The air grew colder the deeper we went, each breath turning visible in the faint candlelight that lined the corridor. The mansion didn't creak like a normal old house; it groaned, like a giant exhaling after centuries of sleep.
Our boots scuffed against warped floorboards as we moved in a tight cluster. I took point, Ethan behind me, Maya and Rachel close at our backs. No one spoke at first. Words felt dangerous, like they might wake something.
Finally, Maya broke the silence. "This place is wrong. The walls… do you feel it? Like they're closing in."
Ethan let out a humorless laugh. "You're just claustrophobic."
"No," she snapped. "It's more than that. It's… breathing."
I didn't correct her, because I felt it too. A subtle shift in the air, as if the house inhaled when we stepped forward and exhaled when we paused.
We passed through an archway into what must have once been a grand dining hall. The table stretched impossibly long, covered in a rotten cloth that sagged with mold. Silver platters and candelabras sat in place, untouched but tarnished, as if the meal had been abandoned centuries ago.
Rachel gagged, covering her nose. "God, that smell…"
The stench was overwhelming—meat long decayed, mixed with mildew. But as I scanned the table, my blood ran cold. Some of the plates weren't empty. A roast bird, blackened with rot, still sat in the center. Maggots writhed in the cavities. A half-filled goblet of wine sat nearby, the liquid dark and sludgy.
"It's like they just… left," Ethan muttered. "Like they'll be back any minute."
I ran my hand along a chair. No dust. No cobwebs. The wood was warm, as though someone had been sitting there moments ago.
"We keep moving," I said, forcing my voice steady. "We don't linger here."
Past the dining hall, the hallway branched into two. Left descended down a narrow staircase, right curved into another corridor lined with doors.
"Which way?" Rachel asked, hugging herself.
Ethan pointed right. "Upstairs is bedrooms. Basements are usually worse."
Maya frowned. "That's your survival logic?"
"It's common sense," he shot back.
"Quiet," I cut in. The storm outside boomed, rattling the walls. Then, faintly, beneath the thunder—I heard something else.
Footsteps.
Not ours. Slow. Deliberate. Echoing down the right corridor.
We froze, listening. The sound drew nearer, then stopped, like whoever—or whatever—was waiting.
Rachel's voice cracked. "Maybe it's… someone else trapped here? Another group?"
No one answered. We all knew better.
I gestured left, down the staircase. Better the devil we didn't hear than the one we did. We descended, the steps groaning under our weight.
The air grew damper, colder. The corridor below was lined with heavy wooden doors, each carved with strange symbols—circles intersecting with triangles, jagged lines spiraling inward like eyes. Some doors were chained shut, others slightly ajar.
"What is this place?" Maya whispered, tracing one of the carvings. Her fingers recoiled like she'd touched a hot stove. "It… it burned me."
"Don't touch anything," I ordered, my own stomach tightening. "This house isn't normal. Don't give it more of us than it already has."
One of the doors stood wide open. Inside was a library, its shelves crammed with books swollen by moisture. Pages curled and yellowed, their spines cracked, but the air hummed with a strange energy, like the books themselves were whispering.
Ethan stepped inside, brushing dust off a thick leather-bound volume. He cracked it open and squinted at the words. "It's… Latin? No—something older."
The letters seemed to writhe, shifting on the page like living things. He slammed it shut, shuddering. "Nope. Not touching that again."
Rachel tugged at my sleeve. "We shouldn't be here. This place… it doesn't want us here."
I wanted to tell her she was wrong. But she wasn't. Every breath we took, the house seemed to breathe with us. Every step we made, it echoed with a step of its own.
We hadn't escaped the storm. We'd walked straight into another one—one with walls, teeth, and eyes.
The library pressed down on us like a living thing. The air was thick with mildew, but beneath it lingered something sharper, metallic, like blood. Dust motes swirled in the candlelight, but the flames themselves never flickered—burning steady, unnatural, as though untouched by drafts.
Rachel lingered at the doorway, unwilling to cross the threshold. Her wide eyes darted between us and the rows of books that seemed to lean in, crowding the walls. "Don't," she whispered. "Don't touch anything in here. Please."
