2025-11-06 03:24:07The air inside the healer’s house was thick with smoke and rot. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling in tangled bundles, their scents sharp and bitter. The walls were covered with symbols drawn in rust-colored paint or blood.Caroline lay Rita on the narrow bed as Mara, the old healer, shuffled closer. Her steps were slow but deliberate, her pale eyes fixed on the trembling child.
“She saw something,” Mara murmured, touching Rita’s forehead with fingers as cold as stone. “Something that remembers.”
“What do you mean?” Caroline asked, clutching Patrick’s hand.Mara didn’t answer. She began to hum—a low, guttural sound that made the floorboards vibrate. She dipped her thumb into a small clay bowl filled with thick black liquid and smeared it across Rita’s eyelids.Rita’s breathing steadied. Her trembling stopped.Caroline exhaled shakily, tears welling up. “Is she okay?”
“For now,” Mara said, voice distant. “But the child has been seen by the town’s shadow. It will not forget her easily.”Caroline frowned. “The town’s shadow? What does that even mean?”
Mara’s head tilted slightly. “Bogahill remembers every drop of blood that’s spilled in its soil. Those who return carry its memory. Those who resist… feed it.”Gerald cleared his throat sharply. “Enough of this nonsense, Mara. Just tell us what’s wrong with my daughter. Mara’s gaze slid toward him, cold and sharp. “You know what’s wrong, Gerald. You brought it with you.”For a moment, something flickered in Gerald’s eyes something Caroline couldn’t name. He turned away, muttering, “Come on, Caroline. Let her rest. We’ll stay at my old family house tonight.”
But Caroline didn’t move. “Wait—what does she mean, he brought it?”Mara leaned close, her breath foul. “The land calls to its blood. And his runs deep here. Be wary, wife of Bogahill’s son.”Caroline stepped back, pulling Patrick behind her.Gerald’s tone hardened. “Thank you, Mara. We’ll leave now.”
The old woman smiled faintly. “Of course. The night welcomes you.”
As they stepped outside, Caroline noticed the town again. The air felt heavier. The scarecrows on the fences seemed to have turned their heads, their stitched mouths grinning wider than before.Children’s laughter echoed faintly from somewhere, but when she looked, the streets were empty.The old Boffour house sat at the edge of the town, half-swallowed by fog and ivy. The windows were cracked, the roof sagging slightly, yet Gerald looked at it with fondness.
“Home,” he said quietly. “Just as I remember it.”
Caroline hesitated at the door. “It looks… abandoned.”
He smiled faintly. “Just needs a little life in it again.”
Inside, the air was stale and cold. Dust coated the furniture, and the faint smell of iron lingered. A large portrait hung over the fireplace a man who looked almost exactly like Gerald, except older, eyes sunken, expression grim.
“Your father?” Caroline asked.
He nodded. “He died here when I was seventeen.”
“How?”
“Heart failure,” Gerald said too quickly. “He was old.”
Patrick wandered off toward the stairs, his flashlight cutting through the dark. “Dad, there’s something weird up here!”
“Don’t go far!” Caroline called.
“I’ll check,” Gerald said, climbing after him.
Left alone, Caroline sat beside Rita’s bed. The girl was pale but breathing evenly. She brushed a strand of hair from her daughter’s forehead and sighed.Then she heard it soft whispering, like someone speaking from the walls. At first it was faint, only a murmur, but soon she could make out words:
“Caroline… leave… before he feeds…”
Her blood ran cold. She looked around. The room was empty. The whispers faded, replaced by a distant sound something dragging across the floorboards upstairs.She grabbed a lamp and made her way toward the stairs.
“Gerald?”
No answer.
The light flickered as she climbed. Halfway up, she saw Patrick standing in the hallway, frozen.
“Patrick?”
He turned slowly, his face pale. “Mom… there’s someone in Dad’s old room.”
Caroline’s pulse quickened. “Where’s your father?”
Patrick pointed. “Inside.”
The door creaked open before she reached it. Gerald stepped out, his face unreadable.
“What are you doing up here?” she asked.
“Just checking on the attic,” he said. “It’s fine.”
Patrick shook his head. “But I saw someone, Dad. In the corner ”
Gerald cut him off sharply. “Patrick, that’s enough. Go downstairs.” The boy hesitated, then obeyed.
Caroline stayed where she was. “Gerald… what’s going on? What did Mara mean when she said the land remembers your blood?” He forced a laugh. “Caroline, please. You’re letting this place get to you. It’s just an old woman’s superstition.”But his hands were trembling. She looked past him into the room. There, beside the window, was a large trunk. Its lid was open just enough for her to see what was inside old photographs, bones, and something wrapped in burlap, stained dark.
“Gerald…” He stepped in front of her. “Don’t. It’s nothing.”
Her stomach twisted. The air felt suffocating.
“Why didn’t you tell me your family practiced rituals?” she whispered.He stared at her for a long moment. “Because they’re gone. It’s over.” But the look in his eyes said otherwise. Downstairs, Rita began to scream.Caroline ran. Her daughter was sitting upright in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.
“Rita!” Caroline rushed to her side. “What is it?”
