Night 3 had settled uneasily over the old stone house, enveloping Travis Montgomery and Michael Cooper Williams in an oppressive atmosphere that seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment. The daylight hours had offered some respite—time spent exploring Columbus, Indiana, eating local food, and reconnecting with their past as firefighters in Seattle. But now, as the sun sank below the horizon and the shadows lengthened, the strange energy that had plagued them since moving in returned with a vengeance.
That evening, they decided to cook a comforting dinner together. Veggie meatloaf was on the menu, a familiar recipe that had become one of their go-to meals when they needed to unwind. The kitchen, with its outdated appliances and dim lighting, felt like the heart of the house, though there was something about it that always left them feeling unsettled.
Travis stood by the counter, chopping vegetables in silence, the rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board the only thing breaking the stillness. Michael was across from him, mixing the ingredients for the meatloaf, his movements mechanical, almost robotic.
But as the minutes ticked by, Travis began to feel it—the same creeping sadness that Michael had felt the night before in this very kitchen. It started as a low hum, deep in his chest, a weight that pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe. The sensation was foreign, not like his own emotions at all. It felt as though it belonged to someone—or something—else entirely.
Travis stopped chopping and placed the knife down, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the edge of the counter.
"Travis?" Michael's voice cut through the quiet, his brow furrowing as he noticed the change in his husband's demeanor. "What's wrong?"
Travis shook his head, trying to steady his breathing. "I don't know. I feel… I feel off. Like there's this sadness, and it's not mine. It's just… there."
Michael set down the bowl and walked over to Travis, placing a hand on his arm. "That's exactly how I felt last night. It's like the house is pressing down on you, filling you with something that doesn't belong to you."
Travis looked at him, his eyes clouded with confusion and unease. "It's not just sadness, though. It's more than that. It feels… heavy. Like this house is full of grief, and it's trying to pull me under."
They stood there in silence for a moment, the strange, oppressive energy in the air thickening around them. The kitchen, once a place of comfort and familiarity, now felt claustrophobic, as if the walls were closing in on them.
Michael nodded slowly, his voice low. "I know. It's been like that since we got here. But it's getting worse, isn't it?"
Travis nodded, his throat tight. "Yeah. It is."
They finished preparing the meatloaf in silence, both of them too wrapped up in their own unease to continue their usual lighthearted banter. The weight of the house's energy clung to them like a damp fog, seeping into their bones, making every movement feel slow and deliberate.
Dinner was a quiet affair. The veggie meatloaf sat heavily on their plates, though neither of them had much of an appetite. They ate in near silence, each lost in their own thoughts, the room filled with a tension that seemed to pulse with the house's own dark energy.
As they cleared the plates, the silence between them grew thicker, more uncomfortable, until Michael finally spoke.
"Do you think it's just the house?" he asked, his voice soft, as if afraid of the answer. "I mean, do you think it's really the house making us feel this way?"
Travis paused, looking at Michael, his jaw clenched. "I don't know. But whatever it is, it's strong. And it's not going away."
Michael nodded, his face pale. "It's almost like the house is alive. Like it's feeding on us or something."
The idea hung in the air between them, chilling them both to the core. The thought that the house might be more than just haunted—that it might be feeding on their emotions, their energy—was too terrifying to fully comprehend.
But neither of them could deny it. The sadness, the grief, the heavy weight pressing down on them—it was all too real. And it was growing stronger.
That night, as they prepared for bed, the oppressive feeling only deepened. Travis and Michael climbed into bed together, their usual routine now feeling strained by the strange energy that seemed to pulse through the house.
As they lay together in the dark, Travis could feel Michael's body tense beside him, his breath shallow and quick. He wrapped an arm around Michael, pulling him close, trying to offer some comfort.
But the air in the room was thick, heavy with an invisible presence that seemed to lurk just beyond the edge of their awareness. It was as though the house itself had come alive, breathing in the darkness, waiting for something.
"I feel it again," Michael whispered, his voice trembling. "That sadness… but it's worse. It's… overwhelming."
Travis tightened his hold on him. "I know. I feel it too."
They lay there in silence, the weight of the energy pressing down on them like a physical force. It was more than just sadness now—it was grief, despair, and something far darker, something that neither of them could name but both could feel.
The atmosphere in the room grew colder, the air thick with the oppressive weight of whatever haunted the house. The darkness around them seemed to pulse with an almost malevolent energy, as if the house were feeding off their fear, growing stronger with each passing second.
Michael shifted beside him, his voice barely a whisper. "Travis, I can't take this anymore. It's too much. It's like the house is trying to suffocate us."
Before Travis could respond, the door to their bedroom creaked open slowly.
They both froze, their eyes locked on the door as it swung open with agonizing slowness, revealing the dark hallway beyond.
"Did you close that?" Michael whispered, his voice tight with fear.
"I did," Travis replied, his heart pounding in his chest.
They lay there, staring at the door as the oppressive energy in the room seemed to intensify. For a long moment, neither of them moved, their eyes fixed on the dark void of the hallway beyond the open door.
"I'm closing it," Travis finally said, his voice shaky as he climbed out of bed.
He walked toward the door, his hand trembling as he reached for the handle. The air in the hallway felt colder, heavier, as though something was watching him from the shadows.
He shut the door firmly and turned the lock, his pulse racing. But just as he turned back toward the bed, the door creaked open again.
Travis's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the door, now wide open once more.
"Travis?" Michael's voice was small, filled with fear.
Travis swallowed hard, his mouth dry. "I locked it."
"Then why is it open?" Michael asked, his voice trembling.
Travis didn't answer. He didn't know.
Without another word, he walked back to the door, this time gripping the handle tightly. He slammed the door shut and locked it again, twisting the knob hard to ensure it wouldn't open.
But as he stepped back, the door slowly creaked open once more, the sound grating in the oppressive silence of the room.
"Travis," Michael whispered, his voice barely audible. "We're not alone."
Travis felt his hands shaking as he moved to close the door one final time. His breath came in shallow gasps, his heart pounding in his ears. He slammed the door shut and this time, pushed a chair in front of it, wedging it tightly against the knob.
As he turned to face Michael, his voice was low, barely a whisper. "It's locked now. It's staying closed."
They climbed back into bed, both of them too shaken to speak. The door remained closed, but the heavy, oppressive energy lingered in the room, watching, waiting.
They lay in silence for what felt like hours, the air thick with fear and uncertainty. The house felt alive around them, breathing in the darkness, feeding on their unease.
And even though the door stayed closed, they both knew—something was inside with them.
The house wasn't done with them yet.
It had only just begun.
