn's chest tightened.
There was something down there—something she had forgotten.
The past wasn't done with her.
And neither was the house.
Her body trembled as she stared at the widening hole in the floor.
She had a choice.
Run.
Or go down.
And face what waited in the dark.