The air in the house had changed. It was no longer only heavy with whispers or trembling shadows—now it pulsed, thick and wet, as though the walls themselves had begun to breathe. Every inhale groaned through the wood, every exhale carried the faint scent of rot.
Marcus held Sophie close, though she seemed barely aware of him. Her head rested against his chest, but her eyes were open, staring past him into the darkness.
"You feel it, don't you?" she whispered.
Marcus tightened his arms around her. "I feel him."
"No," Sophie said, her voice trembling. "Not just him. The house. The air. It's changing because of me. Because I chose. Or because I couldn't."
Marcus shook his head. "You didn't choose. Not really. Doubt isn't a choice. It's just—"
But his words died as a sound rolled through the room. Not laughter, not whispering. Breathing. Slow, deep, inhuman breathing, as though something enormous crouched in the dark just out of sight.
Sophie shuddered. "He's closer now."
Marcus pushed her gently behind him, scanning the room. The shadows along the walls thickened, peeling away from their shapes until they coiled across the floor like smoke. The notebook lay at the center, its cover trembling as though a heart beat within it.
Then, for the first time, Marcus saw it. Not just a trick of the eye or a half-heard whisper. A hand, long-fingered and slick with black ink, reached out of the book and clawed at the boards.
Sophie gasped, stumbling backward. "No—he's not supposed to—"
Marcus grabbed the knife from the floor, brandishing it like it could matter against the thing slithering into their world. "Stay back!"
Ethan's voice curled from the shadows, deeper than ever before. You begged for her to choose. She did. And now I'm owed.
The hand dragged itself further, followed by the suggestion of a shoulder, a face half-formed of ink and bone. The air grew colder, dampness clinging to Marcus's skin.
He lunged forward, stabbing the blade down into the reaching limb. Black liquid sprayed, hissing against the floorboards like acid. Ethan's scream shook the walls, but the hand didn't retreat—it clawed tighter, pulling more of the body through.
Sophie shrieked. "Marcus, stop! You'll only make him stronger!"
Marcus turned to her, his eyes burning. "Then what the hell am I supposed to do? Watch him take you?"
Her face was pale, stricken with terror. "If you fight him, you feed him. Every strike, every drop of fear—it's what he wants. He told me so."
The words froze Marcus in place. He looked down at the blade, at the sizzling black fluid, at the widening rift between their world and Ethan's.
And he realized: she was right. His rage was pulling Ethan through faster than the shadows ever could.
The creature's face lifted from the floorboards, twisted into a grin that mirrored Marcus's own in mockery. Yes, Ethan growled. Hate me. Fear me. Strike again, and I'll be whole before dawn.
Marcus staggered back, his chest heaving. The knife shook in his grip.
Sophie reached for him, her voice breaking. "Please. Don't give him what he wants."
But the shadow's head turned toward her, its hollow eyes gleaming. She already has.
Marcus's grip on the knife faltered as Ethan's form grew taller, thicker, the black liquid coalescing into something that almost resembled flesh. The shadows bent toward him, clinging like worshippers to their master. Every breath the creature took rattled the walls.
Sophie clung to Marcus's arm. "Don't fight him. Please—don't."
But Marcus felt his blood burn, his muscles thrumming with the need to strike. This was the thing that had tormented her, twisted her, stolen her sleep and hope. Every instinct screamed to cut it down before it could grow stronger.
Ethan seemed to sense it. The half-formed face leaned close, lips stretching into a grin. Yes. Feed me. Let your anger sharpen the blade. Spill it for her, and I will be whole.
Marcus clenched his teeth, lowering the knife though it felt like tearing his soul apart. His voice cracked, fierce and desperate. "I won't give you what you want."
The shadows hissed, recoiling for a moment. But Ethan's grin widened. Then she will.
Sophie gasped, her hand jerking as though invisible strings tugged at her. Her body lurched forward, her eyes rolling back. Marcus caught her before she fell, but she writhed in his arms, her nails clawing at his chest.
"No! Fight him, Sophie, fight!"
Her voice broke through in fragments, strained and distant. "Marcus—I—I can't—he's—inside—"
Her hand shot toward the knife, wrapping around the hilt with shocking force. Marcus fought to keep hold, his knuckles white, but Sophie's strength surged with Ethan's power. For a moment, they were locked together—Marcus trying to keep the blade down, Sophie straining to lift it toward her own chest.
Ethan's voice roared from her lips. If she dies, she is mine forever. If she lives, she rots in your doubt. Either way, she's already gone.
Marcus's heart split. He couldn't fight her without hurting her. He couldn't let go without losing her.
So he did the only thing left: he dropped the knife.
It clattered to the ground, sliding across the boards into the shadows. Sophie collapsed into his arms, sobbing. The ink-dripping figure snarled, its form quivering with rage.
"You won't win," Marcus whispered, holding her tight. "Not like this. Not ever."
The shadow leaned forward, its hollow eyes narrowing. Then I'll change the game.
The walls groaned, splitting as black veins spidered through the wood. The air thickened, choking, as if the whole house was sinking underwater. Ethan's form grew taller, towering until his head brushed the ceiling. For the first time, Marcus felt the weight of his presence pressing against his chest, his ribs, his very heart.
Sophie whimpered, burying her face in Marcus's shirt. "He's real. He's really here."
Marcus kissed the crown of her head, whispering fiercely. "Then so am I."
The shadow's laughter shook the house. Let's see how long that lasts.
The floor split open beneath them, revealing a pit of writhing blackness. Marcus staggered back, clutching Sophie. The stench of rot and ink rose in waves, and from the depths came whispers—hundreds, thousands of voices, all repeating one word: Choose. Choose. Choose.
Sophie screamed, covering her ears, but the sound pierced straight through her. Marcus gritted his teeth, pulling her close. "Don't listen. Don't you dare listen!"
But Sophie's eyes glazed, her lips trembling. "I can't—I can't shut them out. Marcus, make it stop. Please."
He held her tighter, rage and despair colliding in his veins. "Then take my strength. Take everything. Just don't let him in."
And as the shadows rose higher, wrapping around them like a cage, Marcus knew the truth: this was no longer about keeping Sophie safe. It was about keeping her herself.
And the cost would be everything.