Rita’s lips trembled. “The girl in the woods… she’s here.” Caroline followed her gaze. On the ceiling, faint shapes were moving hands pressed from the inside, as if something beneath the plaster was trying to crawl through. The whispers rose again, louder, desperate.
“Caroline… run…”
Then the ceiling cracked, dust falling around them. Gerald appeared in the doorway, his face pale. “Get the children to bed,” he said firmly. “They’re exhausted. The stress is making them see things.” Caroline stared at him, horrified. “You’re not seeing this?” He didn’t answer.When she turned back, the marks on the ceiling were gone.Rita lay back down, trembling. Caroline stayed awake long after everyone else had gone to sleep, watching the shadows twist along the walls. Outside, through the cracked window, she could see the scarecrows lining the street motionless, but their heads now turned toward the house.And in the distance, under the red glow of the rising moon, a small figure stood at the edge of the woods the girl in the white robe, waiting.
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Chapter Ten: The Child of Bogahill
Caroline woke with a start, the red glow of the blood moon still burning in her vision, though now muted to a dull, sickly hue. The air around her was heavy and cold, thick with the metallic tang of iron and something darker she could not name. She blinked, trying to take in her surroundings. The cellar had changed. The walls were no longer stone but a living, pulsing flesh, lined with veins that throbbed like a heartbeat. The symbols from the red circle glowed faintly on the floor, not burned or drawn, but carved into the flesh itself, as if the house had absorbed the ritual. Her hands went to her stomach instinctively. There was no movement now, only silence. Panic clawed at her chest. “No… no, no,” she whispered, backing away from the center of the room. The air around her vibrated with a low, resonant hum, a sound that seemed to come from beneath the ground itself. And then she heard it a faint, wet gurgle, a tiny, deliberate sound that made her blood turn to ice. Caroline’s eyes
Chapter Nine: The Awakening
For a long while, Caroline couldn’t move. The red light had faded, but its ghost lingered in her eyes, etched into her mind like a scar. The air in the chamber was heavy, thick with the scent of burning wax and blood. Patrick was pressed against her side, shivering, while Rita lay limp in her lap, her small hands cold and trembling. The silence that followed was not peace; it was the kind of stillness that comes when the world itself is holding its breath. Caroline forced herself to stand. The circle still pulsed faintly beneath the thin layer of smoke, a dull heartbeat echoing through the floor. She turned toward the stairs, desperate to leave the chamber behind, but as soon as she moved, the whisper returned soft, coiling through her thoughts like smoke.“Blood for breath… breath for blood…”She froze. The voice wasn’t coming from the room anymore. It was inside her. Deep, faint, and rhythmic, as if it beat in time with the pulse of her unborn child. Her stomach tightened; she press
Chapter Eight: The Red Circle
The silence after Rita’s words was unbearable. The air in the attic hung thick, like the house itself was listening. Caroline could feel the weight of it pressing on her chest, waiting for something she could not see. She gathered the children close, trying to still her trembling hands, but the quiet stretched on until it felt like a scream trapped behind her teeth. Then came a sound a low, hollow creak from beneath the floorboards. Slow, deliberate, like footsteps moving under the house. Patrick whimpered and clutched her sleeve. “Mommy, someone’s under us.”Caroline forced herself to listen. The noise was faint but unmistakable, the soft rhythm of movement below the floor. Then, as if answering her thoughts, a gust of cold air blew through the room, and the round attic window shattered inward. The candle flickered wildly, and for the briefest moment, she saw it the faint outline of a circle drawn on the wooden boards near the window, lines carved deep and filled with something dark
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 leav
Chapter Six: The Blood Moon Oath
The night after the feast was colder than any before. A heavy mist crawled through the cracks of the windows, filling the house with a damp chill that settled deep into Caroline’s bones. The torches outside had burned low, their smoke curling into the shape of black ribbons that swayed in the wind. The silence in Bogahill was not peace it was expectation. Something waited. Caroline sat by the window, her hands trembling as she clutched the locket Gerald had given her years ago. It used to bring her comfort a reminder of their early days together, the laughter, the dreams but now it felt like a weight, something foreign pressed against her heart. Her mind kept returning to the way he’d looked at her at the feast. Not with love. Not even with guilt. But with certainty, as if she was already gone. Unable to bear the stillness, she lit a lamp and began to walk through the house. The light cast long shadows that twisted across the walls like veins. Somewhere above her, the boards groaned a
Chapter Five: The Feast of Flesh
Morning came slowly, dragging itself through the fog like something wounded. The light that seeped through the curtains was pale and sickly, casting long shadows that made the room seem smaller than before. Caroline woke to an empty bed. Gerald was gone again, and his side of the mattress was cold. The smell of damp earth and smoke filled the room, and for a moment, she could have sworn she heard footsteps pacing in the hallway. But when she opened the door, there was nothing just silence, thick and heavy, pressing against her ears. Downstairs, the children were quiet. Rita sat at the table, staring blankly at a bowl of untouched porridge, her small hands trembling slightly. Patrick was by the window, drawing invisible lines on the glass with his finger. Caroline tried to sound calm as she asked where their father was, but neither child answered. Rita finally whispered, “He’s with them.”“With who, sweetheart?”Rita lifted her eyes, dark and hollow. “The people from last night. The on
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