The fog thickened as Calen walked, curling around his boots and swallowing the road ahead.
The lantern swung at his side,
its tired flame slicing a narrow tunnel through the mist.
Ahead, a house rose out of the gray.
It was massive —
three stories tall, windows staring like blank eyes.
No lights burned inside.
No smoke rose from the chimneys.
Yet something about it felt alive.
Calen approached slowly.
The front door stood slightly ajar, creaking in the wet breeze.
He hesitated.
Then pushed it open.
Inside, the house was silent.
The air smelled of old paper and something faintly sweet —
like memories left to rot.
The walls stretched impossibly high,
lined with empty picture frames.
The floorboards whispered under his boots —
not creaking, but… rustling.
He paused.
Touched the wall lightly.
It was soft.
Too soft.
The texture of…
pages?
A shiver ran down his spine.
The lantern flickered wildly for a moment,
then steadied.
At the end of a long hallway, he saw her.
A girl in a white dress, sitting on the floor, her back against the wall.
She hugged her knees to her chest, staring at something unseen.
Her hair was pale, almost silver, her skin too pale, her eyes too wide.
She didn't seem to notice him at first.
Calen approached quietly, setting the lantern down a few feet away.
Calen:
(gently)
"Hey."
The girl flinched violently, scrambling backward.
Girl:
(hoarse whisper)
"No — don't — the doors — they're gone—"
Calen held up his hands.
Calen:
"It's okay.
I'm not here to hurt you."
She stared at him, breathing hard.
Girl:
(trembling)
"You shouldn't be here.
No one should.
It's… wrong."
Calen:
(softly)
"I'm Calen.
What's your name?"
The girl hugged herself tighter.
Girl:
"Iris."
Iris pressed herself tighter against the wall, her small frame trembling like a leaf battered by unseen winds.
Calen stayed crouched where he was, the lantern's light casting a wide, flickering circle between them.
The walls around them stretched endlessly in both directions — wallpaper faded into pale blotches, doorframes cracked and yawning like toothless mouths.
The house didn't feel built.
It felt… grown.
Spun out of something too fragile to last — paper, and ink, and something sour beneath.
Calen:
(soft)
"You've been here a long time."
Iris nodded without lifting her face.
Iris:
(hoarse)
"I can't remember not being here."
Her voice was thin —
like the memory of a voice,
not a living one.
Calen leaned back slightly, resting on his heels.
The floor beneath him gave a suspicious, delicate crackle.
He touched it lightly.
It wasn't wood.
It wasn't stone.
It was layers and layers of pressed paper, stitched together, fragile and damp with time.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the whisper of pages shifting beneath the surface.
Calen:
(gently)
"You said the doors keep moving?"
Iris lifted her head just slightly, her eyes hollow and wide.
Iris:
(nodding)
"Every time I try to find the way out…
the doors vanish.
They open into more halls… or nothing at all."
Her lip trembled.
Iris:
(whispering)
"Sometimes… I hear footsteps.
But no one's there."
Calen frowned slightly.
The air here was different from the other towns he had visited.
Thicker.
Heavier.
It pressed against his skin, soaking into the seams of his clothes.
Something watched them from behind the walls.
He could feel it —
not eyes exactly, but attention.
A slow, patient hunger.
Calen:
(carefully)
"What were you looking for, Iris?
Before the doors started disappearing?"
Iris hugged herself tighter, nails digging into the thin fabric of her dress.
Iris:
(desperately)
"I… I don't know.
I think I was supposed to find something.
Or remember something.
But the more I search… the more I forget."
Calen shifted the lantern, raising it slightly.
Its light pushed back the mist crawling along the floor —
revealing tiny marks carved into the walls:
Words.
Not written —
etched,
like fingernails scratching desperate messages.
Most of them were too faint to read, but he caught glimpses:
"Still searching."
"Don't forget."
"It's hiding."
"It's hungry."
Calen looked back at Iris.
She had curled into herself again, rocking slightly.
The motion was rhythmic — almost mechanical, like she had been doing it for longer than she knew how to measure.
Calen:
(soft)
"Iris."
She flinched.
Calen:
"You're not alone anymore."
She laughed then —
a broken, brittle sound.
Iris:
(hoarse)
"Everyone says that before they disappear."
Calen:
(quietly)
"I'm not like them."
The lantern flared brighter for a moment, casting long, trembling shadows along the endless hallway.
Iris squeezed her eyes shut.
Iris:
(desperately)
"You don't understand!
If you stay too long…
it finds you."
Calen's hand tightened on the lantern's strap.
Calen:
"What finds you?"
She shook her head violently.
Iris:
"The house.
The thing behind it.
It watches.
It waits.
It feeds."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, trembling.
Iris:
"It feeds on us."
The walls pulsed faintly, the wallpaper bulging for a heartbeat before sinking back into place.
Calen stood up slowly, holding the lantern out.
Calen:
(calm but firm)
"Iris.
Come with me."
She shrank back.
Iris:
(panicked)
"I can't!
If I leave… I'll forget!
I'll lose everything!"
Calen:
"You've already lost too much."
His voice was steady, low.
The flame inside the lantern flickered wildly —
not struggling, but fighting,
as if resisting an invisible pull from the house itself.
A low sound filled the air —
like a page turning somewhere impossibly large.
The walls shimmered.
The hallway stretched even longer, endless, endless, endless.
Iris sobbed, covering her ears.
Iris:
(screaming)
"It's coming!"
Calen stepped closer.
Calen:
(urgent)
"Iris, listen to me!
It can't trap you if you choose to leave."
She sobbed harder, rocking back and forth.
The walls rippled again, closer, hungrier.
The air buzzed with tension —
a thousand whispered words crawling across the floor, wrapping around their ankles.
Calen:
(pleading)
"You're not what you lost!
You're not your regrets!"
The lantern flared, bright enough to paint the hallway in white.
The walls screamed —
a sound of tearing pages, ripping bindings, snapped spines.
The house groaned as if something massive shifted just behind the thin membrane of reality.
Iris lifted her head.
Through the terror,
through the fog,
she saw Calen standing there —
not forcing her,
not dragging her —
just holding the light,
waiting for her to choose.