Chapter 4: Beneath the Floorboards
The walls no longer whispered — they breathed.
Helena pressed her hand against the cold plaster. It pulsed, like something living. The house was shifting around her. This wasn't just some old cursed place — it was alive.
She turned back, trying to retrace her steps, but the hallway behind her was gone. Replaced with a corridor that tilted slightly to the left, with wallpaper peeling like dry skin.
The air was heavier here. Breathing felt like pulling in smoke.
Then she heard it again.
"Helena... come down..."
She followed the sound into a narrow room lit by a single swinging bulb. Dust danced in the air like ash. In the center of the floor, the wooden panels were split.
A square outline.
A trapdoor.
She knelt and pulled.
It creaked open, revealing a black pit beneath. A wooden ladder led down, swallowed by the dark.
A breeze rose up from the pit — cold and sour.
She hesitated.
Then she saw it — a small, leather-bound journal beside the opening.
She picked it up.
Property of Zaraab.
The name sent chills through her spine.
She flipped it open. The first page was filled with frantic, overlapping handwriting.
> "The house is not haunted. It's hungry. It needs fear to stay awake. And now it knows my name."
The next few pages were smeared with ink and... something darker. Dried blood?
One page stood out:
> "There is something under the floor. It watches. It whispers. If you hear your own voice calling from the dark, DO NOT FOLLOW. It is not you."
Helena closed the book.
A loud snap echoed below.
Something was climbing up the ladder.
Step.
By step.
Closer.
She slammed the trapdoor shut and threw her weight over it.
Silence.
Then a knock.
Three soft knocks.
Her phone buzzed.
UNKNOWN: "Too late. It's already inside."
The bulb above her burst.
Darkness.
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B