You burst into the cold night air.
Breath fogs.
Hands shaking.
For a moment, you’re not sure if you’re awake.

Snow crunches under your boots.
The house looms behind you,
windows dark,
but still somehow alive.

Consciousness drips back like water.
Slower than you’d like.
You look at your team…
wide-eyed, pale.
Someone drops their gear into the snow.

Then movement.
One member stumbles out later than the rest,
holding his chest,
gasping for breath.

He looks at you.
“Whatever was in there…”
He chokes on the words.
“I saw a glimpse of it.
It was ancient.
I felt like it was controlling me.
And when I looked at you…
I wanted to kill you.”

Someone gasps.
That definitely sounds bad.
But you can’t find the space right now
to react.

You raise your hands.
Calm.
Slow.
Grounded.

“This fear…” you tell them.
“It’s just empowering it.
We have to stay grounded.
We came here to help these people.”

The snow is silent.
Everyone watches you.

The cold burns your lungs.
But curiosity cuts deeper than fear.
You nod to the group.

“We get more answers.
Then we bless the home.”

No one argues.
The silence between you is heavy.
Everyone knows it…
you have to understand what you’re dealing with.

You step back inside.
The team huddles behind you.
The house is quiet.
Too quiet.

Wait.
The equipment.
Everything is off.
Recorders. Cameras.
Atmospheric sensors streaming to your laptops.
Dead.

But the lights in the house are still on.
Your team spreads out, checking the gear.
Confused.
Bewildered.
And just before you speak…

Footsteps.

Slow at first.
Then louder.
Faster.
Until a giant thud shakes the ceiling above.

Someone whispers,
“We’re absolutely sure no one else is in here, right?”

You know in your gut.
You’re alone.

The footsteps start again.
This time running down the stairs.
Then pounding through the hall
charging straight toward you.

The scream hits.
Inhuman.
Shattering.

And in that same instant
every piece of gear flickers back on.
Recorders red.
Spirit box blasting at full volume.

You shout over the chaos.
“Who are you?”

The reply rips through the static.
Warped. Inhuman.
“We are YOU.”

Another voice. Female.
“She holds us here.”

A gasp breaks the silence.
One teammate steadies their recorder with trembling hands.

“Who holds you?” you ask.
The response is jagged.
“Blood. Ritual. Door.”

The word door repeats.
Fading.
Splintered.
As if many voices are whispering it at once.

Your team looks to you, uneasy.
The same question in every eye.

The word won’t stop echoing.
Door. Door. Door.

You sweep the hall.
It is hard to focus.
Something feels like it is waiting.
Your gut pulls you lower.
You remember.
The basement.

That symbol under the stairs.
Circular. Burned into the floor.
Dark wax pooled in rings
as if candles had been placed there
again and again.

You can’t shake the feeling that the
owners left this out.
Covered it with boxes,
hoping you would never look closer.

You lead the way down the narrow
stairs.
The smell hits first—burnt wax, damp
wood.
The tools still sit on the bench.
But the air has shifted.

One teammate stops short.
“Boxes were moved,” she whispers. The nook is open.
As if something wanted you to see.

And there it is.
The circle.
Bigger now.
Clearer.
Symbols scorched into the floor.
Candles melted into thick pools of wax.

The EMF spikes.
Your recorder clicks on by itself.
A voice hisses through.
Layered. Guttural.

“The door is open.”

The ground hums beneath your feet.
Your chest tightens.
You know you are standing on the anchor.

Then movement.
You glance up at the basement window.
A pale face stares back.
The wife.

Her eyes widen when she realizes you see her.
She bolts, vanishing into the night.
The truth hits harder than the air in your lungs.
The spirits are not the only ones hiding secrets.

The wife is gone.
She vanished into the snow outside.
Her secrets will have to wait.

Anxiety builds as you realize the circle hums beneath your boots.
You keep your team focused.

The spirit box bursts to life.
Layered voices cut through the static.
“Door… door… door…”

Your teammate grips your arm.
“We’re standing on the opening.
This is it.”

The EMF shrieks.
It’s hard to think.
Symbols on the floor flicker faintly with light.

You kneel closer.
The static sharpens.
A whisper cuts through.
“She feeds it.”

The ground trembles.
Vertigo rolls through you.
Familiar.
Like every open portal you’ve ever stood near.

What has she been doing here?
And why?

Your head says follow the clergy’s instructions.
Your gut says dig for answers.
Maybe you can do both.

One teammate looks pale, shaking.
Her second case.
It’s too much.

You send Chris to take her outside.
He nods, no argument.

Three remain.
You explain quickly.
“We’ll set our gear around the circle.
Perimeter coverage.
Real-time comms device in the center.”

They move without question.
The vertigo grows stronger.
Everyone feels it.
No one says it.

A teammate asks quietly,
“So what now?”

You steady yourself.
“Well… one of you will try to make contact.
I’ll start the prayers.”

Another looks uneasy.
“Are you sure? That’s not what they told us to do.”

You meet their eyes.
“I think we’ve been lied to.
It’s hard to cleanse something when the owner is feeding it.”
They nod.
Silent.
Waiting.

“Seal it,” you say.
Your team nods.

Holy water in hand, you trace the edge of the circle.
Your voice rises in the prayers you memorized.
Latin syllables echo against the stone.

The devices wail.
Red lights flare.
The circle shimmers with heat.

A teammate’s voice cuts through the roar.
“It’s fighting back!”

You can’t think about that now.
You focus on your intention.

The ground shakes.
Impossible.

Symbols glow red-hot beneath your boots.
A pressure builds in your skull.
A crawling under your skin.
Like fire.

You shout the last line of the prayer.
Splash holy water into the center.

The spirit box detonates in static.
Voices shriek together.
“YOU CANNOT END WHAT HAS BEGUN.”

A blinding flash.
Then silence.

When your vision clears,
you’re no longer in the basement.
You’re standing outside the house.
Breath fogging in the cold morning air.
Your team looks dazed.

Someone whispers,
“Did we just… lose time?”

The house looms behind you.
A man’s voice drifts from the porch.
“Thank you for coming all this way.”

Chris taps your shoulder, pale, shaken.
You turn as the couple approaches.

“We’re at our wits’ end. We don’t know what to do anymore.”
The woman’s eyes flick toward the house.
“It’s been different today. Like it knows you’re here.”

End of Story 9.