I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it — the faint red glow behind my eyelids, the shifting walls of the mansion, the faces of those I'd lost whispering from the dark.
When morning came, I couldn't tell if it was real. The sunlight that slipped through the blinds looked dull, colorless, like it was filtered through smoke.
I stood by the window, staring down at the street. People moved below — ordinary people, laughing, talking, walking their dogs — but something about the rhythm of their movements felt off. Too synchronized. Too deliberate.
Like the city itself was breathing.
I needed help. Or at least, I needed someone else to tell me I wasn't insane.
Dr. Halvorsen's office was only a few blocks away — the therapist I'd seen once years ago after Rachel's death. I didn't know if she was still practicing, but when I called, her voice on the other end sounded exactly the same: calm, clinical, reassuring.
"Yes, Arlen," she said softly. "Come in. You sound like you need to talk."
Her office was on the twelfth floor of a building that overlooked the river. The elevator hummed quietly as I rode up, its lights flickering every few seconds. When the doors opened, the air that hit me smelled faintly like damp earth.
I froze.
The hallway looked normal — sterile, white walls, framed degrees, potted plants — but beneath the carpet, I could swear I heard it.
Thump. Thump.
I forced myself forward. When Dr. Halvorsen opened her door, she smiled — but her eyes caught me immediately.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said, motioning for me to sit.
I hesitated, then sat down. The couch was soft, too soft — like the floor of the mansion's great hall, just before it had started pulsing.
She folded her hands. "Tell me what's been happening."
I told her everything. The mansion. The ritual. The fall. Maya. The light. The crater. And finally, the voice.
When I finished, she was silent for a long time.
Then she said, "Arlen, you suffered significant trauma. It's natural that your mind might be creating echoes — sensory reminders of what happened."
"It's not in my head," I said quietly. "I hear it. I feel it. It's alive."
She tilted her head. "Alive how?"
I leaned forward. "The mansion. It's still here. Not in the woods anymore — here. In me. Maybe in everything."
Her expression didn't change, but I noticed her fingers tighten around her pen. "You think it followed you."
"I don't think," I said. "I know."
She glanced toward the window. "Arlen… sometimes after trauma, we externalize guilt. You said you felt responsible for what happened. Maybe—"
A low hum filled the air.
I froze.
The light above her desk flickered. The floor vibrated once, softly, like a heartbeat.
She frowned, looking up. "Hmm. Must be the generator again. This building—"
"Do you hear it?" I whispered.
She looked back at me, uncertain. "Hear what?"
"The heartbeat."
She opened her mouth to reply, then stopped. Her eyes unfocused slightly, her pupils dilating.
"Dr. Halvorsen?"
She blinked rapidly. "Strange," she murmured. "For a moment, I thought I heard—"
The floor thumped again. Louder this time.
The potted plant beside her chair began to twitch, soil shifting as something moved beneath it. The hum grew deeper, vibrating through the air until the glass on her desk rattled.
I stood. "Get away from the floor."
"What—?"
The carpet split open.
Not wide — just a hairline crack at first. But from it came a faint red light, pulsing in time with that familiar rhythm.
Dr. Halvorsen stumbled back, eyes wide. "What the—?"
I grabbed her arm. "It's spreading. We have to go!"
She stared at me like I was insane — until the light flared again, and the walls began to breathe.
"Move!" I shouted.
We ran. The hallway outside the office seemed to stretch as we sprinted down it, the walls rippling with every step. The exit sign flickered, then shattered. The elevator doors warped inward, as if something massive pressed against them from the other side.
Dr. Halvorsen gasped, clutching her chest. "What's happening?!"
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
The heartbeat filled everything now — not just the air, but the building itself.
Thump. Thump.
The sound slowed, deepened, echoing like it had beneath the mansion's floors.
Dr. Halvorsen's eyes turned toward me — and for just a second, they flashed red.
I stopped. "No…"
She blinked, confused. "Arlen?"
The light faded. She looked normal again.
But I knew.
The mansion wasn't gone. It wasn't even just inside me anymore. It was growing. Spreading through the world, using memory as its roots.
I took a step back, trembling. "It's not over."
"What?"
I looked at her with hollow eyes. "It never ended."
Then I turned and ran.
The elevator was dead. The stairs twisted, the light dimming as I descended. Outside, the sky had turned the color of dried blood.
And beneath my feet, far below the city, something enormous was beginning to breathe.