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9

At some point, the demon had lit a candle, and for the first time since being brought here, Byron could see the room that had become his prison. 

It was a simple room, unadorned. In the House's former life, as a normal place where normal people would live, (if it had truly ever been such a thing), the room would have acted as a sort of storage space for jackets, handyman tools, or whatever other sundry things the family had collected. 

He stood on a small footstool, painted black. The rope around his neck was nothing special, the same sort of thing you could buy at any hardware or department store in the country. It struck him as funny that such a simple thing could be his barrier, and possibly, if he wasn't careful, his vehicle to the afterlife. 

“She's coming,” the Emily demon jumped in excitement. 

It didn't sound very concerned to Byron, but then again, he wasn't an expert in reading the emotions of demons. He

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