Ethan woke up with the kind of headache that felt like someone had swapped his brain with a half-frozen watermelon. His body was stiff, his throat was dry, and when his eyes blinked open, the first thing he saw was not his broken ceiling back at home, not the peeling walls of his house, not even the familiar shadow of the ghost scratching away at the corner.
No.
This place was different.
He was lying on cold stone, the kind that pressed its chill right through his clothes and into his bones. When he sat up, groaning, he realized the air itself smelled wrong—like damp earth, iron, and burned incense all at once.
He rubbed his face, squinting.
The place around him was wide, cavernous, shaped like a church but not. It had all the elements—the vaulted ceiling, the long aisle lined with pews, a raised altar at the far end—but every piece was twisted. The wooden pews weren't polished or holy—they were rough, splintering, their wood soaked dark like it had been drenched in something. The altar didn't hold a cross. Instead, something like a bone effigy stood there: a structure of rib bones bound together in the shape of an open mouth.
Ethan muttered, voice hoarse:
"...If this is heaven, I want a refund."
His words echoed faintly through the chamber, bouncing off the stone walls. The ceiling was far too high, shrouded in shadow, and he swore he could hear faint whispers up there, like dozens of voices murmuring together in a language he couldn't recognize.
And then—he saw him.
A figure sat casually in one of the front pews, leaning forward like he'd been waiting. He wasn't wearing robes, wasn't in a hood like the others Ethan had seen before. Just a man, dressed in simple black trousers and a gray shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair streaked with white. Maybe in his fifties. He didn't look like a priest. He didn't even look dangerous. He just… was there.
When Ethan stirred, the man finally spoke. His voice was calm, deep, almost too calm.
"You're awake sooner than I expected."
Ethan blinked at him, rubbed the back of his neck, and decided to keep his sarcasm close as armor.
"Yeah, I get that a lot. My body doesn't know the meaning of 'sleep in.' Also, uh… not to nitpick, but your church looks like it lost a fight with Home Depot and a butcher shop."
The man smiled faintly. Not offended. Not amused either. Just… watching.
"This is no church. It is a sanctuary. A place where truths are revealed, where the chains of false gods are broken."
Ethan raised a brow. "Uh-huh. And I suppose the bone chandelier up there is supposed to help sell the mood? 'Cause I'm not buying it."
The man didn't answer right away. Instead, he stood, slowly, and walked toward Ethan. His footsteps echoed across the cracked stone floor, each one deliberate.
"You mock what you do not understand. That is natural. Fear often wears the mask of humor."
"Buddy," Ethan muttered, standing up too, though he swayed a little from dizziness, "if fear wore a mask, mine would be one of those cheap clown wigs. I'm not scared, I'm just… confused. And mildly disgusted."
The man stopped a few feet in front of him. His eyes, dark and steady, seemed to hold something—calm certainty, maybe obsession. He studied Ethan like someone would study a puzzle piece.
"You are… different," the man said. "That is why you are here. Do you know why?"
Ethan spread his arms. "I don't know, maybe because I didn't pay the ghost rent back at my house? Or maybe because you people like kidnapping random guys off their couch? Enlighten me."
The man tilted his head. "Because you are chosen."
Ethan blinked, then barked a laugh. "Oh, wow. Straight to the cult script. Let me guess—you're about to tell me some ancient prophecy nonsense? The stars aligned? The bones whispered my name? C'mon, man, I've seen movies. You're not original."
The man's lips curved again, just slightly. "We did not choose you. She did."
At that, Ethan froze.
His mind immediately flicked back—to the ghost girl. The one who haunted his ceiling, scratched his walls, whispered in ways that made his skin crawl but also… stayed. The one who stared with hair covering her face, who never left him alone.
He tried not to let the man see his reaction, but his stomach twisted.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Ethan said carefully.
The man didn't press. Instead, he turned and began walking back toward the altar, speaking over his shoulder.
"You will understand soon enough. You already carry her mark, even if you pretend not to see it. And here, within these walls, you will see what it means to be bound."
Ethan followed slowly, keeping distance, scanning the room. There had to be an exit. There had to.
As he walked, he noticed more details—candles melted into puddles on the floor, the faint stains on the pews (too dark, too real to be wine), and symbols carved into the stone walls. Circles within circles, jagged runes that seemed to shift if he stared too long.
The whispers above grew louder.
Ethan rubbed his arms, goosebumps prickling. The air was colder here, sharper.
When the man reached the altar, he placed a hand on the rib-bone effigy and turned to face Ethan fully.
"You have a choice," the man said. "You can accept what you are… or you can resist and be broken. Those who resist always break."
Ethan snorted. "Yeah, see, I'm not really into either of those options. Is there like, a third one? 'Leave and never come back'? I'll even give you a five-star review for hospitality."
The man studied him again, silent. The quiet stretched long enough that Ethan started shifting his weight.
Then the man said, softly, almost regretfully:
"You remind me of another one. The boy in the hood. The one with the hammer. He mocked, too. He resisted, too."
Ethan stiffened. "...Hoodie guy?"
The man nodded once. "And the one in the suit. They both thought they could stand apart from us. They were wrong."
Something cold settled in Ethan's stomach. He didn't know why, but he had a bad feeling about where this was going.
"What… happened to them?" Ethan asked slowly.
The man's eyes glinted in the candlelight. "They are with the sanctuary now. Their flesh, their breath, their screams—all offered to the Mouth."
And just as he said it—Ethan heard something. A wet sound. A faint drip, somewhere beyond the altar.
He turned his head. Behind the rib-bone effigy, half-hidden in shadow, were shapes. He squinted, and his gut lurched.
Bodies.
Two of them.
One slumped forward, hoodie still on, but the chest caved in, arms hanging limp. The other lay sprawled, suit jacket torn open, blood dark across the stone. Their faces… weren't faces anymore. Half-consumed, like something had chewed them away.
Ethan's breath caught.
The man spoke calmly, as if explaining something normal:
"This sanctuary does not tolerate weakness. They gave themselves, in the end. They always do."
Ethan's mind spun. Images flickered—Hoodie's hammer, Suit's gun, the fight in his house. Now they were gone. Just meat for this place.
His fists clenched without him meaning to.
"You're insane," Ethan said quietly. His voice shook, but it wasn't fear now—it was anger.
The man only tilted his head again, studying him like some experiment.
"Insane?" the man repeated. "No. We are simply ahead of you. You will understand."
That was it. That was the moment Ethan decided he wasn't sticking around.
He didn't announce it, didn't argue. He just moved.
His eyes had already traced the walls, spotted what looked like a door half-hidden near the far corner, half-rotted wood with iron hinges. He bolted.
The man didn't move to stop him. Didn't shout. Didn't even seem surprised. He just watched as Ethan sprinted down the aisle, boots pounding against stone, heart hammering in his chest.
The whispers above grew louder, almost frantic, like the whole ceiling was a throat chanting. Ethan didn't look back.
He reached the door, shoved at it. It resisted, creaked, but then gave way with a groan of wood. Cold air rushed in, carrying the smell of wet moss. He stumbled through into a narrow corridor, dim torches lining the walls.
He kept running.
And in the distance, faintly, he thought he heard the man's voice echoing after him, calm as ever:
"You cannot run forever. She has already chosen you."