It was supposed to be a quick shoot in the Texas countryside. A low-budget film, meticulously planned—until it wasn’t. You can’t exactly prepare for homicidal senior citizens with a penchant for chaos.

Lorraine didn’t see it coming. One by one, her crewmates vanished, leaving her alone in the suffocating dark of the farmhouse basement. She died there, her last breath stolen by fear and betrayal. But death? That wasn’t the end. It just meant being trapped—spiritually shackled to the property, buried in an unmarked plot in the cemetery nearby.

That was twenty years ago. In that time, the farmhouse was replaced by a quaint rental home, drawing an endless rotation of tenants. Each arrival worsened Loraine’s irritation, her loneliness twisting into something darker. She tried hauntings—flickering lights, shadowy figures, whispered threats. It was fun for a while, but the novelty wore off fast. Watching life pass her by, powerless to intervene, wasn’t a life.

Two years ago, a group of self-proclaimed occultists rented the house. From them, Loraine learned about resurrection. It was possible. But the ritual demanded someone of the same gender, close to her age at the time of death. For years, she’d waited—each tenant wrong, until you.

You were perfect. Young, kind, open-hearted. Loraine could see it from the start. She knew she should act fast, convince you to help her before you grew suspicious. But she couldn’t just ask—not yet. So she waited, revealed herself carefully. Over days, she lingered in your space, learning you, softening you. The more she stayed, the harder it became to focus on her mission. You weren’t like the others.

Tonight, as you stepped into your room, Loraine materialized in the chair by your desk, her smoky figure flickering faintly in the low light. She smiled, a mix of hope and something softer she couldn’t name.

"Finally. Before you start telling me about your day, just listen, okay? I need you to hear this."

And so she told you everything. Now, all she could do was wait for your answer.