The House of Screams

Unaware of the evil stirring behind the mansion’s walls, Chris, Rebecca, and Louisa were packing in silence. The atmosphere was heavy with unease. A storm seemed to be building inside the house itself.

Chris zipped up a bag, glancing around nervously. “Where are the boys?”

Louisa shrugged. “I dunno.”

Chris looked to her, uneasy. “Do me a favour, Lou—head upstairs and grab them, will you?”

“Okay,” she replied with a smile, skipping toward the grand staircase.

Chris pulled out his phone, anxiety creeping into his chest. He dialed Scott.

From atop the fireplace mantle, Scott’s phone lit up and began to ring. The shrill tone echoed through the room, unanswered.

Chris stared at it, then slowly hung up. Voicemail.

“I just hope Scott and Faith are okay…” he muttered, more to himself than anyone.

Rebecca, kneeling beside a half-filled suitcase, looked up. “They’re fine,” she said gently, trying to reassure him.

Chris frowned. “How can you say that? How can you be so calm after everything that’s happened—after all the weirdness in this place?”

Rebecca zipped a bag with a sigh. “Do I look calm and collected, Chris? I’m barely holding it together. But freaking out won’t help anyone.”

Meanwhile, Louisa jogged down the hallway upstairs, humming softly to herself. She stopped outside the boys’ room and knocked.

“Hey, you two—pack up time! Let’s go!”

No answer.

She frowned and slowly turned the doorknob.

The door creaked open.

Inside, the light was dim and the air stank of rot and blood. Louisa stepped inside, and her eyes widened in horror.

She froze.

Bodies.

What was left of them.

The walls were painted with blood. Shadows slithered across the ceiling. Twisted shapes hunched over the torn-apart remains of the family, feeding like wild dogs—demons, glistening and slick, with eyes that glowed like molten coals.

Louisa opened her mouth.

And screamed.

“NOOOOOOOO!”

The creatures snapped their heads toward her, blood dripping from their jaws.

Louisa turned and ran, sprinting down the hallway, her feet slapping against the wooden floor.

Behind her, the demons gave chase—howling as they burst from the room.

Scott, Faith, and Trish crept through the overgrown garden toward the looming mansion. Every step forward seemed to trigger a twitch or ripple in the foliage, as though the plants themselves were watching.

The shrubs rustled around them—too deliberately to be the wind.

Trish raised a warning hand. “Stay away from the plants. They’re not what they seem.”

She pulled a small vial from her satchel and flicked holy water across the shrubs. The droplets hissed on contact. The bushes let out an eerie, high-pitched scream, then fell still—silent and inert once more.

Trish frowned and pulled out a brass compass. The dial spun wildly, unable to settle.

“Damnit!” she muttered under her breath.

Scott caught her frustration. “What’s wrong?”

“The magnetic field’s distorted—completely scrambled. I can’t find north.”

Scott scanned the garden. Years of scouts and orienteering camped deep in his muscle memory. He glanced up—no stars, no moon. A thick, churning cloud cover blotted out the sky like a lid.

He crouched, examining the grass. The blades bent subtly, angling away from the mansion as if avoiding the moonlight. The natural signs were all skewed—corrupted.

Nothing made sense.

Then, acting on instinct, Scott slammed Demonslayer into the ground. The sword hummed, a radiant white glow seeping from its hilt into the earth.

The grass blades immediately shifted—aligning with the flow of divine energy, all pointing in one unified direction. A glowing line of white light extended out from the blade like a divine compass.

“That way,” Scott said, standing up.

Faith blinked. “You sure?”

Scott gave a confident nod. “Years of scouts and orienteering—plus a flaming angel sword? Yeah, I’m sure.”

He pointed to the weather vane atop the mansion’s spire. Despite the unnatural wind, the metal pointer spun into place—true north aligning with the same direction as the sword’s light.

Faith rolled her eyes and smirked. “God, you’re such an ass sometimes.”

“What? I’m helping!”

Trish ignored their banter and focused on the structure ahead. Her eyes narrowed.

“This mansion… it’s not built like a normal house. Look.”

She pointed to the building’s layout—each corner of the mansion extended outward like the points of a compass.

“They’re mirror points. Designed to trap energy. Or channel it.”

She dropped to her knees and opened her bag. From it, she pulled out cans of spray paint mixed with salt. At each corner of the mansion, she carefully marked the ground with a ritual sigil: a circle enclosing a triangle, with a crucifix embedded at the center—all pointing toward the heart of the mansion.

“These symbols,” she said, spraying quickly, “are binding circles. They’ll trap whatever evil is inside—if we can finish them all before the portal is fully open.”

Faith looked over the glowing symbols. “So… you’re boxing in the whole house?”

“Exactly,” Trish said. “We’re going to turn this place into a prison.”

Scott tightened his grip on Demonslayer. “Then let’s move fast.”

Louisa flew down the grand staircase, her face twisted in panic, her breath ragged.

