Story 938: Beneath the Rotting Floor

The world tilted as the floor gave way, and the survivors plunged into the darkness below. Draven crashed onto something wet and writhing, the impact forcing the air from his lungs. His fingers sank into the surface—not wood, not stone, but something fleshy, something that shuddered beneath his touch.

Mira landed beside him, gasping as she scrambled to her feet. Around them, the walls pulsed, their texture disturbingly organic, like the inside of something alive.

Elias groaned, gripping his revolver. “Tell me this ain’t what I think it is.”

Zara, blade already drawn, scanned the shadows. “A house shouldn’t have a stomach.”

The hallway ahead twisted unnaturally, walls stretching and dripping with black bile. Somewhere in the distance, a sound echoed—a wet, clicking noise, like teeth gnashing together.

Mira clutched the Cursed Book, its pages quivering as if sensing the evil surrounding them. “We’re inside it,” she whispered. “The mansion—it's alive, and it’s feeding.”