hide and seek

chapter 3

The old wooden staircase creaked under their feet, each step a slow, agonizing echo in the oppressive silence. Phillip led the way, his flashlight flickering intermittently, casting strange, shifting shadows on the walls. The air grew hotter and thicker the higher they climbed, and every breath felt like swallowing fire.

Behind him, Margot followed closely, her heartbeat thudding in her ears. She forced herself to stay calm, her mind rational, even as the house seemed to close in on them, like it was alive, watching.

“What the hell is that noise?” Billy whispered, his voice shaky. “It sounds like something’s being dragged.”

Phillip didn’t answer. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something—*someone*—was up there, waiting for them. He glanced over his shoulder, catching Margot’s eye. She seemed calm on the surface, but there was a tightness in her expression, a tension that belied her usual cool demeanor.

As they reached the top of the stairs, the sound became clearer—a rhythmic, dragging thud, like something heavy being pulled across the floor. It was coming from above them. From the attic.

“I don’t like this,” Mary whispered, clutching her flashlight like a cross, her knuckles white.

“I don’t think anyone does,” Phillip muttered.

Dorian had been silent, but now her eyes were wide, her expression distant. “There’s something… wrong up there. I can feel it. It’s… dark.”

Lisa shuddered. “Great. So we’re walking into a death trap.”

“Maybe we should just leave,” Margot said, her voice quiet but firm. “We’ve seen enough. We don’t need to go any further.”

Alex, always the thrill-seeker, shook his head. “We’ve come this far. We can’t stop now.” He stepped forward, pushing open the door to the attic.

The door creaked open with a low, agonizing groan, revealing a narrow staircase that led into a pitch-black void. The heat hit them like a wave, even more intense than before, as if the house was suffocating them with its malice.

Phillip swallowed hard. “Let’s just take a look. Then we can leave.”

One by one, they climbed the stairs, the atmosphere thick with dread. As they reached the top, their flashlights swept across the attic, revealing a sight that made their blood run cold.

The attic was a large, cavernous space, its low ceiling barely high enough to stand upright. The walls were lined with crosses—hundreds of them—old, rusted, and crooked, nailed haphazardly into the wood. The air was thick with the smell of burning wax, though there were no candles in sight.

But what really made their skin crawl were the pictures.

Creepy, black-and-white photographs covered every inch of the walls. They depicted nuns and pastors, their faces contorted into strange, grotesque expressions—some smiling with empty, hollow eyes, others frozen in mid-scream, as if caught in the moment of some unspeakable horror. The more they looked, the more it seemed that the eyes in the photos followed their every move.

Margot’s breath hitched, her usual rational mind struggling to make sense of the scene. “What… what is this place?”

“This is messed up,” Billy said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like, seriously messed up.”

Mary’s hand shook as she raised her flashlight, illuminating more of the disturbing images. “Why would anyone put these here?”

Alex moved closer to one of the walls, inspecting a large, upside-down cross in the center of the room. “Looks like someone tried to keep something trapped in here.”

Dorian stared at the floor, her eyes wide and unfocused. “It’s not trapped anymore.”

Suddenly, there was another loud *thud*, closer this time, from the far corner of the attic. Everyone froze, their breath caught in their throats. The dragging sound resumed, slow and deliberate, moving toward them.

“Jesus Christ,” Lisa muttered, her voice trembling. “What the hell is that?”

Phillip’s heart pounded in his chest as he turned toward the source of the noise. His flashlight flickered again, casting long, distorted shadows across the attic. And then, for a brief moment, the beam landed on something in the corner—something large, shrouded in darkness, hunched over as if it were… crawling.

Before anyone could react, the attic door slammed shut behind them, sealing them in with the creeping heat and the malevolent presence. Mary screamed, turning toward the door, pounding on it in panic. “Let us out! Let us out!”

“Calm down!” Phillip shouted, trying to control his own fear. “We need to stay calm.”

But no one was calm. Not anymore.

The dragging noise grew louder, closer, until it was just inches away from them. And then… silence.

Margot’s heart raced, her eyes wide as she looked around, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

And then, it did.

Without warning, the floor beneath them seemed to shift. A low rumble vibrated through the wood, and the crosses on the walls began to shake violently. Several of them fell to the ground, clattering loudly, as if the house itself was rejecting the holy symbols.

Dorian’s eyes snapped open, her face ashen. “It’s waking up.”

“What’s waking up?” Alex asked, his voice high-pitched, fear evident.

Phillip stepped toward the far end of the attic, where an old, tattered curtain hung from the ceiling, hiding something from view. His curiosity got the better of him, and with a trembling hand, he pulled the curtain aside.

Behind it was a small altar—dust-covered and forgotten. On it lay an ancient book, its leather cover cracked and brittle. Beside it was a strange symbol, carved into the wood of the altar, glowing faintly in the dim light.

Before anyone could stop him, Phillip reached out and touched the book.

Immediately, a loud, piercing *shriek* filled the attic, echoing off the walls. The heat intensified, becoming unbearable, as if the house itself was burning from the inside out.

“Phillip, no!” Margot shouted, reaching for him, but it was too late.

The book fell open, and the pages began to turn on their own, faster and faster, as if caught in a whirlwind. The crosses on the walls trembled violently, and the pictures of the nuns and pastors seemed to *move*, their grotesque faces twisting into even more horrifying expressions, their eyes now wide and *alive*, staring directly at the group.

Suddenly, the attic was filled with the sound of voices—whispering, laughing, chanting. The air around them swirled, growing darker, heavier, as if something unseen was wrapping itself around them, suffocating them with its presence.

“We need to get out of here!” Billy shouted, backing away from the altar.

But there was nowhere to go. The attic door remained sealed, and the walls seemed to close in on them, the crosses falling, the photos of the nuns and pastors stretching and warping, their hands reaching out from the frames.

Dorian’s voice rose above the chaos. “We’ve unleashed something… something evil!”

Phillip stepped back from the altar, his heart hammering in his chest. He could feel it now—the darkness, the malevolence. It was all around them, closing in, hungry.

And then, with a deafening crash, the attic window shattered, and the heat surged in like a wave of fire.

The demons were free.

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