Chapter 13: The Fourth Mark

It's been six days since Liam left.

I've been counting time by the shadows on the floor. The clocks in the house stopped the night the pit sealed shut. All of them. At the exact same time: 3:17 AM. Even my phone displays that hour now, no matter the battery or signal.

The only thing that still moves is the house.

It groans in its sleep.

It breathes when I don't.

Sometimes, late at night, I hear footsteps pacing above me.

There's no upstairs.

Not anymore.

---

I tried to leave.

I really did.

I packed a bag.

Grabbed the old book, locked it in a drawer, and made it all the way to the road.

But something stopped me.

Not fear.

Guilt.

Like walking away would be the final betrayal.

I could feel the weight of Walter's silence pressing on my spine. The nails of his voice curling around my throat.

When I turned to look back at the house from the road, I saw something I'll never forget:

A fourth tally mark.

Etched into the bark of the tree nearest the porch.

Rough. Deep.

Bleeding sap like the tree itself was screaming.

The house wanted more.

The rule had changed.

It was no longer three.

---

That night, I dreamed of Liam.

He was standing in a field of empty chairs, each one facing a black well.

His mouth was stitched shut.

He was crying.

But no tears came.

Just dirt.

I tried to run to him, to rip the threads from his lips.

But the ground opened beneath me and swallowed me whole.

---

I woke up choking.

Soil in my mouth again.

A thick clot of it under my tongue.

But this time, something else was in it.

A tooth.

A child's tooth.

Smooth. Small.

Unmistakably human.

It was warm.

Fresh.

---

I couldn't go back to sleep after that.

Not just because of the dream—but because I realized something terrible.

The house wasn't done with me.

It was just beginning.

I was the mouth now.

But that didn't mean I was alone.

No.

I was the first of many.

---

At dawn, I went into the basement.

I hadn't returned since the spiral closed and the walls bled.

But I felt drawn now. Like something was calling me softly, just beneath the wooden steps.

There was no door anymore—just a hole.

A tunnel.

Carved out of the earth.

The air smelled sweet. Like rot beneath roses. Like a graveyard right after rain.

I crawled inside.

The tunnel wound downward, deeper than it should've. Roots scraped my arms. Something slick brushed my cheek once, twice, but I kept going.

And then it opened.

Into a new room.

Dirt walls. Stone floor.

And in the center—an old phonograph.

Spinning.

Playing nothing.

I stepped forward.

As I touched the needle, the air shimmered.

And I heard voices.

Children.

Laughing.

Crying.

Singing a nursery rhyme I didn't recognize—but somehow remembered.

> "If the mouth stays shut, the bones will crack,

If the song is lost, it won't come back.

Hammer down the screaming sound,

Then bury it beneath the ground…"

The phonograph stopped.

I turned.

Behind me, carved into the dirt, was a new message.

"The fourth is near."

---

I emerged from the tunnel hours later. Or minutes. Or years. Time bends differently down there.

When I returned to the kitchen, something was waiting.

A photo.

Placed neatly on the table.

A child's face.

Young.

Missing teeth.

Eyes wide, mouth too wide—as if stretched in silent horror.

On the back, in the same scrawled ink as before:

"Bring the fourth."

---

I stared at the photo until my eyes burned.

The house was hunting again.

But it wasn't sending me this time.

It was waiting.

The child was coming to me.

---

And sure enough, at dusk, there was a knock at the door.

Three soft taps.

Rhythmic.

Intentional.

I didn't want to open it.

But my legs moved anyway.

The hinges screamed like they remembered what happened last time.

Standing on the porch was a girl.

Eight, maybe nine.

Messy hair. Pale skin. Shoes too big.

She held a box in her arms—wrapped in paper, tied with twine.

"Are you the man who listens?" she asked.

I didn't speak.

I couldn't.

She held the box out to me.

"I found this under my bed. It told me to bring it to you."

Her voice was calm.

Too calm.

Like she was reading from inside a dream.

I took the box.

It was light.

She turned to leave.

"Wait," I said.

But she didn't stop.

Just walked off the porch, into the woods.

No path.

No sound.

Gone.

---

I placed the box on the table.

Untied the string.

Inside was a single item:

A nail.

Fresh.

Gleaming.

With a tongue curled around it like a ribbon.

And beneath it…

A slip of paper:

"The fifth will come screaming."

---

I stared at the fourth tally mark on the wall.

I knew the fifth would follow.

I knew they'd never stop.

And I knew—deep in the marrow of my soul—that one day, there would be so many tally marks the house would fall apart trying to hold them all.

And then it wouldn't be just a house anymore.

It would be a mouth.

Swallowing the world.

One tongue at a time.