Attempt #37
She throws herself against the door.
It doesn’t budge.
It never budges.
She’s tried breaking the lock.
She’s tried tearing off the hinges.
She’s even tried clawing at the wood until her nails split, fingertips raw and bleeding, breath ragged from screaming.
Nothing works.
The house doesn’t let go.
It laughs.
Actually laughs.
A deep, awful sound, shaking through the walls, vibrating through the floors like it finds this funny.
Like she’s just another game.
She doesn’t stop.
Not until she’s breathless.
Not until her vision blurs.
Not until the mocking creak of the ceiling reminds her she’s still trapped.
Still here.
Still its favorite thing to break.
Attempt #52
She finds a crack.
A weakness in the basement wall, thin enough to dig into, wide enough to maybe—maybe—be her way out.
She works at it for hours.
Rock after rock, breaking it apart piece by piece, ignoring the sound of movement behind her.
The house knows what she’s doing.
It always knows.
But it’s letting her try.
Letting her think this time will be different.
That’s how it plays its games.
It gives her hope, then rips it away at the last second.
She reaches the last layer of stone.
Feels fresh air, real air, brush against her fingertips—
Then something grabs her ankle.
And pulls.
Hard.
She barely has time to scream before she’s dragged back inside.
The wall seals behind her.
The fresh air is gone.
She’s right back where she started.
The house chuckles.
She hates it.
Attempt #79
The windows.
They’ve changed again.
No longer sewn shut with veins.
No longer watching her like they have minds of their own.
They look normal.
Like glass.
Like something she can break.
She grabs a chair.
Swings.
The window shatters.
She doesn’t wait.
She climbs.
Hands cut against the shards, blood smearing over the frame as she hauls herself over—
Just in time to see the outside twist.
Shift.
Melt into another hallway.
Another part of the house.
Another trap.
She stares.
Breathing ragged.
She had been so sure.
So damn sure.
The chair falls from her grip.
The window behind her?
It repairs itself, like nothing ever happened.
She wants to scream.
She doesn’t.
She just turns.
And starts again.
Because one day—one damn day—she’s going to win.
And when she does?
She’s going to burn this place to the ground.
Meanwhile, TF141 stand outside the house silently, monitoring it, trying to figure out if the rumors were just rumors, or if it's really as twisted as they say.