Falling shouldn't feel like this.
Ethan had fallen before — off stairs, off the bus, once even out of a tree when he was ten and thought gravity was "just a theory." But this wasn't gravity. This was wrong. It wasn't down so much as through. The air tore around him, not as wind but as whispering voices, clawing at his ears, tugging at his thoughts.
He didn't hit the ground. The ground hit him.
The impact was a muffled thud that knocked every molecule of air out of his lungs. For a moment, all he heard was the echo of his own heartbeat, hammering inside his skull like a fist on a coffin lid. Then came the sound of stone cracking. Dust rained from above.
He coughed, rolled onto his side, and groaned. "Ow. Okay… that's a solid ten out of ten on the 'bad landings' chart."
His voice didn't echo. The sound just… vanished, like the air swallowed it.
Ethan blinked, squinting through the dark. The place around him glowed faintly with a red hue, like light bleeding through flesh. The floor wasn't stone anymore — it looked like stone at first glance, but when he pressed a palm to it, it gave slightly under his touch, soft and warm. Too warm.
"Great. The floor's made of meat," he muttered. "I'm standing inside a body. Someone please uninstall reality."
A groan came from nearby. Ethan turned quickly, heart leaping — then relaxed just a little when he saw the ninja girl sprawled beside a broken pillar. Her mask was still on, but her arms were scratched and her right leg twisted awkwardly under her. The fabric of her suit was shredded, exposing pale skin smeared with blood and dust.
Ethan crawled closer. "Hey—hey, you still breathing, Stabby?"
She moved, coughing. Her voice came out hoarse. "Stop calling me that."
"Good. Still sassy. You'll live."
He tried to help her sit up, wincing as she hissed in pain. The sound echoed weirdly this time — not around them, but inside them, vibrating in their bones.
When she finally managed to lean against the wall, she whispered, "Where… are we?"
Ethan looked around. The space stretched endlessly — a massive circular chamber with walls that seemed to breathe. Faint shapes pulsed behind the translucent red membrane, like veins shifting under skin. In the center stood something like a pulpit, but made entirely of bone.
He swallowed. "Uh, best guess? Somewhere between 'hell's basement' and 'biology experiment gone rogue.'"
The ninja tried to stand but fell back down with a wince. Her leg wasn't broken, but close. Ethan crouched next to her, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Okay, look. Don't panic. We're alive. Sort of. Probably. That's like, eighty percent of success right there."
She glanced up at him, and even though he couldn't see her full face, he could feel her glare through the mask. "You talk too much."
"Yeah, it's a defense mechanism," he said. "Keeps me from realizing how screwed we are."
A sound rippled through the chamber — a wet, dragging noise. Both of them froze. The red light dimmed, replaced by a deep, suffocating black.
Then came the whisper.
"Ethaaan…"
Ethan's blood turned to ice. That voice. That soft, breathy tone. He knew it.
The ghost.
He spun around, eyes scanning the darkness. "Okay, that's not funny. You're supposed to be haunting my house, not my nightmares!"
"You left me…"
The whisper was closer now, curling around his ears like smoke. He felt it brush the back of his neck — cold, wet, intimate.
The ninja tensed, hand going for her sword. "Who's there?"
Ethan swallowed. "Uh… long story short, that's my dead roommate-slash-ghost-slash-weirdly clingy ex-spirit."
She gave him a look of utter disbelief. "You're insane."
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Starting to agree."
The red light flickered back, and for a heartbeat, they saw her. The ghost floated just inches from the pulpit — her white dress stained black in the crimson glow, her hair moving like it had a will of its own. Her head was tilted, face still hidden.
Ethan's thoughts went haywire. Why here? How?
"You broke the seal," she whispered. "Now we're all inside."
Ethan blinked. "Wait, what do you mean inside? Inside what?"
Her eyes lifted — two faint, glowing pits behind strands of hair.
"The house."
The words struck like lightning. Ethan took a shaky step back. "No, no, no… The house was miles away. We left it. We fought in the church, we fell—"
"It followed you," she said. "It's all one place now."
The ninja whispered something in disbelief, staring around. The walls pulsed again, faster, and with each pulse, fragments of wood appeared along the stone — pieces of the house, broken furniture, torn wallpaper, even that damn welcome mat in the corner, reading one simple word:
STAY.
Ethan laughed — a raw, broken laugh. "Of course. The demon house has Wi-Fi. It's everywhere I go."
The ghost began to drift closer. Ethan's instincts screamed run, but something in her expression made him freeze. Her voice softened.
"You brought them here… the killers, the cult, the sanctuary. You opened the door."
"I didn't open anything!" Ethan shot back. "I was falling! You think I meant to do this?"
She tilted her head. "The door doesn't care about intent. Only about blood."
The ninja tightened her grip on the sword, struggling to her feet despite her limp. "What is she talking about?"
Ethan shook his head, panic prickling through his chest. "I don't— I didn't—"
He stopped. Because something clicked.
The blood. His blood.
When he'd fought the hooded men, he'd bled all over the floorboards. When he'd patched up the walls, he'd cut his hands. When he moved into the house—
Every drop had been an offering. A key.
He looked at the ghost. "You mean… I fed it."
"Yes."
The word hit like a hammer.
"And now it's awake."
The pulpit in the center began to move. No — it wasn't moving. It was rising. Bones shifted, clicking into place, forming a shape that was too large, too wrong. It wasn't human. It wasn't even animal. It was the house itself, its walls bending inward like a spine.
A single massive eye opened in the ceiling — an eye made of wood, glass, and blood.
Ethan whispered, "You've got to be kidding me."
The ninja grabbed his arm. "Run!"
They sprinted — or limped, in her case — as the chamber shook violently. The floor cracked open, revealing a chasm that pulsed like a throat. Screams echoed from below, distant and deep.
The ghost didn't follow. She only watched.
As they ran, Ethan glanced back one last time. Her eyes were locked on him — not angry, not vengeful. Sad.
"I told you not to leave," she whispered.
Then the floor gave way again.
They fell for the second time that night, deeper into madness.
As darkness swallowed him whole, Ethan's last coherent thought was simple, trembling, and bitterly human:
I think my house hates me.