Chapter Seventeen: The Box Stirs

The storm outside grew violent, shaking the farmhouse like a beast clawing to get in.

Elena's pulse pounded as Leon's grip remained firm on the woman's wrist. Their silent battle charged the air, but Elena's focus was on the box.

The whispers were no longer whispers.

They were murmurs—rising, twisting around her, curling in the air like an unseen presence.

Then—

The box shuddered.

Elena's breath hitched. She felt it move—not from her hands, but from within.

Something inside was awake.

Leon's head snapped toward it. The woman's eyes widened.

Then—

BANG.

The candlelight exploded, plunging the room into flickering darkness.

The air grew thick, heavy, as if the entire house was sinking into something ancient and unseen.

Elena tried to loosen her grip, but the box was stuck to her hands.

The whispers became a chorus.

"Don't let him see. Don't let him see. DON'T LET HIM SEE."

Leon moved first. He reached for the box—too fast, too eager.

But before he could touch it—

The ground cracked beneath them.

A deep, splintering groan tore through the farmhouse as the wooden planks buckled. The floor lurched, sending Elena staggering backward—directly into the arms of the woman.

Leon's expression darkened.

"Elena," he said, voice eerily steady. "Let go of the box."

She tried.

She couldn't.

The whispers grew frantic.

The house shuddered.

And then—a shadow rippled across the room, pouring from the cracks beneath the floor.

Not a shadow from the storm.

Something else.

Something watching.

Elena's fingers burned. The lock on the box twisted on its own, metal screeching as if something inside was fighting to be free.

The woman's arms tightened around her.

"Elena," she whispered, voice raw with something close to fear.

Then—

"RUN."