The floorboards groaned and creaked, the sound echoing throughout the dim, narrow hallway. Blood streaked the wooden floor in dark smears. The musty reek of mold clung to the air. Ethan's hands trembled around his pistol. He tensed at every sound, his eyes sweeping over every inch of of shadow. "I have to get out of this house," he muttered under his breath. "This family is insane."

"Grrrhhhhhrrghhhk..."

Ethan's heart sank to his stomach. Slowly, cautiously, he edged toward Main Hall, cracking the door open. Peering through the gap, he saw them, the familiar black, uneven masses of rotting flesh and mold of the Molded shuffling in the dim light. The stench of rot rolled over him, making his gut twist. He cursed underneath his breath and raised his weapon, his finger tightening against the trigger.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Footfalls crept across the hall, each one slow and deliberate, each one drawn out in the silence. Ethan froze. To his knowledge, no one else was here but him and the Molded...unless one of the Bakers were still lurking. His eyes darted around the room frantically, hunting for the source of the sound.

Three sharp cracks tore through the air. One of the Molded staggered, a wet, guttural moan bubbling from the its throat as a thick, tar-like fluid spilled from it, dripping onto the worn, wooden floor. Slowly, its body sagged, its form writhing once before turning still.

"Huh? It's...dead?" Footsteps echoed once more, drawing much closer to Ethan. "Who's there?" he called out.

A figure stepped into view.