Emily's scream ripped through the darkness.
The air thickened instantly, heavy as wet cement. Frost crawled across the windows, and her breath fogged in frantic bursts. The figure before her didn't move — it only smiled. A grin stretched too wide, too human to be human.
"Uncle Nathan?" she whispered, barely recognizing her own trembling voice.
He stepped closer, candlelight from the hall flickering across his face. What once was flesh had turned gray and thin, stretched tight over bone. Blue-black veins crawled like dried roots up his neck. His eyes — hollow pits filled with slithering darkness — caught the light and reflected nothing.
"You wrote my name, Emily," he rasped. His voice was thick, dry, like paper tearing in slow motion. "You called me back."
Emily staggered backward. Behind her, the diary — the cursed book — slammed open with a heavy thud. Its pages turned rapidly on their own, as if caught in a violent wind. From them came whispers, hundreds of them, a thousand unseen mouths murmuring one name over and over:
"Nathan… Nathan… Nathan…"
The shadows on the walls began to move. Long, serpentine shapes twisted up from the floor, coiling toward the ceiling.
Nathan's grin twitched. "The book doesn't kill me, child," he crooned. "It trades."
He stepped closer. The floorboards cried under his feet. "And I've been waiting ten long years to collect what was promised."
Emily's heart stopped. She bolted for the door — but the hallway beyond wasn't her house anymore. The walls pulsed like veins under skin, breathing in and out. Every family photo on the walls bled thick, black liquid. The faces in them warped and melted, eyes sliding down cheeks, mouths twisting into screams.
She ran, stumbling, toward her grandmother's room.
The house warped behind her — corridors stretching impossibly long, lights flickering like heartbeats. With each flash, Nathan was closer: first ten feet away, then five, then standing just behind her, his arm nearly brushing her shoulder. His spine crackled and lengthened with every step, the sound of wood snapping echoing down the hall.
Emily burst into her grandmother's room, slamming the door behind her. The air was freezing. Her grandmother lay half-conscious, her breaths shallow, her frail chest rising and falling like a dying ember.
"Grandma!" Emily sobbed, crawling to her side. "It—it was uncle Nathan! He's alive! He's here!"
Her grandmother's eyes fluttered open — and widened with pure, animal terror. Her hand trembled, pointing weakly behind Emily. Her lips moved, the word rasping out like smoke:
"Run."
Emily froze.
From behind her came a sound — not footsteps, not breathing — but a slow, wet dragging inhale.
She turned.
Nathan stood framed in the doorway. Taller now. His neck bent at an unnatural angle, his head lolling to one side. The grin had torn through his cheeks, blood dripping down his chin. His eyes were not eyes anymore — they were filled with swirling black ink, like the pages of the diary brought to life.
"Why run?" he whispered. "You wanted the truth… didn't you?"
He reached out a skeletal hand, veins writhing like worms beneath translucent skin.
The lights flickered. Then died.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Emily's scream cut through it — and she ran.
She slammed through the hallway, the floorboards beneath her feet soft and pulsing like flesh. Her breaths came ragged, shallow, every corner alive with whispers. She reached her parents' door and banged her fists against it.
"Mom! Dad! Please—open the door!"
Silence. No answer. No movement inside.
Emily turned. Nathan stepped out of the darkness behind her, his face half-hidden beneath his hood, voice low and steady.
"Don't run from me, Emily…" he said softly. "Together, we can rule the world."
He laughed — a quiet, guttural laugh that crawled down her spine and froze her blood.
Emily turned and sprinted for her room, slamming the door shut and locking it. Her hands shook so violently she could barely hold the latch.
She grabbed her phone from the desk and dialed 911 with trembling fingers. The tone rang once… twice…
Her heart pounded in her ears.
Then— Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Emily," came Nathan's voice from the other side. Calm. Slow. Too calm. "Open the door. I just want to talk."
"Go away!" Emily screamed, tears streaking down her cheeks. "Please, just go away!"
The phone kept ringing. No one answered.
Then, silence.
She pressed her ear against the door. "Is he gone?" she whispered to herself.
The world held its breath.
Then—
THUD!
The door shook violently, and Emily was thrown backward, hitting the floor hard. She screamed, but the darkness swallowed the sound.
Whispers rose around her, filling the air:
"Murderer…"
"Debt…"
"Kill them all…"
Emily clutched her head, covering her ears, crying, "Stop! Leave me alone!" But the voices only grew louder, rising to a shrieking chorus. The room darkened further until even her own hands were invisible before her eyes.
Then she saw it — the diary. It sat on her bed, glowing faintly, the pen resting neatly on its open page.
Her pulse hammered.
She lunged for it, crawling across the floor. Nathan pounded on the door again — once, twice — each hit shaking the room.
"Don't you dare write my name, Emily!" his voice thundered, distorted, monstrous. "You little bitch! I'll kill you!"
But she didn't stop. Her hands trembled as she grabbed the pen. The air around her vibrated, pushing back, an unseen force resisting her every movement. It was like trying to write through thick, invisible tar.
Still, she pressed harder. She held her right wrist with her left hand and forced the pen downward.
N… A… T… H… A… N… H… A… L… E…
The diary screamed.
Its pages writhed, ink erupting from the cracks like veins bursting open. The air turned electric, and Nathan's voice outside the door rose into an inhuman howl.
The entire house shook. Pictures fell from the walls. The door rattled violently, and the shadows behind it twisted, shrieking.
Then—silence.
Emily stared at the glowing book, her chest heaving. The name burned bright on the page… and then bled away into black.
From the other side of the door came a final whisper — soft, ragged, familiar.
"…You can't kill what's already yours."
The lights flickered once.
And the last sound Emily heard before the chapter ended was the slow, deliberate turn of the doorknob.