Night 6 began like any other night for Eddie Diaz, Evan "Buck" Buckley, and Eddie's son, Christopher Diaz—or at least they hoped it would. After the strange occurrences that had been escalating over the past several days, all three were on edge, but they were doing their best to maintain some sense of normalcy.
The evening routine had been quiet. They'd had dinner, spent some time watching TV, and finally, as the night grew late, they all prepared for bed. Christopher was already tucked in, his room dimly lit by a nightlight. Eddie had kissed him goodnight and reminded him to call if he needed anything. But despite the calm exterior, Eddie and Buck were both feeling the mounting tension of the house's strange energy.
Eddie retired to his own bedroom while Buck, as usual, stretched out on the couch in the living room. As much as he wanted to ignore the odd occurrences—Ken, the doll, the strange movements of objects—they had all become impossible to overlook. He hoped for just one quiet, uneventful night. But, as they were soon to learn, the house had other plans.
It was around midnight when Buck first heard it—a faint noise, like something sliding across a surface. Groggily, he opened his eyes, glancing around the dark living room. At first, everything appeared normal, but something caught his eye.
The Fire Stick remote, which had been on the side table, was now sitting squarely in the middle of the coffee table.
"Okay," Buck mumbled to himself, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Maybe I knocked it when I moved."
Trying not to dwell on it, he picked up the Fire Stick and returned it to its original spot on the side table. Satisfied, he lay back down and closed his eyes, hoping to drift back to sleep. But as soon as he did, there it was again—that unmistakable sound of something moving.
He sat up, his heart now pounding faster. The Fire Stick had moved again, this time back to the center of the coffee table.
"Seriously?" Buck muttered, a mix of frustration and unease creeping into his voice.
Annoyed, he picked up the Fire Stick again and firmly placed it back on the side table. He stared at it for a moment, as if daring it to move. When nothing happened, Buck exhaled and shook his head, lying back down.
Minutes passed in silence, and just as Buck was about to relax, a loud clatter echoed through the living room.
Buck shot up instantly, his heart racing. The Fire Stick hadn't just moved this time—it had been flung off the table entirely, its lid popped off and skidded across the floor, coming to a stop by the wall.
Buck's pulse quickened as he swung his legs off the couch and stood up. He slowly approached the Fire Stick, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of movement, though he knew he was alone. He knelt down, picking up the now-lidless remote, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
"This is getting ridiculous," he muttered, but his voice wavered slightly.
He replaced the lid and placed the Fire Stick back on the table, though this time with more hesitation. Something was messing with him, and he could no longer chalk it up to coincidence or sleep deprivation.
At that same moment, Eddie, who had been sleeping soundly in his room, stirred awake. A strange, almost oppressive feeling had settled over the house, something Eddie had become increasingly aware of over the past few nights. He glanced at the clock—it was just after 12:30 a.m. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something felt... wrong.
Eddie sat up in bed, listening carefully. The house was eerily quiet, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards or the distant hum of the refrigerator. He stood up and crept to the doorway, peeking into the hall. He had learned by now that whenever something felt off, it usually meant something was about to happen.
In the living room, he spotted Buck, who was still standing by the coffee table, staring down at the Fire Stick as though it might spring to life.
"What's going on?" Eddie asked quietly, startling Buck.
Buck turned, his expression tense. "This stupid Fire Stick keeps moving by itself. I've moved it twice already, and now it's being thrown across the room. I don't know what's doing it, but something's messing with me."
Eddie's brow furrowed, the uneasy feeling in his chest growing stronger. "Christopher okay?"
"Yeah, he's asleep," Buck replied, though he glanced toward the hallway nervously, as if expecting to see something lurking in the shadows.
Eddie stepped into the living room, standing beside Buck as they both stared at the remote on the table. It sat there innocently enough, as if daring them to move it again.
"You think it's the house?" Eddie asked, though he already knew the answer.
Buck nodded grimly. "At this point, I don't think we can ignore it anymore."
Deciding that sleep wouldn't come easily after that, Eddie and Buck sat down in the living room, quietly talking about everything that had happened since they'd moved in. The doll, the TV static, the knocks, Christopher's imaginary friend Ken—it all pointed to something much darker than they'd anticipated.
As they spoke, the air around them seemed to grow colder. They glanced at the thermostat—it was set to a normal temperature, but the cold seemed to seep into their bones nonetheless.
"You think we should call someone?" Buck asked, glancing toward Christopher's room.
"Maybe," Eddie said, his voice thoughtful. "We can't keep pretending this is normal. But I don't want to scare Chris."
Buck leaned forward, his voice low. "If this Ken thing gets worse, we'll have no choice. We need to protect him."
Eddie nodded, his jaw clenched with worry. He had always been able to protect Christopher from real-world dangers—fires, accidents, bullies—but this? This was something beyond his control, something he didn't understand. And that terrified him.
Hours passed, and Eddie and Buck eventually returned to their separate sleeping spots, though neither of them truly slept. The house remained quiet for the rest of the night, the oppressive energy hanging in the air like a storm cloud waiting to burst.
But as Buck lay on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. The house was keeping secrets—secrets that were slowly beginning to unravel.
And whatever had thrown the Fire Stick wasn't done with them yet.
