Story 932: Whispers in the Walls

The manor groaned, its walls shifting like the ribs of some colossal, breathing beast. The survivors stood frozen in the grand foyer, the candlelight flickering in unnatural patterns.

Draven’s grip tightened around his shotgun. “No one dies here. We find a way out.”

The Forsaken Girl lingered near the staircase, watching with unreadable eyes. “You misunderstand. This place does not let go.”

Mira’s heart pounded. She could feel it—the house was alive, pulsing with something ancient and hungry. The Cursed Book in her hands trembled, its pages whispering in languages long forgotten.

Elias exhaled sharply, adjusting his coat. “Right. We’re in a haunted death trap. Nothing new.” He nodded toward the hallway. “Let’s move.”

As they stepped forward, the portraits lining the walls shifted. The painted figures turned their heads, their hollow eyes tracking the survivors. A low, wet chuckle echoed through the corridor.

Zara flicked her dagger open. “I hate this place.”