910: Story 910: The House That Hungers 910: Story 910: The House That Hungers The train’s unnatural screeching faded into silence as Draven and Mira stepped onto the next stretch of their journey.
The landscape was an eerie, moonlit countryside, its trees twisted and gnarled like skeletal fingers clawing at the sky.
In the distance, nestled in the fog, stood a mansion, its gothic spires stabbing into the night.
Mira exhaled sharply.
“That wasn’t here before.”
Draven, gripping his shotgun, narrowed his eyes.
“Nothing ever is.”
A black iron gate stood ajar, its hinges creaking as if whispering an invitation.
Beyond it, the mansion lood, its broken windows glowing faintly with an unnatural amber light.
A sign, rotted and barely hanging, read:
LOCKWOOD MANOR
A na that made Mira’s stomach twist.
“Silas Lockwood,” she murmured.
“The detective.”
Draven’s jaw tightened.
The forr detective who had been hunting the truth behind the cabal of necromancers.
If his house still stood in this forsaken world, it ant sothing inside had survived… or sothing inside refused to die.
The front doors creaked open at their approach.
The mont they stepped inside, the door slamd shut behind them.
The walls breathed.
Not taphorically—literally.
The wallpaper pulsed, shifting as if a thousand unseen lungs inhaled in unison.
The flickering chandelier cast shadows that moved independently, slithering along the cracked floorboards.
Then ca the whisper.
“You shouldn’t have co.”
Mira spun, vial in hand.
Draven raised his shotgun.
At the end of the dimly lit corridor, a figure stood—or rather, hovered.
His face was half-decayed, his detective’s trench coat hanging in spectral tatters.
Silas Lockwood’s specter watched them with hollow, haunted eyes.
“You’re too late,” he murmured.
Draven took a step forward.
“Too late for what?”
Lockwood lifted a rotting hand and pointed to the farthest door in the hallway.
Beyond it, sothing knocked.
A slow, rhythmic tapping.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Mira’s breath hitched.
“What’s behind there?”
Lockwood’s spectral form flickered, his voice barely a whisper.
“The thing that ate my soul.”
The knocking grew louder.
Then, without warning—the door burst open.
A maelstrom of darkness erupted, tendrils of living shadow twisting and writhing like an ancient, starving beast.
The walls of the manor scread, the portraits weeping black ichor.
The thing within the room was no re ghost.
It was the house itself.
It had consud Lockwood.
And now, it wanted more.
Draven fired his shotgun, but the buckshot vanished into the abyss.
Mira hurled a vial of her last experintal serum, and for a brief mont, the darkness recoiled, revealing—
A book.
Bound in flesh.
Pages inscribed in blood.
The cursed to they had been seeking.
Mira lunged forward as the house shrieked, trying to consu them.
She grabbed the book, and reality shattered.
The manor collapsed inward.
And the world went dark.
User Comments
0 comments from readers