Night 8 had an ominous stillness about it in the Diaz-Buckley household. The weight of everything that had been happening—the strange occurrences, the unsettling drawings, the presence of Ken—had reached a point where even the idea of sleep felt like a distant dream. But Eddie, Buck, and Christopher tried their best to continue their nightly routine, each of them hoping for a calm night that would allow them to rest.
After putting Christopher to bed, Eddie and Buck lingered in the living room, sharing uneasy glances but saying little. The events of the day weighed heavily on them, especially the disturbing drawings they had found in Christopher's closet and the one he had drawn at school.
"We're running out of options, Eddie," Buck said quietly, not wanting to wake Christopher. "We can't just ignore this anymore."
Eddie nodded, his jaw tight. "I know. But we need more answers before we do anything drastic. I just… I want to keep him safe."
Buck's face softened. "We will. We'll figure this out."
As the house settled into its familiar, uneasy silence, each of them retreated to their separate rooms. Christopher, though still young, was beginning to understand that something wasn't right. He curled up under his blanket, trying to shake the uneasy feeling in his stomach. The nightlight cast soft shadows across the walls, but instead of bringing comfort, it made the room feel strange, the darkness taking on unnatural shapes.
Christopher closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep, but a faint whisper caught his attention. His eyes snapped open, and in the dim light, he saw a little girl standing at the foot of his bed. She was no older than seven or eight, her pale face framed by dark, matted hair. She wore an old-fashioned dress, the kind Christopher had seen in pictures of children from a long time ago.
She wasn't menacing, but her presence felt out of place—wrong.
"Hi," Christopher said, sitting up slowly. "Who are you?"
The girl didn't answer right away. She was staring at the closet door behind him, her gaze fixed on it with an intensity that made Christopher shiver. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but clear.
"My name is Emily," she said, still looking at the closet.
Christopher blinked, unsure if he should be scared or curious. "Emily? Why are you staring at the closet?"
For a moment, she didn't respond. Then, without taking her eyes off the closet, she said in a vague, unsettling tone, "Because it's where they come from."
Christopher's heart raced. "Who comes from the closet?"
Emily finally turned her head to look at him, her eyes wide and unblinking. "You'll see. But you shouldn't worry about that now. You need to go back to sleep."
Christopher stared at her, unsure of what to say. "But… why did you come here? What do you want?"
Emily's expression softened, but there was a sadness in her eyes. "I just wanted to talk. But you need to go to sleep now."
Without another word, Emily turned and began to walk toward the closet, her form fading into the shadows until she was gone. Christopher's breath hitched, and he rubbed his eyes, unsure if what he had just seen was real or part of a dream. He lay back down, pulling the blanket tight around himself, and closed his eyes again.
When he opened them a few minutes later, Emily was gone. The room was quiet, but the fear in his chest lingered.
Across the house, Eddie lay in his bed, struggling to fall asleep. His mind was clouded with worry—about Christopher, about the strange events in the house, and about whether he was doing the right thing by staying here. He had always tried to be the protector, the one who made sure everything was okay, but now he wasn't sure he could protect his son from whatever was haunting them.
Just as Eddie began to drift off, he heard the faint creak of his bedroom door opening. His heart skipped a beat, but when he opened his eyes, he saw something he never expected.
Shannon, his deceased wife, was standing in the doorway.
Eddie blinked in disbelief, his mind racing. "Shannon?" His voice was barely a whisper.
She stepped into the room, her face calm and familiar, just as it had been before she died. "Hi, Eddie."
Eddie sat up, his heart pounding. "What… what are you doing here? You're dead."
Shannon smiled softly and moved closer, sitting at the edge of the bed. "I know. But I'm here now."
Eddie's mind struggled to process what was happening. Was this a dream? Was he hallucinating? The room felt cold, the kind of cold that settled deep in your bones, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from her.
"You're not real," Eddie said, though even as he said it, he wanted to believe otherwise. "You died, Shannon."
"I know," she repeated, her voice calm, almost soothing. "But I came to talk to you. You've been so worried, Eddie. About Christopher. About the house. You need to be strong."
Eddie's heart clenched. "What do you mean? What's happening?"
Shannon reached out and gently touched his arm, her fingers cold. "You've been a good father, Eddie. You've done everything you can. But you can't protect Christopher from everything. You need to let him figure things out too. You have to trust him."
Eddie shook his head, his thoughts a tangled mess. "But what about all of this? What's happening in the house? Is Christopher in danger?"
Shannon's expression darkened slightly. "There are things you can't see, Eddie. Things that have always been here. But Christopher… he's stronger than you think. Just keep being there for him."
Eddie swallowed hard, trying to make sense of her words. He hadn't seen Shannon in years, and now here she was, sitting on his bed, giving him advice about their son.
"Are you real? Am I dreaming this?" Eddie asked, his voice trembling.
Shannon smiled sadly and stood up. "Maybe I'm a dream. Or maybe I'm just a part of you that you've been holding onto. But you'll figure it out."
She turned and walked toward the door, her figure fading slightly as she moved. Before she left the room, she looked back at him one last time. "Take care of Christopher, Eddie. You're doing better than you think."
And then she was gone, the room returning to its cold, empty state. Eddie sat there in the darkness, his heart pounding and his mind racing. Was it really her? Was it just a hallucination? He couldn't tell.
But one thing was clear—something wasn't right in this house. And whatever was happening, it was drawing out things from their past, things they thought were buried.
Eddie lay back down, staring at the ceiling, but sleep wouldn't come. The house felt alive around him, and he knew that Shannon's visit, whether real or imagined, was a warning.
The past wasn't done with them yet.
