The staircase wound downward like the inside of a great creature's ribcage, spiraling endlessly into the dark. Each step creaked beneath us, slick with the same black ichor that dripped from the walls above. The deeper we went, the warmer the air became — humid and heavy, tasting faintly of iron.
Behind us, the sound of the heartbeat faded into a distant echo. But another rhythm replaced it — slower, deeper, more deliberate. Like the drag of thought, the pull of consciousness.
Ethan leaned heavily on me, his breathing uneven. "It's thinking," he murmured.
Maya's flashlight trembled in her hand. "Thinking? What does that even mean?"
He looked up, eyes hollow. "It's aware. It knows we're here."
We descended in silence for a while after that. The steps gradually widened into a walkway suspended above a black chasm. Below us, faint shapes shifted within the darkness — the silhouettes of bodies, suspended in some viscous fluid, twitching faintly as though dreaming.
I tried not to look at them, but their faces — or what was left of them — followed me. Some looked ancient, their skin stretched thin like parchment. Others were disturbingly fresh.
Maya whispered, "How far does this thing go?"
"Far enough," I said quietly. "We're heading into what it calls the root. The place where all the lives it's taken… connect."
The walkway ended at a vast door made not of wood or metal, but of bone. It stood taller than any cathedral gate, rib-like pillars arching into a jagged frame. In its center pulsed a faint red light, almost like an eye.
Ethan stumbled to his knees, clutching his chest. "It's here," he said weakly. "This is where it began."
The door breathed.
I reached out before I could stop myself. The surface was smooth but warm, pulsing faintly beneath my palm — alive. At my touch, the light flared, and the bone split open, folding inward like a maw.
The chamber beyond was unlike anything we'd seen before.
It wasn't architecture — it was biology. A vast sphere of interwoven nerves and arteries stretched out in every direction, pulsing in a slow, steady rhythm. Thick cables of muscle connected the walls to a central column, where something massive writhed beneath layers of membrane.
The smell was overwhelming — copper, decay, and something sweet, like rotting fruit.
Maya gagged, covering her mouth. "Jesus Christ…"
Ethan stared, entranced. "You're looking at its brain."
We stepped cautiously inside. The floor was soft underfoot, slick and warm. Every few steps, the surface shifted, almost breathing. The chamber wasn't empty — fragments of objects and memories were embedded in the walls: a child's toy, a rusted sword, a torn wedding veil. The mansion didn't just consume bodies — it collected lives.
I felt something brush against my mind — not words exactly, but impressions. Faces. Screams. Pleas. And through them all, one familiar whisper.
"Arlen."
I froze.
Maya turned. "What's wrong?"
"It said my name."
Ethan's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "You finally hear it, don't you? It's been calling you since the moment you stepped inside."
I shook my head. "No. That's not possible."
"Isn't it?" he said softly. "Don't you remember why you came here in the first place?"
The air grew colder. The light around us dimmed, replaced by flickering images — flashes of memory not my own.
A storm.A car.A crash.
Then — the mansion, looming through the trees. And me, standing at its door. Alone.
But that couldn't be right. I came here with them. I—
My chest tightened. The images grew stronger.
You didn't come here with them, Arlen. They followed you.
The voice slithered through my thoughts, familiar and wrong all at once.
Maya's hand grabbed my arm. "Arlen, what's happening?"
I tried to speak, but the air thickened in my throat. "It's—showing me something. I think it's trying to rewrite—"
The ground convulsed, cutting me off. The central column split open, and something began to rise from within — a shape made of bone and sinew, vaguely humanoid, towering over us.
Its face — if it could be called that — was smooth, featureless, except for a faint imprint where eyes should have been. But in its chest, something glowed — a red light that pulsed in time with my heartbeat.
Maya screamed, stumbling backward. "What the hell is that?"
Ethan's voice was quiet. Reverent. "It's the Architect."
The creature tilted its head toward us, the sound of stretching tendons filling the air. Then it spoke — not aloud, but directly into our skulls.
"You were never lost in the woods. You came home."
Maya covered her ears, shaking her head violently. "Stop it! Stop!"
I took a step back, the world spinning around me. "What do you mean—home?"
The Architect took another step forward, each movement fluid and horrifyingly graceful.
"Because you were the first to build it, Arlen. And the first to forget."
The chamber trembled as the words sank in. Maya turned to me, disbelief etched across her face. "What is it talking about?"
I couldn't answer. I didn't know. But somewhere, buried deep beneath fear and denial, something in me did remember — a dream, a ritual, a moment of light turning to shadow.
And a whisper:
Bring them back.
Then the heartbeat surged again, deafening, and the chamber began to collapse.
"Run!" I shouted, grabbing Maya and pulling her toward the nearest passage. Ethan didn't move — he just stared at the creature, tears streaming down his face.
