Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Arrival 1
Chapter 2: The Attic 3
Chapter 3: Into the Darkness 4
Chapter 4: Fear 5
Chapter 5: Insanity 6
Chapter 6: The Basement 7
Chapter 7: Descent 8
Chapter 8: The Dreams 8
Chapter 9: The Journal 9
Chapter 10: Fractured Reality 10
Chapter 11: The Descent Begins 12
Chapter 12: The Truth Unveiled 12
Chapter 13: The House’s Secret 13
Chapter 14: The Unraveling 14
Chapter 15: The Final Revelation 15
Chapter 16: Into the Abyss 16
Chapter 17: The Final Choice 17
Chapter 1: Arrival
Joshua Reese didn’t know what he was running from. But he knew he had to keep running.

He hadn’t meant to leave everything behind, not really. The apartment in the city was small, but it was his.
The dull routine of work, the cold faces, the bustling streets—it was suffocating. That’s what it felt like in the
last few months, anyway. A weight pressing down on his chest, every breath a struggle. So, when the letter
arrived, the one from the lawyer, telling him his estranged uncle had passed away and left him the old house
upstate… well, maybe it was fate.

He wasn’t sure what he’d find at the house, but something about it—its distant pull, its promise of distance
from everything he knew—felt like an answer.

Joshua wasn’t religious. He didn’t believe in fate or destiny. He didn’t even believe in ghosts. But the letter
had come at the right time, and that made it all too easy to pack up his life in a few hasty decisions and head
out into the unknown.

The house stood at the end of a long, winding dirt road that curved through the dense forest. Its tall, skeletal
frame was barely visible through the thick layers of trees and the creeping fog that rolled in from the hills. It
was just as he remembered from childhood—if memory could be trusted. A huge, sprawling old Victorian
farmhouse. His uncle had lived here his whole life, Joshua thought, though he hadn't seen him in years. The
only thing he remembered about the place was that it had always been dark, even when the sun was high in
the sky. The windows had been covered in thick curtains, the air inside heavy with dust and something… else.

The house was silent as Joshua stepped out of his car. The gravel crunched beneath his boots, the air
smelling of damp earth and moss. The fog twisted around the edges of the house, curling like fingers of
smoke. As he pulled his duffel bag over his shoulder, Joshua couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being
watched. He paused for a moment, scanning the empty yard, his hand instinctively going to the pocket
where his phone was, even though he knew there would be no signal here. There never was.

He pulled the keys from his pocket, the worn metal cool in his palm. The lock was stiff when he turned it,
and the door creaked open with a low groan. The smell hit him first—musty, stale, the scent of rot buried
under layers of old wood and forgotten memories. His throat tightened, but he forced his feet over the
threshold.
The air inside was thick, heavy, suffocating, like it had been trapped in here for decades. The light that
filtered through the dirty windows was weak, barely enough to illuminate the narrow hallway. Dust motes
floated in the air like tiny ghosts. The floorboards beneath his feet were uneven, worn from years of neglect.
It felt as though the house was holding its breath.

Joshua set his bag down and ran a hand over the banister as he made his way up the staircase, its wood
creaking with every step. It was strange to feel so out of place in a house that had once been so familiar. The
hallway seemed narrower now, the walls closing in. There were doors leading to rooms he didn’t want to go
into, to places he had forgotten. One door at the end of the hall stood out to him, however. A room that had
always been locked. The door had a rusty old keyhole that looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

The silence of the house pressed in around him.

A faint whisper brushed his ear.

Joshua froze, his pulse quickening. He turned, half expecting to see someone standing in the doorway behind
him. The house was still empty.

It was his mind playing tricks on him. Of course it was. He hadn’t slept much in the past few days—maybe it
was the fatigue, the stress. He exhaled sharply, walking past the door without another glance.

But then, as he moved down the hallway, a strange noise broke through the stillness. A soft tap, like
something—or someone—gently knocking on the floor from somewhere above.

He froze again, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. The house was old, that much he knew. Old
houses made noises. It was just the wind, the structure settling. It had to be.

But something about the sound felt different. It wasn’t the wind. It wasn’t just the house creaking. It was
rhythmic, like a heartbeat.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A sound that seemed to come closer, closer, until Joshua felt the pressure of it against his skin. He glanced up
toward the ceiling.
It was coming from the attic.

Chapter 2: The Attic

Joshua stood at the bottom of the attic stairs, staring up at the dark, narrow passageway that led to the
attic door. His heart pounded in his chest, but not out of fear—not yet. He told himself it was just his
imagination, a combination of exhaustion and the oppressive atmosphere of the house.

