The footsteps above us stopped.
Not faded.
Not retreated.
Stopped.
As if whatever stood beyond the attic ceiling had paused… listening.
I held my breath. So did everyone else.
The attic felt smaller now. The air pressed down on us, thick and damp, carrying the stench of old wood, rot, and something metallic—blood, maybe, soaked deep into the bones of the house.
The rocking chair creaked once.
Just once.
Even though it had stopped moments ago.
Mira whimpered softly and buried her face into her knees.
Aiden scanned the room, eyes darting, mind racing. "Weapons," he whispered again. "Anything sharp. Anything heavy."
Jonas rushed to one of the trunks, forcing it open. Inside were old tools—rusted nails, a broken hammer, something that looked like a fireplace poker bent out of shape.
Ryan grabbed the poker, hands shaking so badly the metal rattled.
I picked up a thick wooden beam that had fallen from the ceiling. It was splintered at one end, sharp enough to pierce skin. Or worse.
The attic door creaked.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
As if whatever was outside wanted us to hear every inch of its movement.
Mira sobbed. "It knows we're scared. I can feel it. It's enjoying this."
The handle twisted.
Once.
Stopped.
Then twisted again.
The wood around the door began to darken, veins spreading outward like bruises beneath skin.
Jonas backed away. "It's coming in. It's actually coming in."
Aiden raised the hammer. "When it opens—don't freeze. Whatever it is… don't freeze."
The handle turned all the way.
The door opened.
Nothing stood there.
Just darkness. Thick and unmoving, like a wall.
Then the darkness stepped forward.
A shape emerged—tall, wrong, its outline constantly shifting, as if the house itself couldn't decide what it wanted this thing to be.
And then—
Leah's face pushed through the shadow.
Her head tilted unnaturally, bones grinding as she smiled at us.
Her mouth opened too wide.
"Did you miss me?" she whispered.
Mira screamed.
Ryan swung the poker blindly, the metal passing straight through Leah's face like smoke.
She laughed.
The sound was broken. Layered. Not one voice—but many.
"You don't hurt me," she said. "You belong to the house now."
She stepped fully into the attic.
Her feet didn't touch the floor.
The shadows beneath her stretched outward, crawling like living things, wrapping around the walls, the ceiling, the hooks with our names.
The empty hook began to shake.
Then a name carved itself into the metal.
LEAH.
But the letters twisted… changed…
Rearranged themselves.
DAMIEN.
My chest seized.
"No," I whispered.
Leah's black eyes locked onto mine.
"Yes."
The shadows surged forward.
"AIDEN!" I shouted.
Aiden charged without thinking, swinging the hammer directly at Leah's head.
This time—
It hit.
A sickening crack echoed through the attic as the hammer connected.
Leah shrieked—not in pain, but in rage.
The shadows recoiled.
She stumbled backward, smashing into the wall. The attic shook violently, dust raining from the ceiling.
"RUN!" Aiden yelled. "NOW!"
We didn't argue.
We bolted past her, bursting through the attic door and down a narrow staircase that should not have been there seconds ago.
Behind us—
Leah screamed.
The sound chased us down the stairs, twisting through the house, vibrating through our bones.
The staircase collapsed behind us as we reached the bottom.
The house sealed itself again.
We fell into another room—this one ceilings, suffocating, lined with doors.
Too many doors.
Each door had a number carved into it.
1
2
3
4
5
6
Jonas stared at them. "Oh no… no no no…"
Mira shook her head violently. "Those aren't rooms."
Ryan swallowed hard. "They're choices."
The doors began to open.
One by one.
Slowly.
From behind each door came a different sound.
Crying.
Breathing.
Scratching.
Whispering.
Silence.
And from behind Door 6—
My voice.
"Damien… help me…"
My blood ran cold.
Aiden stepped in front of me. "Don't listen."
But the house was already smiling.
Because this time…
It wasn't chasing us.
It was making us choose.