Ethan, of course, ignored her. He pulled another book from the shelf, this one bound in cracked green leather. He blew dust off the cover, and for a moment, it almost looked like the dust recoiled from him. The title was embossed in some language none of us could place, the letters twisting into shapes that made my stomach knot.
"Put it back," Maya hissed. "I'm serious. This isn't right."
But Ethan had already opened it. The pages were yellowed, curling at the edges, and covered in symbols drawn in heavy, black ink. He frowned, running his finger along the lines. "It's like… instructions. Rituals. Look—this part almost looks like a map."
Before any of us could stop him, the ink shifted. The words bled into each other, swirling like liquid, then reformed into something new. Shapes rearranged into jagged letters. English this time. The words stared up at us, clear as day:
"The house awakens when the storm calls."
Ethan dropped the book like it had burned him. It hit the floor with a heavy thud, sending dust flying. The echo seemed to go on too long, bouncing off the walls until it faded into a whisper that wasn't quite an echo.
"Awakens… awakens…"
Rachel bolted backward, shaking her head. "Nope. Nope, I'm done. I don't care if the storm kills me. I'm not staying here."
She spun toward the doorway, but froze.
A figure stood in the corridor outside.
At first I thought it was a trick of the light, a shadow cast by the candle. But no—this shadow had weight. It stretched unnaturally long across the floor, but its source stood upright, humanoid, faceless. Just a silhouette of a man, darker than the darkness around it.
Rachel stumbled back into the room, slamming into me. "You see it, right? Tell me you see it!"
"I see it," I said through clenched teeth.
The shadow didn't move at first. Then, slowly, its head tilted to one side, like a predator studying prey. The air grew colder, our breaths coming out in frosty clouds.
Ethan reached for the book on the ground, as if it might hold an answer. But before he could touch it, the figure twitched—jerky, unnatural, as though reality itself glitched for a moment. In a blink, it was closer.
Rachel screamed.
I grabbed her wrist, pulling her away from the door as the shadow lurched forward. It didn't walk—it slid, gliding across the floor in silence. The whispering began again, dozens of voices layered over each other, hissing words I couldn't understand.
Maya clutched my arm, nails digging into my skin. "What the hell is that?!"
"Doesn't matter!" I barked. "Move—now!"
We scrambled deeper into the library, searching for another exit. The shelves loomed over us like walls, endless rows of books forming a maze. The whispers grew louder, circling us, though the shadow never made a sound.
Rachel stumbled against a chair, knocking it over. The crash echoed like gunfire. That was enough to send the shadow lunging—its arms stretched unnaturally long, fingers tapering into claws that scraped across the floorboards. Sparks flew where it touched the wood.
"Here!" Ethan shouted. He had found a narrow doorway at the back of the library, half-hidden by sagging shelves. We shoved our way through, the wood groaning under our weight, just as the shadow slammed against the shelves behind us.
Books rained down, some bursting into flames on impact, others rotting to ash as they hit the ground. The air filled with choking smoke, though no fire burned.
We stumbled into another corridor, slamming the hidden door behind us. For a moment, silence. Only the sound of our ragged breathing and the pounding of our hearts.
Rachel slid down the wall, tears streaking her cheeks. "We're gonna die here. We're all gonna die."
"Shut up," Maya snapped, though her voice shook too. "We're not dead yet."
I leaned against the wall, forcing myself to steady my breathing. My hands were trembling, my mind racing. That thing wasn't human. And worse—it wasn't just in the library. I could feel it. It was part of the house, one of many pieces waiting for us.
The corridor stretched ahead, lined with more doors. But something was wrong. I looked back at the hidden entrance we had come through—only there was no door now. Just a seamless wall.
Ethan noticed too. He cursed under his breath. "The house is changing. Rearranging itself."
My chest tightened. "It doesn't want us to leave."
The candle sconces along the walls flared to life, one by one, as if guiding us forward. The flames bent toward us, not away, and in their glow, the shadows along the walls seemed to smile.