The house had a way of messing with his head. He could feel it. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant
whisper, was a reminder that he didn’t belong here. The house was old, too old. It had a history, and not all of
it was good.

His uncle, Arthur Reese, had always been a quiet, strange man. He’d lived here alone for as long as Joshua
could remember, and though Joshua had visited as a child, the visits had been brief and distant. Arthur had
always been an odd one—eccentric, almost reclusive, and his house had reflected that. Joshua remembered
the heavy curtains, the dust-covered furniture, the feeling that something in the air was wrong, though he
couldn’t quite say what.

The tap had stopped. The silence now was absolute, as though the house itself was holding its breath. Joshua
tried to shake off the tension coiling in his stomach. There was no point in avoiding the attic—it was part of
the house, like everything else.

But as he stepped closer to the stairs, a sudden wave of dread washed over him. He was being pulled toward
that attic, as if by some invisible force.
His hand rested on the worn wood of the stairs, and he hesitated for just a moment. The air grew colder, the
silence oppressive. And then, from the corner of his vision, Joshua saw something move in the hallway
behind him.

He spun around. Nothing. No one.

Just the dim hallway, the distant shadows playing tricks on his eyes.

But in the back of his mind, something whispered to him. A single thought that was both terrifying and
inescapable.

You’re not alone here.

Chapter 3: Into the Darkness

The attic was colder than the rest of the house. A chill that seemed to seep into his bones as Joshua climbed
the creaking stairs. Each step groaned under his weight, the sound so loud it echoed in the silence like a
warning. But Joshua wasn’t about to turn back. Something was drawing him upward, urging him to explore
the place he’d been avoiding for years.

The door at the top of the stairs was old and heavy, its wood warped by time and neglect. It had a small
round window set into the top of it, and through that window, Joshua could make out the shadowy outline of
the attic space beyond.

As his hand reached for the handle, the temperature dropped further, a cold draft slipping out from the
edges of the door. He hesitated, suddenly unsure. There was no reason to go in there. No reason to tempt
fate.

But the pull, that strange compulsion, was stronger than his fear. Slowly, he twisted the handle and pushed
the door open.

The attic was dim, the only light coming from a small window at the far end, streaking through the
dust-filled air. The floorboards creaked underfoot as he stepped inside, and the smell of mildew and decay hit
him in a wave. It was the same as downstairs, but in here, it felt more suffocating.
He took a few cautious steps forward, his eyes scanning the shadows. The attic was filled with old trunks,
forgotten boxes, and pieces of furniture covered in dusty sheets. Everything was exactly as he remembered
from his childhood visits. Or, at least, that’s what his memory told him.

Joshua’s breath quickened as he moved further in. The air was thick with something unnameable—an energy
that felt both familiar and wrong. He walked toward the window, hoping to see something that might help
him make sense of the room.

But then he froze.

In the corner of the attic, half-hidden beneath a tattered sheet, was something that shouldn’t have been
there. It was an old rocking chair, the kind that belonged in a nursery. Its wood was dark with age, its arms
worn smooth from years of use. And it was rocking.

Joshua’s heart skipped a beat. He blinked and stared harder.

The chair was still.

He let out a shaky breath, his hand gripping the nearest wooden beam as he stepped closer.

It was the quiet that got to him. The way everything in the house seemed to hold its breath, waiting for
something to happen.

Then he heard it again. That soft, rhythmic tapping. Only this time, it wasn’t coming from the attic—it was
coming from below. From somewhere in the house, in the darkness.

Joshua felt his legs go weak, the floor threatening to give out beneath him. He turned toward the attic stairs,
but the moment he took a step back, the door to the attic slammed shut behind him.
Chapter 4: Fear
Joshua’s body jolted at the sound of the door crashing into place. His breath came in shallow gasps as he
reached for the door handle, pulling at it in vain. It wouldn’t budge.

He glanced around the attic in a panic. The rocking chair was still there, the only movement in the room
coming from the swaying of its worn legs against the dusty floor. The tapping from downstairs had stopped,
but now, instead, there was something else. A low hum, like a whisper, threading through the silence.
Joshua stepped back from the door, his mind racing. He pulled out his phone and checked it. No signal. Of
course. No cell service out here.

Panic surged through him, his pulse roaring in his ears as he tugged again at the door. This time, the door
didn’t resist. It gave way with a loud, dry creak, and Joshua stumbled backward, almost falling as he
scrambled down the stairs.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw that the house was still silent. No footsteps. No more
tapping. No more whispers.

