''You need help, Anna," Levy hissed.Anna flinched. "Maybe. But you need a checkup."
"Okay—" Richard stepped between them. "That's enough—"
"No, Richard. Stay out of this," Levy snapped. "This is between me and her."
"Oh, now you care about boundaries?" Anna laughed bitterly. "We've been watching you spiral for days, Levy."
"And I've been watching you both hate me for years," Levy whispered, her voice trembling with rage. "You and Mom. And Dad. All of you."
The fight escalated fast. Voices cracked, furniture scraped. Then—crash. A vase shattered. Richard staggered back, blood dripping from his cheek. Anna screamed.
Their father burst through the door just in time to see Levy standing over her siblings, hand still raised. His face changed. Something in him snapped.
"Out," he said.She blinked. "What?""Out of this house. Now."
Aven, their mother, begged through tears. "Please, Andrew—she's just hurting—"
"She's dangerous," he growled. "I won't watch this family bleed."
Levy didn't scream. Didn't cry. She just stared at them—all of them—and smiled.
"Fine," she said, grabbing her phone and keys. "Just remember... you'll regret this."
She drove for hours, the roads dark and silent under the weight of her thoughts. When Serine Whitlock picked up the phone, her voice cracked with sleep.
"The old house," Serine said groggily. "My parents' place—it's empty. Take it."
Levy arrived at 3:12 AM. The air was thick, metallic, like something had been waiting. Watching.
Across the street, under a flickering streetlamp, a man stood motionless.
She stared back. "Hello?"No answer. He stepped closer, unnaturally slow.Her keys fumbled. The lock was rusted. Stuck.
"Who are you?" she demanded, but the man just stood... and then—
Gone.
The lock finally clicked open. She rushed inside, heart hammering—and the moment the door slammed shut behind her, a blood-curdling scream echoed down the street.
Inside, the house was nothing like she remembered. Dusty windows, yes. Overgrown lawn, sure. But the interior? It was spotless. Decorated. Alive.
As if someone never left.
She picked a room. Ignored the screaming in her bones. Took a shower.
Then the mirror showed something it shouldn't have:A figure standing behind her.
She spun.
Nothing.
By 4:30 AM, she'd convinced herself she was just tired. Traumatized. "It's all in your head," she whispered.
But when she walked past the basement door, it whispered back.
Levy padded quietly into the kitchen. The floors didn't creak. The shelves were dustless. Plates, cutlery, spice jars—everything was perfectly arranged, as if the house had been waiting.
"But Serine said no one's lived here in ten years…" she muttered.
She shrugged, opened a tin of tea, and started boiling water. "Who cares? At least the ghosts clean."
Mug in hand, she wandered into the living room, then up to her chosen bedroom. The curtains fluttered. Rain tapped against the glass like fingers trying to get in.
She pushed the window open slightly, peering out into the jungle-like lawn below.
"Funny," she mumbled. "They took care of the curtains and chandeliers but not the damn grass? Priorities, I guess."
Across the street, under the skeletal outline of another decaying house, she saw it again.
Not a man.Not a person.Just a shadow, watching.
She gasped and yanked the window shut. Her hands trembled. The rain picked up. Lightning cracked. She dove into bed, curled up under the sheets, but her eyes stayed wide open.
She wanted to cry. Wanted to scream. But her throat felt sealed shut, like a field of spines was blooming inside.
Then—The light clicked off.
No warning.Just darkness.
And then the noises started. Something scratching below. Something shifting. Something… waiting.
Basement.
She grabbed her phone and an old torch and crept toward the cellar door. Each step echoed like thunder in her ears.
She opened the door.
A cold wind whooshed up.
She descended.
Halfway down, something shoved her. The torch flew from her hands, clattering down the steps. Her scream caught in her chest as a black shadow emerged from the darkness, gliding toward her—silent, massive.
Then—Black.
She woke up on the terrace.
No memory. No idea how she got there.
Every time she reached for the front door, something slammed it shut.
The house doesn't want me to leave.
She whispered it to herself like a prayer. Like a curse.
She collapsed onto the couch, trembling, staring into the void.
Suddenly—Crash.
The cupboard flew open on its own.A single porcelain doll tumbled out and landed at her feet.
She reached for it—
"You need to stay."
The voice was everywhere.Inside her. Behind her. Under her skin.
A hand gripped her neck. Cold. Sharp.
She spun—Nothing.
No—someone.
A whisper curled into her ear like poison.
"I'm Roven… the Shadow."