POV: Alex
I never used to believe in haunted houses. Spirits, demons, cursed things—felt like stuff people used to scare kids. But ever since I stepped into Daniel's house that night, I can't get the sound of breathing walls out of my head.
We were all in the living room. Daniel looked shaken—like, deep in his bones kinda shaken. Trevor was pacing, muttering something about patterns. Ella sat close to Daniel, trying to steady his trembling hands. And me? I just sat back and watched. You learn more by being quiet.
"I need to show y'all something," Daniel finally said. His voice cracked, low, like it hurt to get the words out.
We followed him. Down the hallway that always felt too dark, to the door we'd seen a hundred times but never opened. The basement.
Something about that air changed the moment he opened it.
We filed down behind him. The stairs creaked under our feet. I could hear Trevor's breath catching, Ella's hand brushing the wall to guide herself. Me—I kept my eyes on the shadows, because something in them felt like it was watching back.
At the bottom, Daniel stopped. He pointed to the far wall, where books and old boxes were stacked high. "It was here," he whispered.
"What was?" I asked, my voice calm. I needed him to stay steady.
He hesitated, then reached for the old filing cabinet. "This." He pulled out a dusty folder and handed it to me.
I opened it. Maps. Photographs. Newspaper clippings. His dad's notes. Most were about Egypt, hieroglyphs, strange rituals. But one note caught my eye:
"The entity responds to memory. Familiarity. It chooses the vulnerable. The fractured."
"The hell is this, man?" Trevor asked, peering over my shoulder.
Daniel's face had gone pale. "He was researching it before he disappeared. This thing... it came with him. Or maybe it followed us here."
Ella's voice cracked. "Are you saying this thing is tied to your dad?"
Before Daniel could answer, the lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then out.
Total silence.
Then... a whisper.
Not a word. Just the sound of someone exhaling right next to me.
I spun around, heart hammering. Nothing. Just shadows. But I swear I saw something shift in the corner. Like the dark itself peeled away from the wall for a second.
"Everyone, back upstairs!" I snapped.
But the stairs were gone.
No, not gone—just... warped. Like the walls stretched and the steps melted into the floor. The space shifted while we weren't looking. We were stuck.
"Okay, stay calm," I said, trying to keep my voice level.
But it didn't matter. Something wanted us down here. Something old. Something cold.
Daniel was hyperventilating, eyes wide. "It's coming. It's always watching. I tried to ignore it but—"
"Dan, look at me," I said, grabbing his shoulder. "You're not alone anymore."
Suddenly, Trevor screamed.
We all spun to find him staring into a mirror that hadn't been there before.
"Trevor?" Ella called, stepping toward him.
"Don't look into it!" he shouted. "It—it showed me my mom's funeral. But she's not dead."
The mirror shimmered and cracked, and when I looked at it, it only showed me my own eyes—but they weren't mine. They were hollow. Black. Like something had emptied me out and left only skin behind.
I looked away fast.
"Trevor!" I grabbed him and pulled him back, breaking whatever grip the mirror had.
Then Ella screamed. A hand—long, pale, too many joints—slid across her shoulder from behind the boxes. I rushed to her side, but when I got there, it was gone. Just like that.
This was no hallucination. This was real. And it wanted us to know it.
I closed the folder in my hands, heart thudding. I wasn't just gonna stand there and let this thing break us one by one.
"Everyone, listen," I said, loud and clear. "This thing wants us scared. Wants us scattered. But we're stronger together. Right now, we fight it by staying calm and staying focused."
Daniel met my eyes. For once, he didn't look scared—he looked like he had hope.
That's when the whispers stopped.
The lights blinked back on.
And the stairs returned.
The entity... let us go.
For now.
But I knew this wasn't over. This thing—it wasn't playing games. It was preparing us. Testing our limits.
And I wasn't about to fail.