The night crept in heavy and suffocating. Elise lay awake long after her family had gone to sleep, her body tense beneath the sheets, her eyes flicking from the shadow-draped corners of the room to the faint moonlight spilling across the floorboards. Every creak of the house made her pulse quicken.
She tried to convince herself that the image of the old man — the withered figure pointing at the strange glowing marks — had been nothing more than a fabrication of her restless mind. But deep down, she knew better. The markings on her floor were real, and they hadn't been there before.
It was well past midnight when she finally drifted into a troubled sleep.
And almost immediately, the dream began. This time she wasn't alone in her dream.
She stood in a wide, dimly lit hall that looked nothing like her house. The place had the feel of an ancient church or a town hall, with wooden beams overhead and tall, arched windows that allowed only the faintest trace of silver light to seep in. In the center sat a man — old, older than anyone Elise had ever seen. His face was pale and hollow, framed by wisps of white hair that fell in uneven strands.
He was seated on a wooden chair, hunched over a book so large it seemed to swallow his frail body. The cover was cracked and the pages yellowed, but his eyes moved with unearthly precision as he read aloud.
His voice was deep, grave, and carried the weight of centuries.
"There was once a girl," he began, "in a village now long forgotten. She was five years old when the first signs appeared."
The sound of his voice seemed to echo unnaturally, as if every beam, every wall in the hall was amplifying it. Elise wanted to step closer, but she couldn't move. Her feet were heavy, her body frozen in place, compelled only to listen.
"She was playful, kind, and bright. But one evening, as the bells tolled across the valley, she fell silent. Her eyes grew dark, her laughter ceased, and her tiny hands clenched at things unseen. The villagers thought it illness, but her parents…"
He paused, licking his cracked lips before continuing.
"Her parents feared something darker. For in the nights that followed, their sweet child spoke with voices that were not her own — low, guttural tones that no child's throat should have ever uttered. She bit, clawed, and screamed through the halls of their home, refusing food, hissing at light. They brought healers, midwives, even charms to ward off sickness, but nothing could return the child they had once known."
Elise's chest tightened as she listened. She didn't want to hear more, yet the dream pulled her deeper.
The old man turned a page.
"Years passed. The girl grew, but the darkness within her grew faster. At thirteen, she would vanish into the woods for days, returning with scratches and whispers on her lips. By sixteen, her body was strong, her face lovely — but her eyes were hollow, her laughter sharp like broken glass. And at eighteen, she was with child."
His voice trembled, but he did not stop.
"The village whispered of evil, of curses, of shadows that had taken root in her womb. Her mother tried to protect her, but the girl changed further still. She spat cruel words, twisted truths, and lashed out at the woman who had birthed her. One night, consumed by rage, she struck her own mother down. With her hands she killed the woman who had carried her, who had fought for her, who had prayed for her deliverance."
The man's voice broke on the last word, but he pressed forward.
"The father, shattered by grief, called upon the church. The bells rang across the village. Holy men came with relics and prayers, binding the girl with chains as she thrashed and shrieked. They spoke in tongues of fire, forcing the darkness back into silence. And when at last her body grew still, they buried her beneath the very house her family once called home."
The man closed the book with a resounding thud.
His withered face lifted, and his pale eyes fixed directly on Elise.
"The house you now live in," he whispered, his voice dropping to something harsher, something more real than dream. "That is where she sleeps still."
Elise tried to scream, but the dream shattered around her like glass.
Morning Calm,
She woke with a violent gasp, her body drenched in sweat. Sunlight was streaming through her window, painting her walls with a calm, golden glow. For a moment, she lay still, breathing hard, clutching at the sheets.
Everything looked normal.
The birds were chirping outside. Her younger brother's laughter echoed faintly down the hall. Her mother's voice called to someone in the kitchen. It was all so painfully ordinary that Elise wondered if she had simply frightened herself into believing nonsense.
But as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, something caught her eye.
The floorboards near the wall — where the markings had been scratched into the wood the night before — seemed darker, almost warped, as if something beneath them had poisoned the wood. And with a rush of cold dread, she remembered the old man's final words.
Buried beneath the house.
Her stomach churned. She tried to shake it off, telling herself she was being ridiculous. But when she stepped into the hallway, she thought — just for a second — that she saw something out of the corner of her eye. A shape, hunched, like a girl crouching near the doorframe. By the time she turned, it was gone.
She forced herself into the kitchen, where the smell of fried eggs and toast filled the air. Her father was standing near the window, his expression oddly strained.
"Elise," he said suddenly, his voice sharper than usual.
She froze. "What?"
"Come here a moment."
He was staring down at something near the floor, his hand resting against the counter. Elise approached slowly, her heart hammering. Her mother was busy at the stove, humming faintly to herself, while her little sister clutched a toy and babbled nonsense words at the table.
Her father crouched, pointing to a section of the wall beneath the cabinets. At first, Elise didn't see what he meant. But then she noticed it — a small, square outline in the wood, so faint it could have easily been mistaken for part of the paneling. A door.
A door so small it would barely allow a child through.
"We never noticed this before," her father muttered, pressing his hand along the edges. "Not when we moved in, not when we cleaned. It's almost… hidden."
Elise's breath caught in her throat.
The dream. The burial. The old man's warning.
This house had secrets, buried deep — and now her family had found the first one.
And in that moment, Elise realized that whatever had haunted her dreams was not finished with her.
The door waited.
And something inside it waited, too.