THE HOUSE OF ENDINGS

THE LIBRARY OF SHADOWS 3

Daniel’s body sank into the floor, swallowed by the blackness. He clawed at the air, desperate to hold onto something, but the hands dragging him downward were relentless. When the suffocating dark finally released him, he landed hard on cold stone.

He lay there, gasping, until his eyes adjusted. He was in a vast hall, lined with towering shelves. But these weren’t shelves of books they were filled with jars. Each jar contained something that writhed faintly, glowing with a sickly light. As he staggered closer, he realized they weren’t objects. They were faces. Human faces, pressed against the glass, their mouths opening in silent screams. The shelves stretched endlessly, disappearing into shadows. The air was thick with whispers, each jar murmuring fragments of lives long gone. He recognized some of the voices classmates who had vanished, names whispered in hushed tones at school assemblies. They hadn’t run away. They were here.

A figure moved between the shelves. The cruel woman again, her body jerking unnaturally, her smile carved wider than before. She carried a lantern that burned with black fire, casting warped shadows across the hall.“This is the library,” she said, her voice echoing from every jar. “Every soul foolish enough to enter the house is catalogued. Their stories preserved. Their lives… archived.

”Daniel backed away, his heart hammering. “Why me? I didn’t do anything!”

“You disobeyed,” she hissed. “You were warned. Yet you came during school hours, when the world above was distracted, thinking you safe. That arrogance feeds the house. It craves those who believe they are untouchable.”She lifted the lantern, and the jars rattled. One toppled, shattering on the floor. A face spilled out, its body forming from smoke and bone. It lunged at Daniel, shrieking, its hollow eyes burning with rage. He ran, weaving between shelves, the whispers rising into a deafening chorus.The hall twisted, bending like a maze. Every turn led him deeper, the shelves closing in. He stumbled into a clearing where a massive tome lay open on a pedestal. Its pages turned themselves, each one filled with names, dates, and endings. He saw his own name again, etched in crimson. Beneath it, the word “Consumed by the House.”

“No!” he shouted, slamming the book shut. The ground trembled, jars shattering all around him. Faces poured out, forming a tide of shrieking phantoms. He sprinted, his lungs burning, until he saw a staircase spiraling upward. He climbed, the phantoms clawing at his legs, their nails slicing his skin. At the top, he burst through a door and found himself back in the bedroom where it all began. The candle still burned, steady and calm, as if mocking him. The mirror was cracked, but its surface rippled once more. Behind him, the woman’s voice whispered “You cannot leave. The house has written you. You are ours.”Daniel grabbed the candle, its flame flickering wildly in his hand. He hurled it at the mirror. The glass exploded, shards flying like daggers. For a moment, the voices stopped. Silence fell.

Then the floorboards beneath him groaned, splitting open again. The pit yawned wide, darker than before. From its depths, countless hands reached upward, clawing for him.

Daniel screamed as the house pulled him back down.