It was a humid night on the Outer Banks. The air was thick with the scent of salt and earth, the moon hidden behind a thick veil of clouds, casting the island in darkness. The familiar sound of the waves crashing against the shore was almost drowned out by the uneasy silence that hung over the group. Sarah Cameron, John B. Routledge, JJ Maybank, Kiara Carrera, and Cleo had found themselves deep in the marsh, far from the safety of their usual haunts, following a lead that had seemed harmless enough at first. But now, nothing about the situation felt right.

They had stumbled upon an old cabin, hidden deep within the trees, its exterior worn and overgrown with vines, as though nature itself had been trying to reclaim it. The door hung slightly ajar, as though someone—or something—was expecting them. Sarah stood at the edge of the group, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her eyes scanning the dark shadows that seemed to stretch longer than they should.

"Are we sure about this?" Sarah asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "This place... it doesn't feel right."

John B. shot her a reassuring glance, though his face betrayed his own unease. "We've come this far. We can't turn back now."

JJ was already stepping toward the cabin, his usual bravado masking any fear he might have been feeling. "C'mon, guys. It's just an old house. What's the worst that could happen?"

Cleo, standing close to Kiara, didn't share JJ's casual attitude. Her eyes were narrowed, her instincts telling her something was wrong. "I don't like this place either. It's like... it's watching us."

Kiara, who had always been the level-headed one of the group, hesitated. "Maybe we should leave. There's nothing here for us."

But something about the cabin called to them, drawing them in despite their better judgment. It wasn't logical. It was a feeling—a deep, gnawing curiosity mixed with fear. And so, without further protest, they moved toward the cabin, the creak of the wooden floorboards beneath their feet echoing in the stillness as they entered.

Inside, the air was thick and stale, as if no one had been there in years. A thick layer of dust covered the surfaces, and old, tattered furniture was scattered haphazardly around the room. But it wasn't just the neglect that set the group on edge—it was the overwhelming sense that something was... wrong.

JJ flipped the light switch on the wall, but nothing happened. The darkness remained.

"Great," JJ muttered, pulling out his phone to use as a flashlight. "Of course, the power's out."

Sarah stood in the middle of the room, her gaze fixed on an old mirror that hung crookedly on the far wall. The glass was cracked, but there was something about it that held her attention, something she couldn't explain. The longer she stared, the more it felt like the reflection in the mirror wasn't quite right.

"Sarah?" John B. called, noticing her trance-like state. "You okay?"

Sarah blinked, tearing her eyes away from the mirror, but the unease remained. "Yeah... yeah, I'm fine."

But she wasn't fine. None of them were. Something in that cabin had latched onto them the moment they crossed the threshold. It was subtle at first—a fleeting shadow in the corner of their vision, the feeling of being watched—but as the night wore on, the strangeness grew.

The group split up to explore the cabin, though every step felt heavier than the last, like the house was trying to trap them, to pull them deeper into its grip. JJ and Cleo went upstairs, while Kiara, John B., and Sarah stayed on the ground floor, each of them growing more isolated as they drifted into different rooms.

Sarah found herself alone in what appeared to be an old bedroom, her heart pounding in her chest as she approached the bed. It was covered in an old quilt, faded and torn, but it wasn't the bed that caught her attention—it was the feeling that someone had been lying there just moments ago.

She took a step closer and froze. The mirror. It was back. This time it was on the wall across from the bed, and as Sarah stared at it, the reflection she saw was not her own. A woman stood there, her face pale and hollow, her eyes sunken deep into her skull. And then the woman smiled.

Sarah stumbled backward, her breath catching in her throat. "John B.! JJ!"

But when she ran out of the room, she found herself in a hallway that shouldn't have been there. The layout of the house had changed, and the door she had just exited was gone. The walls seemed to close in around her, and the air grew colder, as though the house was alive and feeding off her fear.

Meanwhile, JJ and Cleo were in the upstairs hallway, searching for anything that might explain the eerie feeling that had settled over them. They had found an old photograph album in one of the rooms, filled with pictures of a family that had once lived there. But the faces in the photos were blurred, as though they had been erased from existence.

"This is messed up," JJ said, flipping through the pages. "Who the hell would live in a place like this?"

"I don't know," Cleo replied, her voice tight. "But we need to get out of here. Now."

They turned to leave, but the door at the end of the hallway slammed shut with a deafening bang. Cleo rushed toward it, trying to open it, but it wouldn't budge.

"JJ, help me!"

JJ joined her, pulling on the door with all his strength, but it was as if the house itself was keeping them trapped. The walls around them seemed to pulse with a dark energy, and the sound of whispers filled the air, though the words were unintelligible.


Back downstairs, John B. and Kiara had been searching for Sarah when they stumbled upon a hidden basement door. It hadn't been there before, but now it beckoned to them, as though it was the only way forward.

"Should we go down there?" John B. asked, already knowing the answer.

Kiara hesitated but nodded. "We need to find Sarah. She's not answering her phone."

The basement was cold and damp, the stairs creaking under their weight as they descended into the darkness. The deeper they went, the more the air felt thick, oppressive, like they were being suffocated by the weight of the house itself.

At the bottom, they found an old, rotting chest. The lock had long since rusted away, and as John B. opened it, the smell of decay filled the room. Inside were old letters, yellowed with age, and a small, ornate box.

"Don't open it," Kiara whispered, her voice trembling.

But John B. had already flipped the latch. Inside the box was a single key—small, intricate, and cold to the touch.

"What the hell is this?" John B. muttered.

Before Kiara could answer, the basement door slammed shut, and the lights flickered out.


The house was alive now, fully awake and feeding off their fear. The walls seemed to shift and twist, the corridors stretching into impossible lengths. Sarah, separated from the others, wandered through a maze of hallways, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the whispers grew louder, more insistent.

She heard her name being called, but when she turned, there was no one there. Shadows moved at the edge of her vision, darting in and out of the corners of the room. And then, the mirror appeared again.

This time, the woman in the reflection was closer, her face twisted into a grotesque grin. Her hand reached out, as though she was trying to pull Sarah into the glass.

"No!" Sarah screamed, stumbling backward, but the mirror's pull was strong. Her feet felt like they were glued to the floor, and the cold tendrils of the woman's hand wrapped around her wrist, dragging her closer.

Just as Sarah's vision began to blur, John B. burst through the door, his face pale but determined. He rushed to her side, grabbing her arm and pulling her away from the mirror's grasp.

"Sarah, it's okay," he whispered, holding her tightly as the mirror shattered, the sound echoing through the house.

But even as the glass lay broken on the floor, the whispers didn't stop. The house was still alive, still hungry.


They found JJ, Cleo, and Kiara shortly after, all of them shaken but alive. Together, they made their way back to the front door, the air thick with tension as they reached for the handle.

But as they opened the door, they realized they weren't leaving. The front yard was gone, replaced by an endless black void.

The house had them now, and it wasn't letting go.


The group huddled together in the foyer, their breaths shallow, their eyes wide with fear. The once familiar surroundings had become a nightmare, a twisted version of the world they knew. And as the whispers grew louder, as the walls seemed to close in on them, they realized that the house wasn't just feeding on their fear.

It was feeding on them.

"You feel it too, don't you?" Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible above the noise.

John B. nodded, his hand tightening around hers. "Yeah. It's getting stronger."

"What do we do?" Kiara asked, her voice trembling.

"We survive," Cleo answered, her eyes fierce despite the terror coursing through her. "We stick together. We find a way out."

But as the darkness closed in, as the house tightened its grip around them, they knew that escape was impossible.

They were trapped.

And the glow of the house would consume them whole.