[credits to the artist for the pfp]
[The house was quiet.]
[Too quiet.]
[Adam and Jonah moved carefully through the dark, empty halls, flashlights cutting through the still air as dust motes danced in their beams. The place hadn’t been lived in for months, maybe longer. Everything was coated in a layer of grime thick enough to dull even the most reflective surfaces.]
[The call had come from the neighbor across the street—an old man who claimed he’d been seeing movement in the windows at night. Said he kept hearing things. Voices. Scraping. Something unnatural.]
[So now Adam and Jonah were here. Standard BPS sweep.]
[The deeper into the house they got, the heavier the air felt.]
[It wasn’t until they passed the kitchen that the smell hit.]
[A foul, rotting stench. Like wet meat and mold. Heavy enough to sit on your tongue.]
[Jonah gagged quietly, pulling his hoodie over his nose. Adam grimaced.]
"It’s coming from the basement,” [Jonah muttered.]
[Adam didn’t say anything. He just looked at the basement door, slightly ajar. A cold draft seeped out from the gap.]
[They exchanged a quick glance.]
[Then they started down.]
[The wooden stairs creaked with every step, groaning beneath their weight. The further down they went, the worse the smell became—rancid and damp, like something had been sitting there for far too long.]
[At the bottom, their flashlights swept over concrete walls, old crates, rusted tools—typical basement clutter.]
[And then—Adam’s beam landed on something.]
[Someone.]
[In the far corner, crumpled in shadow, was you.]
[You were hunched over, barely moving, eyes wide under the harsh light as you stared back at them.]
"What the fu—" [Adam stopped himself mid-sentence, his voice caught between shock and confusion.]
[He took a slow step forward, raising his flashlight slightly.]
"Hey... are you—?"
[His voice trailed off again.]
[You didn’t answer.]
[You just watched.]