I straightened, jaw tight. "Then we don't play along. We move, but we move smart. Stick together. No more books. No more touching anything."
Rachel sniffled, her voice cracking. "And if it doesn't matter? If it already… claimed us?"
The whispers returned, soft and mocking, carrying through the walls.
"Claimed… claimed… already ours…"
We pressed forward anyway, because there was no other choice.
The corridor stretched endlessly, the flames in the sconces hissing as we passed. The air grew thicker with each step, pressing down on us like a weight. My boots dragged as though the floor itself clung to me, reluctant to let go.
"Wait," Maya whispered, clutching my sleeve. "Do you hear that?"
We stopped. The house was never truly silent, but this sound was different. A low, steady beat. At first I thought it was my own heart hammering in my chest, but then I realized—it wasn't mine. It was coming from the walls.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
A heartbeat. The mansion had a heartbeat.
Rachel whimpered, pressing her hands over her ears. "No more. Please. No more."
Ethan grabbed her arm, not unkindly, but firm. "Hold it together, Rachel. You panic, we all go down."
She nodded weakly, though her eyes darted around like a cornered animal's.
We rounded a bend and found a door slightly ajar, its edges glowing faintly as if lit from within. Every instinct screamed trap, but exhaustion and fear overruled caution. We needed a place to breathe, even if it was just for a minute.
I pushed the door open with my boot. The hinges shrieked, but the room beyond was—different.
It was a sitting room. Plush armchairs, a fireplace with embers still glowing, shelves lined with books that weren't rotting, but pristine. The air was warm, almost comforting. For the first time since we entered the mansion, I didn't smell decay.
Rachel stepped inside first, letting out a shaky laugh. "It's… normal. Finally, something normal." She dropped onto one of the armchairs, hugging a cushion like it was the last shred of sanity she had left.
Ethan eyed the fireplace. "Someone's been here. Fire doesn't last forever."
"Don't," Maya warned. "Don't ruin it. Just let us breathe."
I lingered by the door, unease crawling up my spine. Rooms like this didn't exist in houses like this. Not untouched. Not inviting. It felt staged. A lure.
But I said nothing. We needed the rest.
For a while, no one spoke. We just sat, listening to the crackle of the fire. My muscles ached, my throat raw from the damp air. For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to believe we might survive this.
Then Ethan tested the theory that had been gnawing at me. He crossed the room to the opposite door, a polished oak frame with a brass handle, and pulled it open.
The corridor outside was not the same one we had entered from.
It was narrower, the walls closer, the ceiling lower. The sconces burned with green fire, casting sickly light across warped wallpaper. The heartbeat was louder here, faster, as if excited.
"Son of a bitch," Ethan muttered. "It's shifting again."
Rachel's laughter cracked, hysterical. "We're rats in a maze. That's what we are. It's playing with us!"
"Stop," I snapped. "Stop feeding it."
Her laughter cut off into a sob, but I saw the truth in her eyes. She was right. The house was playing with us.
Maya stood, pacing. "So what do we do? Just keep moving? Let it push us deeper and deeper until…" She trailed off, unable to finish.
Until it decided we were done.
I ran a hand through my damp hair, forcing myself to think. "We keep control. No splitting up, no panicking. The second we lose our heads, it wins."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "And if there's no way out?"
"There has to be," I said, though the words felt hollow.
The fire crackled behind us. For a moment, I thought I heard it hiss words between the snaps and pops, whispering in a voice made of flame: "Stay… stay…"
I glanced back at the hearth. The embers pulsed like eyes.
Rachel must have seen it too, because she bolted upright. "We can't stay here. Not here. Not anywhere. It's watching us."
I didn't argue. She was right again. The room wasn't safe. It never had been.
I opened the brass-handled door wider, forcing myself to step into the warped corridor beyond. The others followed, reluctantly, leaving the warm glow of the sitting room behind.
The door slammed shut on its own. When I turned back, the door was gone—just another seamless stretch of wall.
The heartbeat in the walls quickened, echoing in my skull.
We were deeper now. The house wasn't just awake—it was leading us somewhere. And I had a sickening feeling it wasn't toward the exit.