Chapter 291

The night had a peculiar weight to it. The wind was just strong enough to sway the trees, their skeletal branches creaking against each other, but there was no rain, no thunder to accompany the dark.

Nothing seemed out of place, and yet everything was wrong. A gnawing sensation stuck to the air, just beyond the reach of understanding, always present but impossible to pin down. It was as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Catherine sat alone in her room, the dull light of a candle flickering in front of her. She had just moved into the old house that had been in her family for generations, a place she hadn't visited in years. It was vast and cold, filled with the stale smell of dust and neglect.

Each night, she found herself restless, her mind unable to settle on anything but the odd sense of dread that had followed her since she arrived.

She had spent the evening combing through boxes of old family heirlooms, bits of forgotten history. And that's when she found it. A small wooden chest, tucked away beneath some old blankets, sitting there like it was waiting for her.

There was nothing remarkable about the chest. Just a simple box, painted with intricate designs that had long since faded. It was old, but it looked well-preserved, as if it had been untouched for centuries. No one had ever mentioned it before. No one ever spoke of it.

Curiosity led Catherine to open it. She hesitated at first, but her fingers brushed against the latch, cold and heavy. She pulled it open with ease, the sound of the hinges squealing a little too loudly in the otherwise silent room.

At first, there was nothing—just emptiness. But as she peered inside, the air around her grew heavier. The chest seemed impossibly deep, as though its dimensions were stretching far beyond the small box she was holding. And then, a movement. Something shifted inside.

Her breath caught in her throat.

From within the chest, a figure began to emerge. It was barely human, its form shifting and contorting, limbs twisting in unnatural directions. The thing's skin was a pale, mottled gray, its long fingers twitching with a mind of their own.

Catherine could not look away. Fear kept her frozen, even as she knew she should run. Its head, grotesquely oversized, tilted back, revealing a mouth lined with jagged, sharp teeth. And its eyes—if you could call them eyes—were dark, empty pits that seemed to swallow the light around them.

The thing pulled itself out of the chest, like it was slipping from one reality to another. The room grew colder, the candlelight flickering with an unsettling intensity. And then it spoke, but not with words. No sound came from its mouth, but the message was clear. The chest demon wanted her. It always did.

Catherine stumbled back, her heart pounding in her chest. She grabbed at the door, but it refused to open. The thing crawled toward her with terrifying speed, its body sliding across the floor in ways that shouldn't have been possible. She reached for the window, but the glass was solid, impenetrable.

No escape. No hope.

The thing was closer now, its breath, or what passed for breath, coming in low, rasping gasps. She felt its presence pressing in on her, the darkness creeping up her limbs, suffocating her. Every instinct screamed for her to run, but the demon wasn't going to let her. It reached out, its fingers long and cruel, and the touch was ice cold. The feeling was like being submerged in frozen water.

"You will breed," it seemed to say, though its lips never moved.

Terror coursed through Catherine, but there was nothing she could do. The chest demon's grip tightened, its presence pulling her towards the chest, as though it were the only thing left in the world. It dragged her to the box, her body becoming weightless, like she was no longer in control of her own limbs.

There was no sound but the scrape of her feet against the floor, dragging her towards the chest, the thing growing closer and closer.

And then, in a final, desperate movement, she broke free. She staggered backward, her hands trembling as she pushed herself to her feet. But it was too late. The thing was upon her, and in an instant, the world shifted.

The chest was no longer in the room. It was gone, replaced by a vast, endless field. The air was thick and still, heavy with a quiet that suffocated her. The thing had taken her to its realm.

Catherine didn't understand how she got there. The world around her was alien, unfamiliar. The ground beneath her feet was soft, as though she was walking on moss. There was no sun, no stars—just an endless, oppressive gloom. The feeling of isolation consumed her. She was utterly alone, but for the demon that now towered over her, its long fingers wrapping around her waist.

"You are mine," it said, its voice soft but chilling.

She tried to scream, to fight, but her body refused to move as it once had. The air was too thick, and the world around her seemed to bend in impossible ways, as though she was caught between two worlds. The chest demon's presence was everywhere, a weight that filled the space, its form shifting and pulsing as if it were made of shadows themselves.

And then, something worse happened.

Catherine began to feel a terrible hunger, something deep inside her, gnawing at her insides. It was the same feeling she had before the demon had found her, but now it was more intense, more desperate. She could feel it pulling at her, urging her to submit, to join in its endless cycle of darkness. The chest was never just a box. It was a trap, a prison for souls, bound by the demon's need to breed.

No matter how hard she tried to resist, no matter how much she fought against it, her body began to change. Her limbs grew stiff, her skin growing colder by the second. The hunger—the need to feed—overwhelmed her, and she could do nothing to stop it.

Somewhere in the distance, she could see others, other people, other souls who had been taken. They were trapped in the same realm, their faces vacant, their eyes hollow. They moved like puppets, bound to the demon's will. She could see them, but they didn't see her. They were already lost, forever bound to the chest demon.

Time lost meaning. Catherine's body, now fully under the demon's control, began to move on its own. She could feel it, feel the demon's influence inside her, twisting her thoughts, bending her will.

She was no longer herself. She was becoming something else—something she could not recognize, something that had no past, no future. Just an endless existence of breeding and suffering.

She couldn't remember how long it had been. It could have been days, or years, or maybe it had been centuries. The chest demon never let its victims escape. And neither would Catherine.

When her body finally succumbed, when she became a mere vessel for the demon's twisted will, she understood the truth. There was no freedom, no escape from the chest demon's grasp. The only fate that awaited her was the same as the others: to breed for eternity, trapped in a nightmare from which there was no waking.

The chest had found its next victim.