Chapter 8: Crawlspace
The breathing grew louder.
Mira stepped toward the closet, drawn forward despite herself. A draft like icy breath met her face. Inside, the closet was deeper than it should have been—stretching back into pure black.
The shard in her hand pulsed again, and she realized it was responding.
Not just to the house.
To what lived in it.
On the floor of the closet lay a wooden hatch, old and iron-braced, covered in scratch marks.
Her heart stuttered.
She'd seen this before. In dreams. As a child. As a memory buried beneath denial.
She knelt and pulled the latch open.
The darkness below didn't wait—it reached for her.
And before she could scream, she was falling again.