The House at Blackwood Hill – Part 5 (Daw)
Daw couldn't move.
From the upstairs window, he watched himself standing at the bottom of the hill.
Same hoodie. Same flashlight.
Same fear.
The version of him outside slowly lifted his head.
And smiled.
Daw stumbled back from the window.
"No," he whispered. "No, that's not—"
The whispering voices rose around him, louder now, filling the walls.
"Finish it."
"Break it."
"Remember."
The house groaned, wood bending as if breathing.
Daw forced himself to look again.
The thing outside wasn't smiling anymore.
It was walking.
Up the hill.
Each step was stiff. Wrong. Like it had learned how to move by watching him.
Halfway up, it stopped.
Then it looked directly at the upstairs window.
At him.
And it waved.
The lights in the room flickered.
The writing on the walls—STAY STAY STAY—began shifting, the letters scratching and rearranging on their own.
They formed new words:
YOU LEFT ME
Daw's heart pounded so loudly he could barely hear anything else.
A memory hit him.
Not something he remembered—something he felt.
Fire.
Smoke.
Heat against his skin.
Someone screaming his name.
He staggered backward, pressing his hands to his head.
"I didn't do anything," he said.
The whisper answered this time in a single, clear voice.
"You ran."
The door behind him creaked open.
Daw turned slowly.
The boy stood there.
The same one from the hill.
But now he looked burned around the edges—his clothes singed, skin shadowed like smoke clung to him.
"You left me inside," the boy said calmly.
Daw shook his head. "I don't know you."
The boy stepped closer.
"You will."
Outside, the other Daw reached the front door.
The handle turned.
The house shuddered.
"This is where it starts again," the boy said. "Every time you come back."
"Then how do I stop it?" Daw demanded.
For the first time, the boy hesitated.
"You stay," he whispered.
The front door downstairs slammed open.
Footsteps entered the house.
Slow.
Measured.
Climbing the stairs.
Daw felt something shift inside him—like a lock clicking open.
Another memory forced its way through.
Two kids sneaking into an abandoned house.
A dare.
A candle knocked over.
Curtains catching fire.
Panic.
One boy running.
One boy trapped upstairs.
Daw staggered.
"That wasn't me," he breathed.
The burned boy's eyes filled with something colder than anger.
"It was."
The footsteps reached the top of the stairs.
The handle to the hallway door began to turn.
And outside—
The sky flickered again—
Showing the house whole.
New.
Empty.
Waiting for its first visitors.
The door swung open.
And Daw came face to face—
With himself.
But this version wasn't scared.
It looked relieved.
"You're ready," it said.