THE HOUSE OF ENDINGS

The rain fell in sheets, hammering against the windshield as Daniel drove up the winding road. His wipers struggled to keep pace, smearing water across the glass. The head light caught glimpses of skeletal trees, their branches clawing at the sky like desperate hands. He had been warned about the abandoned house, but curiosity or perhaps arrogance to know things all had led him here. The house stood at the crest, a looming silhouette against the storm. It's windows were dark, but Daniel swore he saw movement inside, a flicker of pale light that vanished as quickly as it appeared. He parked, the engine ticking as it cooled, and stepped out into the downpour. The air smelled of wet earth and something metallic, like rust or blood. The front door was unlocked. It swung open with a groan, revealing a cavernous hallway lined with portraits. Each painting depicted strangers with hollow eyes, their gazes following him with unnerving precision. Dust coated the frames, but the faces seemed fresh, almost alive. One portrait a woman with cruel lips appeared to smirk wider as he passed. The floorboards creaked under his weight. Somewhere above, a door slammed. He froze, listening. The house was supposed to be abandoned. He had read the stories families who moved in never lasted long, vanishing without explanation. Teenagers dared each other to spend a night inside, but none lasted until dawn. Daniel wasn’t here for a dare. He was here to write. His publisher wanted a book on haunted places, and this abandoned house was the perfect subject. He climbed the staircase, each step groaning like a dying animal. At the landing, he found a corridor lined with doors. One was ajar, spilling faint candlelight into the hall. He pushed it open.Inside was a bedroom, untouched by time. The bed was neatly made, the sheets yellowed with age. A single candle burned on the nightstand, though no one was there to light it. The flame bent unnaturally, as if recoiling from him. On the wall above the bed hung a mirror, its surface rippling like water. He stepped closer, and his reflection blinked though he hadn’t. Daniel stumbled back, heart pounding. The reflection smiled, baring teeth too sharp, too long. He turned to flee, but the door slammed shut behind him. The candle guttered, plunging the room into darkness. He fumbled for his phone, its screen casting a weak glow. In that light, he saw the sheets on the bed shifting, as though something beneath them was stirring. The mirror rippled again. A hand pressed against the glass from the other side, pale and skeletal, its nails scratching deep grooves into the surface. Then another hand. Then a face the same cruel woman from the portrait downstairs. Her eyes were black voids, her mouth stretching impossibly wide. She whispered his name, though he had never spoken it aloud in this house. “Daniel…” The bed erupted. The sheets flew back, revealing nothing but a hollow cavity where the mattress should have been. A pit, impossibly deep, gaped open, exhaling a stench of rot. From its depths came a chorus of voices, shrieking, begging, laughing. He staggered toward the door, clawing at the knob, but it wouldn’t turn. Behind him, the mirror cracked, shards raining down like knives. The woman stepped through, her body jerking unnaturally, limbs bending at wrong angles. Her smile widened. “You came to write about us. Now you’ll stay.”The floor gave way. Daniel plunged into the pit, the voices swallowing him whole. The last thing he saw was the candle reigniting on the nightstand, its flame steady, as if nothing had happened.