But there was something about the stillness.

Joshua paused, his eyes scanning the darkened hallway. The air was thick again, heavy with a sense of
expectation. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw something move—a shadow flickering in the corner
of his vision. He blinked hard, trying to focus.

It was then that he realized: he wasn’t alone.

The door to the room at the end of the hallway was ajar, and he hadn’t left it open.

Slowly, heart hammering, Joshua took a cautious step forward. The hallway was long, and as he passed each
room, he noticed more signs of wear. Old wallpaper peeling, carpets stained and matted with age. Everything
in this house seemed on the verge of decay. But there was something else now. Something darker.

As he neared the open door, a sudden thought gripped him. The whispers. They weren’t just his imagination.
The house was alive with them, the walls closing in around him.

The door creaked slightly as he pushed it open. Inside, the room was empty, the curtains drawn. The
furniture was shrouded in white sheets, the furniture in disarray.

But there was something on the floor, near the far wall. A broken mirror.
Joshua approached it cautiously, his pulse pounding in his ears. The mirror was shattered, its jagged edges
glinting in the dim light. He knelt beside it, his fingers brushing the broken glass. But it was the reflection
that chilled him.

For a moment, he saw himself—no, not him—a figure standing just behind him in the shattered fragments,
grinning at him. He turned around quickly, but there was no one there.

His heart thudded against his ribs.

Chapter 5: Insanity
Joshua didn’t sleep that night. He couldn’t.

The shadows in the corners of the room grew longer, more oppressive. The walls seemed to pulse with a low,
unsettling rhythm that he couldn’t quite explain. He kept thinking he saw something move at the edge of his
vision, and every creak of the floor made his skin prickle with dread.

In the darkness, he could almost hear the whispers again. A jumbled chorus of voices, too soft to make out,
yet unnervingly close. It was as though they were inside the walls, inside his head.

By morning, Joshua was exhausted, the weight of the house pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.
He needed to leave, but part of him felt rooted here, as if the house itself wouldn’t let him go. The thought
gnawed at the back of his mind—had his uncle left him a warning, something he was supposed to discover?
Or was this all in his head?

There was one place he hadn’t explored yet—the basement.

His uncle had told him never to go down there. That much Joshua remembered. The basement had always
been off-limits, the key hidden away in a drawer somewhere.

But now, standing in the hallway with the dusty old key in his hand, Joshua wasn’t sure why he was even
thinking about it. It felt like a mistake, an invitation to the darkness that was already creeping into his
mind.

But his feet carried him toward the basement door anyway.
Chapter 6: The Basement
The door to the basement was just as old and decrepit as the rest of the house, the wood warped with age and
the metal handle cold and heavy. Joshua inserted the key, feeling the lock give way with a satisfying click.

As he stepped into the basement, the smell hit him first—a thick, sour stench, like something rotting in the
dark. He flicked on the light, but the bulb sputtered, barely illuminating the steps ahead. The staircase was
steep, and as he descended, the air grew colder, heavier, as though the weight of the house was bearing down
on him.

When he reached the bottom, he saw it: a large, dusty trunk in the corner of the room. It was old, the
leather cracked and worn. But it was what was around it that caught his attention.

A series of framed photographs. His uncle. Joshua. And other people he didn’t recognize. People with faces
he couldn’t quite place.

He knelt down, fingers trembling as he examined the photos. In each one, there was something... off. People
smiling in strange ways, their eyes hollow, their expressions twisted in shadows.

And then he saw it. The photo that chilled him the most.

It was a picture of himself—no, a younger version of himself—standing in this very basement, staring at the
camera with an almost expressionless face. But behind him, behind the shadowy figure in the background,
there was something else. Something waiting in the dark.

Joshua felt his stomach turn, the blood draining from his face. He wasn’t alone. Not here. Not in this house.
Chapter 7: Descent
Joshua’s mind was unraveling. Each moment in the house brought a fresh layer of paranoia, like a slow,
painful peeling away of his sanity. The whispers, the shadows, the strange, broken mirrors—everything was
becoming a blur of fear and confusion.

But the worst part? He wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

He couldn’t leave. Every attempt to step outside ended with him back inside the house, standing in the same
spot, as if the house itself had swallowed him whole. It was like being trapped inside a nightmare that
repeated itself over and over.

And then the dreams began.

