Lena barely had time to scramble to her feet before the door slammed shut behind her. The impact shook the house, sending dust raining down from the ceiling.
For a moment, there was silence.
No whispers. No fog.
Just her own ragged breathing.
Then—
BANG.
The door shuddered violently, as if something on the other side had thrown itself against it.
Lena staggered backward, clutching the rusted key in her trembling fingers.
BANG.
Another hit.
And then—the whispering returned.
Only now, it wasn't coming from behind the door.
It was coming from inside the house.
Lena turned, her pulse hammering.
The hallway wasn't the same.
The paintings had changed again. The faces of her ancestors were gone, replaced with portraits of herself. Dozens of them, each one different. In some, she looked normal. In others, her eyes were black voids, her mouth stretched into something inhuman.
One painting twitched.
She gasped and stepped back—
And then the whispers turned to laughter.
Low, mocking.
The sound came from everywhere—from the walls, the floorboards, the air itself. The house was alive, and it was playing with her.
Lena bolted.
She ran down the hallway, her boots echoing against the wood. The air was thick now, pressing against her skin like unseen hands. She reached the stairs and took them two at a time, heart pounding.
She had to get out. Now.
As she reached the bottom floor, the front door came into view.
It was wide open.
Beyond it, the fog had thinned. The night air looked normal. The streetlights flickered dimly outside, their glow promising safety.
She almost cried out in relief.
Then, she heard it.
A voice.
From behind her.
Soft. Gentle.
Her own.
"Lena, wait."
She froze.
The voice came from the darkened living room. Slowly, against every instinct screaming at her to run, she turned her head.
A figure stood just beyond the doorway, half-hidden in the shadows.
It was her.
Another Lena.
But the other Lena's face wasn't quite right. It was too pale, too smooth, like porcelain stretched over something hollow. And her lips…
They were still moving.
But no words came out.
Lena backed toward the door.
The other Lena tilted her head.
And then she smiled.
"You shouldn't have opened the basement."
The door behind Lena slammed shut.
Darkness swallowed the room.
And the last thing she heard—before the fog rose up to take her—was her own laughter, echoing from the walls.