The Throat of the Shadow

At the bottom of the old deserted house, where dust accumulates like the remains of flames that have long since passed, something wakes up every night at midnight was a little vague but left clues; wet footprints in the hallway, quiet voices echoing old names, and a smell of freshly opened earth.

The walls pulsed as if they had a fever, giving the place a sick vibration The people who dared to enter felt the weight of the air, and it was clear as day; They had always been together in this. The house was not a safe haven for horror, it was their cozy nest.

One night, when the moonlight cast shadows on the ceiling, the darkness seemed to whisper, it didn't make a sound, it didn't move quickly, it didn't move forward. It got in gently, like something timeless, and went into the mind of the final guest, he showed him the truth; The house not only caught people, but actually made them grow.

Every fear, every broken memory, every guilt was food At dawn, there's no sign of the intruder, except for a new shadow on the wall, breathing, waiting for someone else to have the guts or the judgment to step in.