Chapter 8: The Dreams

Joshua hadn’t slept in days. Or maybe it had been weeks. Time had become something of a blur in this place.

The dreams were what scared him most. They felt too real, too vivid, as if they were leaking into his waking
life. It began with a low hum, a buzzing sound in his ears that grew louder and louder until it became
unbearable. Then, in his dreams, he would see the same thing: the rocking chair in the attic, but this time it
wasn’t still. It was moving, rocking back and forth, creaking with a slow rhythm. And standing beside it,
staring at him with empty eyes, was a woman.

She was tall, with pale skin and dark hair falling in heavy strands around her face. Her clothes were
old-fashioned, tattered as though she’d been in that place for years. Her mouth never moved, but Joshua
could hear her whispering something. The words were too soft to make out, but he knew—he knew—she was
calling to him.

The dream always ended the same way: the woman reaching out toward him, her hand thin and skeletal.
He’d wake up sweating, heart pounding in his chest, the echo of her touch still lingering in his skin.

The first time it happened, Joshua had tried to shake it off as just that—a nightmare. But now, as the dreams
continued to haunt him, he began to feel a gnawing sense of dread. Something about the woman was
familiar. As though he’d seen her somewhere before.

Chapter 9: The Journal

The basement was darker than before. The lightbulb overhead flickered, casting long shadows that seemed to
dance along the walls. The trunk—once forgotten in the corner—was now impossible to ignore. It drew him
like a magnet, its worn leather surface seeming to pulse with an unseen energy.

The photographs had unsettled him, but they were just the beginning. The real discovery came when he
opened the trunk. Inside, there were stacks of old papers, letters, and an ancient-looking leather journal.

Joshua’s hands trembled as he pulled the journal from the trunk and flipped it open. The pages were yellowed
with age, the ink faded but still legible.

The writing was his uncle’s.

Arthur Reese had been a strange man, yes, but this—this was something else. The journal entries were full of
ramblings, fragments of a mind coming undone. Joshua started reading:

"June 16, 1984"

"I saw her again. The woman in the attic. She's waiting, watching. Every time I close my eyes, I can feel her
presence. She speaks to me now. She tells me things, things I don't want to know. Things about the house,
about what it's done. The walls are alive. They're closing in, suffocating me. But I can't leave."

Joshua flipped through more pages, his eyes scanning the distorted writing. The further back he went, the
more the entries became incoherent, filled with broken thoughts and sketches that didn’t make sense. But
there was one entry, dated a few months before Arthur’s death, that made his heart skip a beat:

"April 12, 1988"

"She is here. The woman. I found her room. I think I understand now. She was always here, waiting. I
thought she was a ghost, but she's not. She's part of the house. And now... now she is part of me. She
whispers to me, and soon I will be like her. I know what she wants. She wants the house to be hers again.
And she will have it."

Joshua’s hands shook as he closed the journal. The last sentence echoed in his head: She wants the house to
be hers again. The thought that this woman—this ghost—had been here, in this house, for decades, was
horrifying. But what terrified him even more was the realization that his uncle had been consumed by the
same darkness.

The house wasn’t just old. It wasn’t just neglected. It was alive. And it was hungry.

Chapter 10: Fractured Reality

The sun had barely risen, but Joshua felt as though it were midnight in his mind. The journal had revealed
more than he was prepared to accept, and yet, it didn’t answer everything. He couldn’t shake the feeling that
the woman from his dreams, the one who had been haunting him in his sleep, was somehow tied to the
house—and to his uncle’s madness.
He sat in the kitchen, the walls around him seeming to close in. The air in the house had grown heavier,
thicker. Every creak, every shift of the floorboards, made him jump. It was like the house was watching him,
waiting for him to unravel.

And then, something strange happened.

He looked at the wall opposite the kitchen table, where the faded wallpaper had started peeling away.
Beneath the paper, Joshua saw something—an outline, faint but unmistakable. A door. But he had no
memory of ever seeing it before.

He stood up, heart racing, and walked over to the wall, pressing his hands against the rough surface. The
outline was clear now, a door hidden for years, perhaps decades.

Without thinking, he grabbed a small knife from the drawer and began to cut around the edges of the
wallpaper. His hands were steady, but the closer he got to the door, the more his heart pounded in his chest.

When he finally pulled away the last piece of wallpaper, there it was—a hidden door, small and narrow, like a
forgotten passage to another world.

Joshua didn’t hesitate. He reached for the handle and pulled the door open.

