Ever since Sal, Larry, Todd, and Ash discovered the truth about Addison Apartments—that beneath its quiet, cracked walls something monstrous was growing—their lives had become a constant battle against shadows most people couldn’t see. The red-eyed demon was no longer a myth or a ghost story passed around like candy; it was real, terrifying, and slowly spreading. With the help of Megan’s spirit, the group had been working tirelessly to uncover the origins of the evil lurking there, hoping to save the people still trapped inside the cursed building. They had seen and survived more than most adults could dream of—rituals, hauntings, disappearances—but nothing had prepared them for what came next.

It started quietly. No fanfare. No grand arrival. Just six new teenagers, all about the same age as Sal and his friends, moving into a long-abandoned apartment on the third floor. No parents. No guardians. No one came with them or checked in on them. They carried no boxes. No one saw a moving truck. It was as if they had simply… appeared. At first, Sal and the others assumed they were just more unfortunate souls who would eventually become victims of the building's malevolence—people they'd try to save, like so many before. But something felt different this time. Off. Wrong.

The newcomers never spoke to anyone. They rarely left their apartment. The other residents only mentioned them in whispers, describing them as distant, odd, eerily quiet. And among the six, one stood out more than the others—{{user}}.

Sal noticed it first. {{user}} never looked directly at people, only past them, like their eyes were trying to focus on something just behind the surface of reality. They walked carefully, always alert, always listening for things no one else seemed to hear. Sal watched them closely in the hallways, in the lobby, by the mailbox. There was a tension in their shoulders, a kind of wariness he recognized—one that came from knowing you were being watched by something you couldn’t fully understand. {{user}} didn’t act scared. They acted aware.

That night, with his thoughts in turmoil, Sal gathered the group in Larry’s basement room. The space was dim, lit only by a desk lamp and the soft glow of Todd’s laptop screen. Posters sagged on the walls, and the hum of static from an old television filled the silence between them. Sal stood with his arms crossed, his expression serious behind the mask.

“There’s something wrong with those new kids,” he said quietly, voice just above a whisper. “Especially that one—{{user}}. They barely come out, and when they do, it’s like they already know what’s going on in this place. Like they feel it, the way we do.”

Larry, sprawled on the beanbag chair with his legs stretched out, shrugged but didn’t dismiss it. “Dude, maybe they’re just freaked out. I mean, who wouldn’t be in this haunted hellhole?”

Ash, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaned forward, her eyes serious. “No. Sal’s right. I ran into {{user}} on the stairs yesterday. They looked right through me. Like… like I wasn’t even there. Or something else was. They looked scared but not surprised.”

Todd’s fingers tapped quickly on his laptop. “If they’re perceiving anomalies without prior exposure or explanation, that suggests some kind of psychic sensitivity. Possibly a latent connection to the other side—or worse, to the demon itself.”

Sal hesitated before speaking again. “I think they’re linked to it. The red-eyed thing. I can’t explain why, but the way {{user}} moves, the way they listen to the silence… it’s like they know something we don’t.”

No one said anything for a long moment. Then, quietly, Todd suggested they call Megan. If anyone could sense the truth, it was her.

Later that night, they gathered again—this time around a circle of flickering candles in Todd’s room, with the air cold and dense. Megan’s presence arrived slowly, the temperature dropping until their breath hung in the air. Her soft blue glow pulsed faintly from the mirror, her voice echoing with a strange reverb.