"The Descent Into Madness"
Matt's Perspective
It began again—the trembling.
But this time, it wasn't just the earth beneath their feet. It was deeper, more primal. A vibration that clawed up through Matt's bones and sank cold fingers into his spine. The ground throbbed like a living thing—angry, waking from a long, bitter slumber.
Fog blanketed the yard, thick and suffocating, a wall of pale gray that swallowed sound and blurred the edges of the world. It coiled around their ankles like it had purpose, like it knew they didn't belong.
Matt's lungs burned. The cold air cut like glass, every breath a struggle. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs, wild and erratic, as if trying to warn him of something his mind refused to accept.
"We can't stay here. We need to run—now!" Jess's voice cracked as it cut through the quiet, sharp and desperate.
But Max didn't even flinch.
He stood rooted to the spot, staring down into the open locket like it held the last piece of sanity in a world that had gone silent. That photo. That damn photo. Mary's face had changed again—her smile wider now, strained and inhuman. And behind her… shadows. Not just tricks of light. Not anymore.
Jess yanked on Max's sleeve, panic shaking her voice. "Max! Please!"
He didn't move. His grip on the locket was rigid, his face slack with something between awe and horror.
"We can't leave," Max muttered, eyes hollow. "It's not over. We never finished it. It knows we came back."
Matt's skin prickled. Something was wrong with Max. His words felt rehearsed, given to him. Like he wasn't speaking for himself anymore.
The house loomed behind them, its silhouette sharp against the churning sky. The front door creaked open again, but not by wind, not by force—it welcomed them, like lungs opening to inhale.
"No," Matt said, stepping between Max and the house. "Whatever that thing is—it's not the house we knew. It's become something else. It's always been something else."
Another sound—a deep, seismic groan from beneath the soil. A rumble that pulsed up through their feet and settled like a sickness in Matt's gut.
And then, a whisper. Not heard—felt.
You shouldn't have come back.
The words slithered through Matt's mind, not spoken aloud but branded onto thought itself. His limbs froze. Every instinct screamed to run, but the fog around them pressed inward like hands from the dark, fingers grasping, dragging.
Jess whimpered, eyes wide with terror. "Did you hear it? That voice—it was inside me."
Matt couldn't speak. Could barely think. The weight in the air was crushing, as if the atmosphere had grown thicker, denser with something foul. It wasn't just fear now—it was madness. Coiling at the edge of thought, whispering promises of surrender.
Then Max spoke again, voice distant. "We have to go back. We have to end it."
"No." Matt grabbed Jess's arm, pulling her close. "We don't need to finish anything. We never had control. This... this is a trap."
Max didn't hear him.
His eyes were glued to the house. The locket pulsed with a sickly glow, as if something inside it was alive, watching.
The earth screamed.
A jagged crack tore through the ground with a sound like bone splintering. The fog flinched—then surged forward, hungrily.
That was when they heard the scream.
High. Piercing. Human—but not. Female, yes—but twisted, like the soul behind it had been stretched too thin. Jess staggered back, trembling. "That voice... it's not Anna... It's—"
"Mary," Matt said, cold horror flooding his chest. "It's her."
A shadow materialized within the fog.
It moved with deliberate slowness, every step dragging the weight of centuries. Mary stepped forward—or what looked like her. But her body was wrong. Wrong in ways the human brain wasn't meant to process. Her skin was porcelain-pale, stretched tight over sharp bones. Her eyes were black voids, swallowing the light. And her smile—oh god, that smile—a gash too wide, too still.
Her fingers were broken things, elongated and contorted, reaching toward them like roots seeking warmth.
Jess fell to her knees. "What is she?"
Matt couldn't answer.
Max did. His voice was barely human. "She's the vessel now. The house used her. Like it's using us."
The figure laughed—a sound not made by lungs or throat, but by something far older. It reverberated through the air like thunder in a coffin.
"You can't escape," the voice crooned, layered with countless others. "You belong here."
Then the fog opened.
Behind her, something far worse shifted.
A silhouette. Towering. Formless. Faceless. A darkness so absolute it seemed to warp reality around it. It moved like oil, like shadow given weight. And it was watching them—through nothing.
The locket in Max's hand flared briefly. He opened it again.
The photo had changed.
Mary stood beside them now. Her face right up against the glass. Grinning.
And behind her… that thing. Closer now. Reaching. Stretching. Becoming.
Another crack split the ground. The air groaned.
And then the world collapsed.
The fog consumed them. The ground yawned open.
The last thing Matt saw was Mary's broken hands reaching for them—and behind her, that faceless shape swallowing the sky.
Then darkness.