The room beyond was small and cramped, filled with the same oppressive darkness as the rest of the house.
But as he stepped inside, something shifted. The walls felt closer now, as if they were moving in on him. The
air was thick with dust, but something else lingered—an old, almost putrid smell, like rotting wood and mold.

And in the corner of the room was the woman.

She was standing in the shadows, just as she had been in his dreams. Her pale face was half-hidden in the
dark, but Joshua could make out the hollow, lifeless eyes staring at him. Her mouth moved, but no sound
came out. It was the same whisper he’d heard in his dreams.

Joshua’s pulse thundered in his ears, his hands trembling as he took a step back. The woman took a step
forward.
The room felt smaller now, the walls pressing in, the air suffocating him.

And then she spoke.

"You shouldn’t have come here, Joshua."

Chapter 11: The Descent Begins

Joshua backed away, stumbling as he tried to turn and leave the room. The door slammed shut behind him,
leaving him in darkness. His heart raced, panic bubbling up inside him as he tried to open the door
again—this time it wouldn’t budge.

He screamed, his voice echoing in the tight space. The woman moved closer, her figure gliding across the
floor like a shadow. Her presence was suffocating, her voice growing louder in his head.

"You can’t leave now. You’re part of this house. You’ve always been part of this house."

Joshua tried to speak, but his voice wouldn’t come. He pressed his palms to his temples, trying to block out
the voices, the visions. His head felt like it was going to split open.

Suddenly, the walls seemed to warp and bend. The room was shrinking, closing in around him. The air grew
heavier, suffocating, and he could feel the cold of the house sinking into his bones.

The last thing he saw before everything went black was the woman’s face, inches from his own, smiling with
twisted, sharp teeth.
Chapter 12: The Truth Unveiled
When Joshua woke, he was lying on the floor in the same hidden room. The woman was gone, but the air
still felt thick, the weight of the house pressing down on him.

He stood up shakily, his legs weak. The door was open now, the darkness of the house spilling in from the
hallway.

Joshua stumbled out of the room, disoriented, his mind swimming with fragments of memories. Had the
woman been real? Had she been a ghost—or something worse?

And why did the house feel like it was calling to him?

He didn’t have the answers, but one thing was clear: the house had a story. And Joshua was a part of it.
Chapter 13: The House’s Secret
Joshua couldn’t shake the feeling that the house was watching him. He wasn’t sure if it was the whispers in
the walls or the heavy silence that hung in the air, but everything felt like it was pressing in on him.

He had spent hours combing through the journal, trying to make sense of Arthur’s final days, trying to
understand what had happened in this house. The more he read, the more he became convinced of one thing:
the house wasn’t just haunted—it was alive. It had been feeding on his uncle’s sanity for years, and now, it
was coming for him.

Joshua could feel it.

The dreams had become more intense, the visions sharper, the woman more real. She had stopped
whispering and started speaking in full sentences now. She had stopped haunting the attic, and now, she was
in the house with him. Watching him. Waiting for him to join her.

Tonight, as the wind howled outside, Joshua knew something had to be done. The house was alive with a
presence—an ancient, vengeful spirit.

Arthur had warned him in his journal, but Joshua hadn’t been ready to accept the truth.

The woman had been the house’s original owner. She had lived here long before his uncle, long before
Joshua, and the house had consumed her, twisted her soul, keeping her trapped inside. The house was a tomb,
and it wanted to claim him as its next resident.

And now, it was too late. Joshua was not merely a visitor. The house had chosen him.
Chapter 14: The Unraveling
Joshua had never been one to believe in curses or ghosts. But as the house around him began to groan and
shift, as if the walls themselves were breathing, he couldn’t deny the truth anymore.

The walls were closing in.

He tried to leave. He tried to run, to break free from the suffocating grip of the house, but each time he
reached for the door, it slammed shut in his face. He had tried every door, every window. Nothing. The house
was like a maze, its layout shifting, twisting, pulling him back into its heart.

The lights flickered and died. The silence was deafening, but the whispers grew louder, filling the air around
him. He could hear her voice—so close now, so clear.

"You can’t escape, Joshua."

The woman’s voice was soft, almost maternal, but there was something underneath it—something cold and
mocking. The darkness was absolute now. Joshua stumbled through the hallways, trying to make sense of
the layout, but the house had become a labyrinth, a twisting nightmare where nothing was real. The
doorways led to more hallways, the windows revealed nothing but blackness.

