⚫️ Chapter One: "An Unwelcome Arrival"

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The sky was heavy with thick, brooding clouds, as if silently warning them to stay away. Shadows of barren trees stretched across the car's windows, their skeletal fingers clawing at the glass as the vehicle rolled down the desolate country road.

"Are we there yet?" Ella's voice was barely above a whisper as she clutched her cotton blanket to her chest. An unsettling weight had been pressing against her heart since they left the city—something she couldn't explain, but it curled cold fingers around her stomach.

"Almost, sweetheart," David, her father, replied, gripping the steering wheel as though trying to reassure himself more than her.

"I still can't believe we're moving into this dump," Ethan, her seventeen-year-old brother, muttered, shoving his earbuds in to drown out reality.

"It's not a dump! It's just… a little old," Karen, their mother, tried to sound optimistic, but even she wasn't convinced by her own words.

Then, the house came into view.

A towering stone structure loomed atop a small hill, encircled by a rusted, decaying fence. The windows—vast and black—resembled hollow eyes, and the slightly ajar wooden front door leaned as if someone had shoved it forcefully and never bothered to close it.

The family stepped out of the car slowly. Ella stood frozen, staring at the house, her heartbeat drumming with unease. There was something strange… as if the house were staring back.

David pushed the door open with effort. It groaned loudly in protest, a long, grating wail that sounded almost… angry.

Karen stepped in first, scanning the interior:

Faded yellow wallpaper peeled from the damp walls.

The wooden staircase creaked beneath the weight of time.

Dust thickened the air—but it wasn't just dust. It was the stench of stale moisture… mixed with something else. Something rotten.

"This… needs a lot of work," Karen murmured, running her fingers along the edge of a crumbling wooden table.

"Or a bulldozer," Ethan muttered, folding his arms.

"Oh, stop being dramatic," David replied, stepping into the vast living room.

Ella, however, didn't move. She remained at the threshold, a prickling sensation crawling over her skin—like unseen eyes watching her from every shadow. Then, suddenly…

A whisper.

Slow, drawn-out… emerging from the depths of the house.

"W e l c o m e . . ."

Cold dread clamped around Ella's spine. She whipped her head around—but no one was there. In a fleeting moment, she thought she saw a dark shape retract into the hallway's shadows, but she didn't dare investigate.

"Ella, come inside! It's getting cold," Karen called, snapping her out of her trance.

With hesitant steps, Ella crossed the threshold. But something inside her screamed that this place was not happy about their arrival.

It had been waiting for them.

The Door at the End of the Hallway

As daylight lingered, the family busied themselves unpacking, while Ella wandered upstairs. The hallway was long, dim despite the large windows, and the walls bore strange old paintings—symbols that looked like nothing she had ever seen before.

But what truly caught her attention was the door at the very end of the hall.

It was different from the others—its wood older, darker, almost blackened with age. Rusted chains wrapped tightly around it, sealing it shut as though something inside needed to be locked away.

Why would someone chain a door inside their home?

Ella inched closer, reaching out hesitantly to brush her fingers against the cold, splintered surface. That's when she saw it.

Something was watching her.

Through the narrow cracks in the wood, a faint glow pulsed.

A single eye.

Burning red in the darkness… staring at her. Unblinking.

Ella's body locked in place. The world around her faded, the sounds of her family downstairs muffled into nothing. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

Then, a voice. Soft. Drawn-out. Slithering from behind the door.

"Ella… c o m e c l o s e r . . ."

A violent shiver tore through her. She stumbled backward, heart hammering against her ribs, and turned, rushing down the stairs, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

"Ella, stop fooling around and start unpacking," her mother's irritated voice reached her.

Ella nodded numbly and did as she was told. But her thoughts spun in endless circles.

Was it real? Or just my imagination?

The Woman in the Dark

Night fell, and the house settled into an eerie silence. Each family member lay in their respective rooms, exhausted from the move. But Ella couldn't sleep.

Something was in her room.

She felt it before she saw it. A weight in the darkness. A presence too still, too unnatural.

Slowly, she opened her eyes.

At the foot of her bed, a woman stood.

She wore a long, flowing black dress—so dark it seemed to blend into the surrounding shadows. Her hair was tangled, cascading wildly over her ghostly pale face. Her fingers, long and claw-like, lightly traced Ella's cheek… as if testing her. As if making sure she was real.

But the most horrifying thing was her eyes.

Wide. Hollow. And deep within them, the same crimson glow.

The same red light behind the chained door.

The woman tilted her head, her lips curling into a slow, chilling smile. Then, in a whisper that slithered into Ella's ear like venom, she breathed:

"You… are… mine."

Ella's scream shattered the silence of the night.