SHE IS COMING

POV- MIA CARTER

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The word AZAZEL burned across the chalkboard like it had been seared into the wood with fire. For a split second, the air shifted—just enough to make us hope.

The nooses stilled. The blood around Jason stopped rippling. Even the flickering shadows seemed to pause.

It was the kind of silence that made your skin crawl.

False peace.

Ethan slumped to the floor, laughing breathlessly. “We beat it. Holy hell, Mia—we beat that round.”

I wanted to believe it. I really did.

But my gut screamed otherwise.

And then—

The chalkboard bled. Thick, black ooze dripped from the letters, trailing downward like tears.

A new line scratched itself in beneath the word AZAZEL, each letter appearing with a sickening screeech:

“NOT YET.”

That’s when the attic door slammed shut again—harder this time. A blast of air knocked Claire onto her back. Ethan scrambled to her side, shielding her, as the chandelier above Jason’s corpse exploded, shards raining like razors.

Darkness returned.

But this darkness was wrong. It wasn't just the absence of light—it was something alive. Something watching.

The nooses creaked again.

Three ropes.

Three of us left.

And then—

The middle rope began to sway. Slowly. Deliberately.

“No,” Claire whispered, crawling backward. “No, no, no, NO—”

But I was already staring past her. Past Ethan. Toward the far wall, where Jason's body still hung.

Because behind him—

She was standing there.

Lillian.

Or... what used to be her.

Her head was cocked unnaturally, as if her neck had snapped halfway through a laugh. Her eyes were empty. Bleeding. Lips curled in a smile that never reached her cheeks.

The last time I saw her, she was alive. Pale, scared, and shaking. Now—

She looked like the house had claimed her. Made her part of the game.

Her hands dragged across the wall, leaving trails of rot. And then, she pointed—right at us.

The chalkboard scratched again.

ROUND SIX.

A heartbeat pulsed beneath our feet, as if the house itself was eager.

The new word blinked into existence, flickering between letters like static:

Eight letters. A new gallows.

No limbs yet.

But we knew the stakes now.

We knew what would happen if we failed again.

Ethan rose slowly. “Why us? Why this house? Why her?”

“She died here,” I murmured. “But she didn’t leave. She’s feeding the game. Feeding it with us.”

The attic door didn’t even bother pretending this time. It stayed sealed. The shadows crawled closer, licking the edges of the room.

Claire’s hands trembled as she pointed at the wall where Lillian had vanished.

“She’s not trying to kill us,” she whispered. “She’s trying to replace us.”

That idea rooted in my brain like a parasite.

The game didn’t want players.

It wanted hosts.

And we were next.

Three ropes. Three names.

One soul already claimed.

We weren’t just playing to escape now.

We were playing not to become the next ghost.

#To be continued

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