Story 949: The Devourer’s Dwelling

The wind howled as the survivors stood before the rotting mansion, its iron gates twisted like skeletal fingers reaching for them. Beyond the fence, the house breathed, its wooden beams shifting as if it were alive, watching.

Draven adjusted his grip on the shotgun. “This place stinks of a trap.”

Mira pressed a hand to the Cursed Book, feeling its pulse quicken. “It’s more than a trap. It’s a feeding ground.”

Elias flicked his lighter, staring at the gargoyle statues perched along the roof. “Let me guess. We don’t have a choice?”

The ground trembled. Behind them, the dead stirred—shambling figures emerging from the mist, their eyes hollow, their mouths whispering a wordless chant.

“No choice,” Draven muttered, pushing the gate open.

The house groaned in anticipation.