“Uncle Chris!” she screamed. “There are monsters upstairs! Everyone’s—they’re all dead!”

Chris bolted from the lounge into the foyer just as the front doors burst open. A howling gust of wind tore through the mansion like a scream from another world. The chandelier above rattled, flickering shadows dancing on the bloodstained walls.

Chris looked up, catching sight of Louisa halfway down the stairs—just as something massive and winged dropped from the ceiling.

THUMP.

“Louisa, get down!” he yelled, heart pounding.

The winged demon missed her on the first pass, slicing the air with its claws. Louisa ducked, eyes wide with terror—but before she could scream again, the demon wheeled back in one fluid motion and snatched her by the hair.

There was a crack—then a horrible rip.

Blood sprayed across the staircase. Louisa’s lifeless body collapsed backward, her head wrenched away and taken into the air.

“LOUISA!” Chris cried out in horror.

From the shadows above, glistening entrails slithered across the ceiling like living ropes, dropping down toward him, twitching and reaching. The front door slammed shut with a deafening bang, the lock twisting itself shut with a hiss.

Trapped.

Rebecca rushed into the foyer from the kitchen, her eyes darting from the gore-splattered stairs to the thing mounted above the fireplace: the Devil’s Mirror.

It was breathing.

In and out. Like it had lungs. Like it was alive.

“Chris!” she called out, frozen in place.

He grabbed her hand. “Come on!” They ran to the door.

Chris twisted the handle. It wouldn’t budge. He slammed his shoulder against it. Nothing.

“Damn thing won’t budge!” He picked up a chair. “Stand back!”

With a yell, he hurled the chair through the window beside the door. It shattered—glass exploding inward—only for the frame to regrow instantly, the shards knitting back together like living bone.

Rebecca screamed.

“We have to get out of here!”

“What do you think I’m trying to do!?” Chris shouted, eyes darting toward the upper landing.

The demon had returned. It perched on the banister above them, wings folded, its elongated face dripping with blood.

Then the entrails dropped—fast.

Like puppeteers’ strings, they wrapped around Chris and Rebecca’s limbs, lifting them off the ground.

Chris screamed in rage, swinging wildly as he dangled.

Rebecca shrieked, legs kicking, her body contorted by the writhing tendrils.

The house—alive, hungry—was not letting them go.

Scott, Faith, and Trish crept through the overgrown garden toward the looming mansion. Every step forward seemed to trigger a twitch or ripple in the foliage, as though the plants themselves were watching.

The shrubs rustled around them—too deliberately to be the wind.

Trish raised a warning hand. “Stay away from the plants. They’re not what they seem.”

She pulled a small vial from her satchel and flicked holy water across the shrubs. The droplets hissed on contact. The bushes let out an eerie, high-pitched scream, then fell still—silent and inert once more.

Trish frowned and pulled out a brass compass. The dial spun wildly, unable to settle.

“Damnit!” she muttered under her breath.

Scott caught her frustration. “What’s wrong?”

“The magnetic field’s distorted—completely scrambled. I can’t find north.”

Scott scanned the garden. Years of scouts and orienteering camped deep in his muscle memory. He glanced up—no stars, no moon. A thick, churning cloud cover blotted out the sky like a lid.

He crouched, examining the grass. The blades bent subtly, angling away from the mansion as if avoiding the moonlight. The natural signs were all skewed—corrupted.

Nothing made sense.

Then, acting on instinct, Scott slammed Demonslayer into the ground. The sword hummed, a radiant white glow seeping from its hilt into the earth.

The grass blades immediately shifted—aligning with the flow of divine energy, all pointing in one unified direction. A glowing line of white light extended out from the blade like a divine compass.

“That way,” Scott said, standing up.

Faith blinked. “You sure?”

Scott gave a confident nod. “Years of scouts and orienteering—plus a flaming angel sword? Yeah, I’m sure.”

He pointed to the weather vane atop the mansion’s spire. Despite the unnatural wind, the metal pointer spun into place—true north aligning with the same direction as the sword’s light.

Faith rolled her eyes and smirked. “God, you’re such an ass sometimes.”

“What? I’m helping!”

Trish ignored their banter and focused on the structure ahead. Her eyes narrowed.

“This mansion… it’s not built like a normal house. Look.”

She pointed to the building’s layout—each corner of the mansion extended outward like the points of a compass.

“They’re mirror points. Designed to trap energy. Or channel it.”

She dropped to her knees and opened her bag. From it, she pulled out cans of spray paint mixed with salt. At each corner of the mansion, she carefully marked the ground with a ritual sigil: a circle enclosing a triangle, with a crucifix embedded at the center—all pointing toward the heart of the mansion.

“These symbols,” she said, spraying quickly, “are binding circles. They’ll trap whatever evil is inside—if we can finish them all before the portal is fully open.”

Faith looked over the glowing symbols. “So… you’re boxing in the whole house?”

“Exactly,” Trish said. “We’re going to turn this place into a prison.”

Scott tightened his grip on Demonslayer. “Then let’s move fast.”