He could feel it—something creeping behind him, following his every step.
Chapter 15: The Final Revelation
Joshua found himself standing in the center of the house, unable to recognize anything anymore. The walls
felt alive, watching him, and he could hear the woman’s whispers surrounding him from all sides. His chest
was tight, his vision blurring. The house was a prison, a tomb, and he was its latest occupant.

In his disoriented state, he stumbled toward the old fireplace in the living room, its hearth cold and empty.
But as he approached, he noticed something strange—there, in the fireplace, was a doorway.

The passage was narrow, almost imperceptible, hidden by a thick layer of soot and grime. He reached out
instinctively, his fingers trembling as he scraped away the dirt. The entrance was too small to be a door. It
was a tunnel.

A tunnel that led deeper into the house.

Joshua hesitated. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to leave, to run. But there was no running
from this place. He had to face it.

He squeezed through the narrow tunnel, his shoulders scraping the sides as he crawled deeper into the bowels
of the house. The air grew colder and colder, until his breath came in white clouds in front of him.
And then, finally, he emerged into a large, open chamber. The room was cold and damp, filled with the smell
of earth and rot. The walls were lined with old, cracked stone. The ceiling was low, the beams above warped
and ancient.

But what caught his eye was the center of the room.

There, in the middle, was an old well.

It was large, deeper than anything he’d ever seen, the stone worn smooth by time. It was dark—so dark he
couldn’t see the bottom. The air around the well felt charged, heavy with something—something old,
something hungry.

Joshua approached it cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. The whispers were louder here, a
cacophony of voices echoing around the chamber. The woman’s voice rose above them all, clearer now,
taunting him.

"You should have left when you had the chance."

He reached the edge of the well, looking down into its depths. The blackness stretched endlessly, as if it had
no bottom. It was the only place in the house that felt truly empty. No echoes. No whispers. Just an
unbroken void.

The woman’s voice had grown louder, her breath now cold against his ear. She was right behind him.

"It’s too late for you."

Joshua’s body went rigid. The house was alive. The walls, the floor, the air around him—it was all part of the
same thing, a monstrous living entity that fed off of the souls it trapped. And now, it had claimed him.

He felt a sudden push, the air around him shifting. He spun around, and there, standing at the edge of the
well, was the woman—her form ethereal, her face twisted in a grotesque smile. She stepped closer, reaching
out for him.

"Join me," she whispered, her voice like cold steel. "The house is hungry. And now, so are you."
Chapter 16: Into the Abyss
The walls seemed to close in on Joshua as the woman’s cold, bony fingers grazed his arm. He was paralyzed
with fear, his body heavy, as though the weight of the house itself was pulling him down. He tried to scream,
but the words caught in his throat, his voice swallowed by the overwhelming pressure.

And then the whispers began.

A thousand voices, all speaking at once. They filled his mind, drowning out everything else. He could hear
them—no, feel them—pushing and pulling, clawing at his consciousness.
Joshua stumbled backward, his vision swimming. He saw flashes—faces from the photographs in the journal,
faces he didn’t recognize, faces twisted in agony. The room began to spin, the walls bending and warping like
paper. The air was thick, heavy with something foul.

The woman’s laughter echoed around him, and as he turned to flee, the ground beneath him gave way.

The well. He was falling.

Chapter 17: The Final Choice
Joshua plunged into the darkness. The wind screamed around him as he fell, the coldness of the well
swallowing him whole. Time seemed to stretch on forever, his body weightless, the blackness swallowing him
like a hungry maw.

And then, suddenly, he hit the bottom.

The impact was soft, like landing on a thick layer of moss. He pushed himself up, disoriented, shaking. He
was in a small chamber. The air was cold, damp, and still. But there was something here—something more
than just the void.

In the center of the room, lying on the floor, was a single object.

A mirror.

Joshua stumbled toward it, his breath quickening. The surface was dark and cloudy, but as he reached out to
touch it, his reflection started to change.

His face warped, his eyes hollowing out, his skin losing color. The reflection grinned at him, a twisted,
monstrous version of himself.

And then he heard it.

"You’re part of this house now, Joshua. You always have been."

He reached out one last time, the mirror’s surface rippling, swallowing his hand. His vision blurred as the
world around him fractured.

Epilogue: The House Always Wins

The next morning, the house stood silent.

The door to the attic creaked open, the rocking chair gently swaying in the breeze. The walls groaned, but
there was no one left to hear it. The house was quiet now, no longer whispering, no longer calling.

But beneath the floorboards, in the deepest part of the well, something stirred.

Joshua Reese had become part of the house. And like those before him, he would never leave.