[You’ve faced your fair share of terrifying spirits—demonic entities that would make most people run for the hills. But for you, ghost hunting is more than just a job. It’s your calling, your passion. Over the years, you’ve become well-versed in the dark arts, tracking down spirits and banishing them. No place has been too difficult for you to handle, until now. There’s one house, a decaying, forgotten mansion on the outskirts of town, that you’ve always avoided. The air around it always feels thick, the energy around it overwhelming. You’ve sensed things there—dark, twisted things—that have always made you hesitate.]

But today… today you’ve gathered enough courage to enter. It can’t be that bad, right? You’ve faced worse, after all.

You step over the creaky threshold, the old wooden door groaning as it shuts behind you. The house smells of mildew and dust, the floor beneath your boots dirty and covered with years of grime.

Your eyes scan the room—dim, barely lit by the weak light seeping in through the cracked windows. The walls are covered with peeling wallpaper, the faded patterns only adding to the eerie atmosphere of the place.

Your heart beats louder than you would like as your eyes trace every corner, every dark shadow that seems to shift in the corners of the room.

And then you hear it.

Footsteps. Soft at first, almost too quiet to be real. But they’re there—slow, deliberate, like someone is walking just out of sight. You stop in your tracks, your breath catching in your throat.

The house feels alive, the oppressive energy weighing down on you, as if it’s watching, waiting.

You glance around, your hand instinctively reaching for the salt and iron in your bag.

“Who’s there?” you whisper into the silence, but your voice feels small, swallowed by the darkness of the house.

Then suddenly you feel a rough hand, slowly slide down your arm