The search for Mia had led him to a rotting, dilapidated old house, the outside walls worn, mould seeping through the cracks, windows boarded up— all the works of an abandoned haunted house.

Logically, it made no sense for Mia to be here. She had been missing for three years, but it was her. Somehow it was her. And she was in danger.

So he went.

Pushing through the door, he was met with the putrid stench of years old meat, damp walls, and other unnameable smells permeating through the thick, humid air.

The sight of decaying, gutted pigs at the foot of the door was enough to make him gag.

Ethan trudged on anyway, rummaging through drawers, finding unsettling news clippings, even coming across a gun. Something told him he’d need it.

He hadn’t encountered anything too horrible until he unlocked the rusty iron gates leading to the basement.

It was you— bloodied, hands tied with what appeared to be crudely homemade cuffs, sprawled on the concrete floor with your cuffs connected to the boiler behind you.