As the walls folded inward and the light turned red, I looked back one last time — and saw the Architect reaching toward me, its voice echoing through my skull like thunder:
"You cannot destroy what was born from you."
Then the world came apart.
I woke to silence.
The air was cool again, no longer hot and pulsing like flesh. My body ached all over, and when I opened my eyes, I saw sunlight filtering through cracked windows.
For one insane moment, I thought we were free.
Maya was slumped against the wall nearby, her face pale, eyes closed but breathing steady. The room looked like one of the mansion's upper halls before the rot had taken it — clean wallpaper, polished floors, a faint smell of dust and rain.
I sat up slowly, my mind reeling. "Maya," I said hoarsely.
She stirred, blinking blearily. "Arlen… what happened?"
I shook my head. "I don't know. The chamber—it collapsed. I thought we—"
I stopped.
Outside the cracked window, it was raining. The same gray light, the same forest. But there was something off. The trees didn't move naturally. The shadows leaned toward the mansion like curious watchers.
Maya followed my gaze and whispered, "We're still inside, aren't we?"
Before I could answer, a faint sound drifted down the hall — laughter. Soft, distant, familiar.
Maya stiffened. "That's—Rachel."
It was impossible. Rachel was gone. But the laughter came again, echoing through the corridor, high and fragile like glass about to break.
I rose to my feet. "Stay here."
"Like hell," she said, grabbing her flashlight. "We do this together."
We crept through the hall, every step quiet, careful. The mansion seemed alive again — but differently this time. It was cleaner, brighter, a version of itself from before the rot. Portraits lined the walls, their painted eyes tracking us as we passed.
At the end of the corridor, the laughter stopped.
In its place came a voice. Mine.
"Don't open the door."
Maya froze. "That was—"
"Me," I finished.
The door at the end of the hall stood slightly ajar, a thin line of golden light spilling through. I pushed it open.
We stepped into what looked like a study — rich mahogany shelves, a roaring fireplace, books scattered across a heavy oak desk. And standing in front of the window was me.
He turned slowly, eyes shadowed, face identical to mine except for one detail — the faint red glow beneath the skin.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
He smiled faintly. "You already know."
Maya raised her flashlight. "Arlen, what the hell is happening?"
The other me ignored her, stepping closer. "You've been dreaming this place your whole life, haven't you? The walls, the corridors, the heart under the floor. You thought they were nightmares, but they were memories."
"That's not possible," I said, backing away.
"Then how did you know where to go? How did you know what the heart was?" His voice was calm, patient, like a teacher explaining something simple to a child. "Because you were the first one to hear it. The first one to build it."
I shook my head violently. "No. I'm not him. I'm not that—thing."
He stopped just short of me, his expression almost tender. "Maybe not anymore. But it remembers you, Arlen. It's been trying to bring you home ever since you left it unfinished."
Maya grabbed my arm. "We're leaving. Now."
But the other me smiled, looking past her. "You can't leave. Not until he remembers everything."
The room around us began to ripple, the light from the fireplace flickering violently. The walls twisted, the books melting into the shelves.
Suddenly we were standing in a different room — smaller, colder. A basement.
Chains hung from the ceiling. A table stood in the center, covered with dried blood and old instruments.
Maya covered her mouth. "Oh my God…"
The other me walked calmly around the table. "This is where it started. You were trying to stop the decay — the first stage of the house's hunger. But to seal it, you needed a life."
"No," I whispered, but the memory unfolded anyway.
A flash of movement — a woman bound to the table, eyes wide with terror. My own hands holding the blade. The chanting. The pulse beneath the floor.
And her voice, breaking. Please, Arlen…
I staggered backward. "Stop. Stop it!"
The other me smiled faintly. "You did this to save her, remember? You thought the house could contain death itself. You thought you could make her eternal."
The image flickered. The woman's face twisted, blurred — and became Rachel's.
Maya screamed, stumbling back. "That's not—Arlen, what the hell is this?!"
I pressed my hands to my head, the pain unbearable. "It's lying. It's not real."
The other me tilted his head. "Isn't it? You built the house to hold her soul. But you didn't realize the truth: every soul you tried to save only made it hungrier."
The walls cracked, the sound like bones splitting. The red light poured through, and the other me began to dissolve, his skin melting into shadow.
"Finish what you started," he whispered. "Or it will never let you go."
The room exploded into darkness.
I hit the floor, gasping, my body drenched in sweat. Maya was beside me, trembling, her flashlight flickering in and out.
The walls around us were no longer clean or bright — they were once again rotten and pulsing, veins crawling across the surface like worms.
But now I could hear something new — faint, whispering words beneath the heartbeat.
My own voice, echoing from every wall.
"Finish it."