The basement door stood slightly ajar, the gap between it and the frame like an open mouth, whispering its invitation. The sound coming from below was a chorus of murmurs, hushed but urgent, as if something unseen stirred just beyond the threshold.
Ethan swallowed hard. His legs felt stiff, his body resisting every impulse to move forward. But he forced himself to take a step. Then another.
Noah was right behind him, his grip tight on the flashlight, knuckles white. "This is a bad idea."
Ethan exhaled shakily. "I know."
Noah pushed the door open further, the hinges groaning in protest. The whispering stopped—abruptly.
A silence heavier than before settled over them, thick and unnatural. It wasn't the absence of sound but something worse, something suffocating.
Noah aimed his flashlight into the darkness below. The beam cut through the dust and caught the outline of narrow wooden steps leading downward. The walls on either side of the stairwell were covered in more symbols, burned deep into the wood.
Ethan's stomach churned. These were different from the ones upstairs. More intricate. More deliberate.
He took the first step down. It groaned beneath his weight. The air grew colder, thick with dampness and decay. The scent of burnt wood clung to the walls—not fresh, but ancient, as if the fire that had once consumed this place still lingered, trapped in time.
Step by step, they descended. The darkness at the bottom seemed almost alive, swallowing the light from the flashlight before it could fully illuminate the space.
Then—a sound.
Soft at first. Then louder.
A slow, wet dragging noise.
Noah stiffened behind him. "Ethan—"
"I hear it," Ethan whispered.
He reached the last step and stepped into the basement. The floor beneath him was cold, damp, wrong.
The room was larger than he remembered. The stone walls were cracked, pulsing with dampness, the floor uneven and cluttered with debris. Shelves lined the edges, filled with objects long since decayed—mason jars filled with murky liquid, rusted tools, torn fabric.
But at the center of the room stood something new. Something that shouldn't have been there.
A circle.
Carved into the floor, deep and jagged, its edges glowing faintly with an unnatural light. Symbols filled its interior, pulsing like embers, shifting as if they were alive.
And at the center of the circle—
A figure.
Hunched. Motionless.
The dragging sound stopped.
Ethan felt his breath hitch.
The thing in the center of the circle twitched.
Then, slowly, it began to lift its head.
The light from Noah's flashlight flickered violently. The air grew thick, pressing in on them like invisible hands.
Noah cursed under his breath. "Ethan. We need to go."
Ethan didn't move. He couldn't.
The figure lifted its head further, and as it did, a terrible realization clawed its way into Ethan's mind—
He knew that face.
Even though it was wrong, stretched and contorted, the eyes sunken deep into black hollows, the skin pulled too tight against the bones—
He recognized it.
It was his mother.
A guttural sound escaped her lips, something between a gasp and a sob. Her mouth trembled, split open wider than it should have, revealing too many teeth.
Then, she spoke.
Not in her own voice.
But in his.
"Ethan… sweetheart, where are you?"
Ethan's entire body locked up. The same words from the tape. The same voice. The same nightmare.
Noah grabbed his arm. "Ethan, we're leaving. Now."
The thing in the circle moved.
Its limbs jerked unnaturally, its fingers clawing at the ground. It crawled toward them, but it couldn't leave the circle—something held it back. It let out a shriek, a sound so sharp and grating that Ethan's vision blurred.
The basement shook.
The symbols on the walls burned, their glow intensifying, pulsing in rhythm with the thing's ragged breaths.
Then—a whisper in his ear.
Not from the thing in the circle. Not from Noah.
Something else.
"You already know my name."
Ethan recoiled, a sharp pain splitting through his skull. The walls seemed to close in. Shadows stretched unnaturally, warping, twisting, writhing like living things.
The thing in the circle laughed.
It was his mother's voice, but wrong, layered with something deeper, something ancient.
Noah tightened his grip on Ethan's arm. "Move, damn it!"
The light from the flashlight died.
Total darkness swallowed them.
Then—
A hand grabbed Ethan's wrist.
Not Noah's.
Something cold. Wet. Wrong.
Ethan screamed.
Noah shoved him toward the stairs. "GO!"
They ran.
The walls trembled as they scrambled up the steps, the basement behind them howling with unnatural voices, whispers turning to screams, the air filled with the sound of something chasing them.
Ethan burst through the basement door, slamming it shut just as something slammed into the other side.
The wood buckled, splintering beneath the force.
Noah didn't stop. He grabbed Ethan and dragged him through the house, toward the front door.
The whispers followed.
The floor beneath them cracked. The walls trembled.
The symbols burned.
They stumbled through the front door just as the entire house let out a deafening, inhuman wail—a sound that didn't belong in this world.
The moment they crossed the threshold, it stopped.
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating.
Ethan's body shook. His breath came in ragged gasps. His heart pounded so violently it hurt.
Noah hunched over beside him, hands on his knees, eyes wide.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
Then Noah turned to him, his voice hoarse. "What the hell was that?"
Ethan couldn't answer. He didn't have the words.
But deep inside, he knew.
The thing in the basement…
It wasn't his mother.
And whatever it was—it wasn't finished with him.