The Town of Bogahill

Chapter Seven: The House That Breathes

The bell’s final toll still echoed when Caroline ran from the door, her burned palms pressed against her dress, her heart beating so hard she could hear it in her ears. Upstairs, the house groaned like something waking from sleep. The sound of the walls shifted from faint whispers to deep, slow breaths that filled the hallways. The air had changed it was heavier now, damp and thick with a sweet, rotten scent, like fruit left too long in the sun. She raced to the children’s room and found Rita curled on the bed, her eyes wide and glassy. Patrick sat beside her, clutching his sister’s hand, both of them shaking. “Mommy?” Rita whispered. “The house is moving.”

Caroline felt the floor tremble beneath her feet. The boards swelled and sank in uneven waves, as though the ground itself was breathing. From the walls came a low sound, like the moaning of wind through hollow bones. She forced herself to stay calm and crouched by the bed. “Listen to me,” she said, her voice trembling. “We’re leaving. Right now. Stay close and don’t look back, do you understand?”

Patrick nodded, but Rita only stared at her. “What about Daddy?”

Caroline’s throat tightened. She couldn’t speak his name without feeling sick. “He’s not coming,” she said finally. “He’s… not who we thought he was.”

The house shuddered again, louder this time. The lamp on the nightstand flickered, then burst, sending shards of glass across the floor. Caroline grabbed the children’s hands and pulled them toward the hallway. The lights along the corridor dimmed as they passed, one by one, until only the faint red glow of the moon through the windows remained. Halfway down the stairs, a sound stopped her cold a slow creak from the kitchen below, followed by the unmistakable drag of a chair across the floor. Someone was down there. She pressed a finger to her lips and motioned for the children to stay quiet. Then she took another step forward, her feet barely touching the wood. The smell hit her before she reached the bottom iron and rot. The same smell she’d found in Gerald’s study. She peered into the kitchen, and her stomach twisted. The table was set for three, candles burning low, bowls filled with something dark and thick. At the head of the table sat Gerald, motionless, his eyes open but empty. His hands rested neatly on either side of his plate, and his mouth was curved into a faint, unnatural smile.

“Gerald,” she whispered, though she knew there would be no answer. Then his head turned. The motion was slow, creaking, like the hinge of an old door. His eyes met hers, and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of the man she loved but what looked back at her wasn’t Gerald anymore. His skin was pale and tight, his lips cracked and stained with blood. When he spoke, his voice was layered, as though something else spoke through him.

“You can’t run from the oath, Caroline,” he said softly. “The town breathes through us all.”

She stumbled backward, nearly losing her grip on Rita’s hand. The walls pulsed in rhythm with his words, swelling and contracting like lungs. From the corners of the room, black liquid began to seep between the floorboards, creeping toward her feet.

“Mommy, the house is bleeding,” Patrick cried.

Caroline pulled him close. “Don’t look!” she shouted, her voice cracking. She turned and bolted for the back door, dragging both children behind her. But when she reached for the handle, the wood beneath her hand rippled like flesh, and the door vanished into the wall. She screamed and beat her fists against it, but the house only groaned, the sound almost satisfied. The wallpaper peeled back in strips, revealing layers of something red and wet beneath. Through the noise, she could hear the faint, muffled sobs of countless voices trapped inside the walls.Gerald’s footsteps came slowly behind her, echoing like heartbeats. “You were chosen,” he said. “The town called to me years ago, but it waited for you. For the life inside you. Don’t fight it, Caroline. Let it take you.”

She spun around, her eyes wild. “You’re not my husband.”

He smiled faintly. “No. Not anymore.”

Before he could move closer, the floor beneath his feet cracked open with a deafening sound. He dropped to one knee, his hand shooting out to steady himself, but a dark shape slithered up through the gap something long and thin, like a root or a tendon, wrapping around his wrist. He didn’t fight it. He only looked at Caroline and whispered, “See what waits below.” Then the floor swallowed him whole. For a moment, there was silence. Then the house sighed, and the cracks in the walls spread like veins, reaching upward and outward. Caroline gathered the children and ran, not caring which direction she took. Every hallway led somewhere new, as if the house rearranged itself with each step.

Finally, she burst through a door and stumbled into the attic. The air was freezing, and moonlight poured through a small round window. She pushed the children behind her and turned, bracing for what might come through the door. But the house had gone still again. The breathing had stopped. Only the faint sound of the bell outside, distant and hollow, filled the silence. Caroline sank to her knees, pulling the children close. Her arms trembled as she whispered, “We’re getting out. I promise you, we’re getting out.”

Rita looked up at her, eyes wide and unblinking. “Mommy,” she said softly, “the house stopped breathing.” Caroline frowned, trying to steady her breath. “That’s good, baby. That means it’s over.”

Rita shook her head slowly, her lips trembling. “No… it’s holding its breath.” The words sank into Caroline like ice. And then she felt it the deep, waiting silence beneath them, the kind that comes just before something exhales.

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