Ethan's POV
The rain had stopped, but the air still reeked of death.
I stood at the edge of the hallway, my breath shallow, watching her. Alika. Fragile. Radiant even in fear. The flickering candlelight cast uneven shadows on the wooden floor, warping everything into grotesque shapes. She didn't see it. Not yet.
But I did.
Something was reaching for her.
A hand—long, grayish, translucent—crept out from beneath the warped floorboards just inches from her bare foot. Its fingers were wrong. Too many knuckles. Nails like splinters. It moved with a dreadful calm, like it knew it had all the time in the world to claim her.
"Alika, don't move." My voice cracked with urgency, barely masking the horror curling in my throat.
She turned to me, eyebrows drawn in confusion. "What? Ethan, what's wrong?"
I took a step forward, slow, controlled—like if I moved too fast, it would pounce.
But it was too late.
The hand closed around her ankle.
Alika screamed. Her candle fell from her grasp, hissing as it extinguished on the floor, casting us into thick, heavy darkness.
"No—!" I lunged forward, grabbing her arms just as her body was jerked backward.
The floorboards beneath her buckled and groaned, as though some unseen force was trying to pull her through them, into the guts of the house. She kicked frantically, her fingernails digging into my sleeves.
"Something's pulling me—!"
"I see it!" I shouted, voice cracking. "Hold on—don't let go!"
The thing's grip on her ankle was tightening, bruising her skin in shades of blue and sickly green. I could see the veins in its arm—black, writhing like worms under glass. A low moan echoed from the walls themselves, as if the house were alive and hungry.
I pulled harder, teeth gritted, muscles burning.
Then—crack!—the wood beneath us gave a little.
"Let her GO!" I roared, putting everything I had into one desperate yank.
The force broke the connection. Alika stumbled forward into my arms, trembling like a leaf. She clutched me, her body soaked in sweat and fear.
But the thing wasn't done.
That hand slithered back into the floorboards—but another limb appeared, this time clawing its way from the wall. And then another—from the ceiling's edge. Grotesque, disjointed shapes with joints bending the wrong way, reaching toward us, then vanishing the instant Alika turned her head.
They were playing with me.
Mocking me.
"Ethan…" she whispered, her voice barely audible, "what is this? What are you not telling me?"
I wanted to lie. I wanted to say she was imagining things.
But I couldn't.
"I never wanted this," I said. "I tried to protect you… but I'm not strong enough anymore."
"Strong enough for what?" she demanded, backing away, eyes glistening.
"To fight it."
The thing. The curse. The ancestral spirit that lived in the walls, in the blood, in me. I could feel it slithering beneath my skin—coiling in my gut, whispering venom through my thoughts.
"I've been… losing time," I confessed. "Blackouts. Visions. Every time I get close to you, it tightens its grip."
Alika's mouth opened, but no words came. Her face was pale, stricken. She had every right to run from me. But she didn't.
"There's something ancient bound to this house," I said hoarsely. "It wants the ritual completed. It wants your blood. And mine. That's how it binds the generations."
"I don't care about your ritual!" she cried. "I care about what's happening now—about the truth!"
I stared at her—and for a fleeting, heart-stopping moment—her face wasn't hers anymore.
Her skin shimmered. Her eyes turned glassy. Her mouth moved, but not with her voice.
"Run, child," came a whisper. Soft, unfamiliar, feminine.
Alika's body convulsed. Her limbs stiffened. Her eyes rolled back.
A soft glow outlined her body—and then, I saw her.
A woman. Older. Her features similar to Alika's, but worn with grief. Tears shimmered in her ghostly eyes.
Alika's mother.
She hovered just behind her daughter, hands gently placed on her shoulders.
"Let her go," the spirit whispered. "You still have a choice, Ethan."
I staggered back. "No. You don't understand. If the ritual isn't completed—if the bloodline breaks—Ravenmoor will fall into darkness. Forever. The curse will consume everything."
"I know," she said, sadness radiating from her. "But she doesn't belong to this fate."
And with that, she was gone.
Alika collapsed in my arms, panting, eyes wild.
I held her tightly. "You saw her?"
She nodded, breathless. "She told me to run."
I wanted to tell her to stay.
But the house wasn't done with us.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Coming from the hallway behind us.
Alika clung to my hand. "There's someone here."
"No." I drew her closer. "Something. Stay behind me."
The air turned icy. The candlelight stuttered and died, plunging us into near-blackness. My skin crawled. My heart beat like a war drum.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Whisper.
A voice. Just above a whisper. In the walls.
Ethan… you broke the vow.
I clenched my fists. "Don't listen to it."
But the whisper became many. From the ceiling. The floors. The walls. Like the house itself was whispering in a thousand dying tongues.
"Ethan," Alika whimpered, "I can't take it anymore—"
Then—crash! A shadow leapt at us from the end of the hallway.
Alika screamed. I braced myself.
But what emerged… wasn't what I expected.
A rat.
A fat, wet, hissing rat. Its beady eyes gleamed, and it hissed before scuttling away into a crack in the molding.
Alika sank to her knees, gasping. "Oh my God… I thought…"
"I know." I let out a shaky laugh, though nothing about it was funny. "I thought it was the end too."
But it wasn't just a rat.
I knew it. The bruises on her ankle were real. The hands. The voice.
And the ritual… it wasn't done.
"I've made mistakes," I said quietly, kneeling beside her. "I've let this curse control too much. But I love you, Alika. I've always loved you."
Her tears spilled over. "Then stop it. Please. End the ritual. Let us run."
"I… can't." My voice broke. "The spirit has taken too much of me. Every second I spend with you, it tightens its grip. If I defy it now…"
She didn't speak. Her hand pressed against my chest.
"But I'll try," I whispered. "For you, I'll try."
Then—
SLAM.
The bedroom door behind us flew shut with a violent bang.
Silence fell.
And then—footsteps. Again.
But this time… heavier.
Measured. Like someone—or something—walking slowly, deliberately… toward us.
Alika grabbed my arm. "That's not a rat."
"No," I said, standing. "It's not."
We turned to face the hallway.
The lightbulb above us flickered violently.
The shadows thickened.
And then, from the crack in the doorway, a voice—raspy, male—spoke:
"He lied to you, Alika. Just like his father."
The candle snuffed out.
And we were swallowed whole by the dark.