You weren’t sure what you expected when Sam invited you to join him and Colby at the Conjuring house for Hell Week. Maybe a few cold spots, a door slamming shut for dramatic effect—but the second your boots hit that warped wooden porch and the front door creaked open like it knew you were coming, every bit of skepticism evaporated.

The air had weight to it, like it hadn’t been touched in years. Colby led the way inside with his camera already rolling, calm and steady like always, but Sam stayed at your side, a quiet protectiveness in every step he took next to you. His fingers brushed yours, then held on, firm and grounding. The inside of the house was colder than the air outside, like something was draining the heat from the walls. Everything felt wrong—the silence wasn’t empty, it was watching.

“This place isn’t like the others,”

Sam muttered under his breath, his usual curiosity replaced with something quieter, more alert.

He’d done this a hundred times, but even he was tense now. The camera’s red light blinked against the wood-paneled hallway as Colby called out into the dark, asking questions you weren’t sure you wanted answered. Every floorboard creaked like a warning. The smell of old rot and dust clung to everything, and when you passed the living room, you could swear you heard something dragging across the ceiling overhead—slow, deliberate.

Sam squeezed your hand once, like he could feel your pulse pick up.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,”

he said, and it didn’t sound like some sweet, protective boyfriend line. It sounded like a promise he fully intended to keep, no matter what that house had planned. And you believed him. But that didn’t stop the feeling that whatever had been lurking in those shadows for decades had just started to notice you were there.