Backrooms Entity Novels & Stories

Then was right back at it. "Who the fuck comes on comma—" I couldn't even finish my sentence as I grasped for his blankets, my back lifting off the bed, an intense orgasm rolling through my body. His fingers and tongue drew my soul out of me as I shuddered, a loud scream escaping my lips. And he wouldn't stop. He just kept going, forcing more orgasms out of me. By the end, I had lost count of how many times the sensation had ripped through my body, leaving me half-numb. "Baby, I want you to remember that every time you even think about looking at a human again." I panted, barely able to move. "Now, come on, put your panties on and let's go back downstairs." He turned to move toward the door.

I should've gone back then and there, but I had time on my side and nothing else better to do. I walked through the curtain as If I were a ghost. The bluish white walls were gone, still bright, but washed out. I could've walked through every wall here, but it felt wrong, so I walked the hall like I would have if I'd been there in person. Hazed holograms of living people dotted the place, hovering on the spot or moving along, going about their morning errands. Some of them I recognised. Sean and Kyle, two of Burney's friends, even Big Jim walked past.

Nathan tried to speak, but his mouth just opened and closed like a fish. Instead, Junto saved him. “They're called Spiritwalkers. They can only live in the darkness, so they only come at night. They drain the powers of the supernatural beings, then the drained becomes one of them. They mostly go after foreseers, seen as though they are the most powerful and the weakest of the supernatural world, but sometimes they go after the others as well.” I processed this information quickly so I can keep on track. “So, why were they after Derek?”

Heaven knew that if my card were alright, I would have boarded a taxi that would take me to the hotel rather than ride in this car with Dante. "Morgan, I..." My phone began to buzz. "Hey. Winston." I felt butterflies in my stomach at his call. Had I been unknowingly waiting for his call throughout this trip? "Morgan. How was the meeting?" Without looking at Dante it caring about what it was he had to say, I got into the car. "Glad it's over." I responded. "Rosewood Enterprise now has a supplier for their latest project. " I sang. "You sound so happy about it."

A bunch of assorted boards and beams rested against the wall in the corner between the boiler and the left wall. In the kitchen that still hadn’t been renovated, Brandon Price faced the wingman’s handheld cam to say they were about to investigate the basement, where rumor had it an evil entity was lurking, that wasn’t there for their previous investigation. He would go down ahead of the others, all by himself, to see if he was able to make contact with said entity, which he suspected to be of a demonic nature. “The brave dear leader,” I grunted. “Purposely.” “You mean he came already planning to get rid of his attachment here?”

The wallpaper is stained and peeling, and a smear of black mould has been worn into the wooden floorboards, covered half-heartedly with a thread-bare rug. Ironically, this place reminds me of how recently it was that my body still lived. My consciousness might have arrived from three decades in the future, when I was a full-fledged vampire, but this body is still a newborn. Parts of my physical form still hold echoes of a mortal life, and those parts riot upon finding themselves back in this horrid establishment of death.

He stared at me like I’d done something unforgivable. Then, he lunged forward, grabbed my wrist so hard it hurt, and yelled hoarsely, “Zoe, why did you fake your death? Do you know you nearly scared me half to death? I always believed you wouldn’t die so easily. You’re strong. You love life–” His face went guarded as he scanned the room. “How did you sneak in? Most people don’t have access to Salvador Corporation’s building. I had to work my ass off to get here.”

“You have five minutes.” Damien nodded. “That’s all I need.” She let him in. The house was small but warm. Family photos lined the walls. School drawings and finger paintings adorned the fridge. There was life here—real, imperfect, beautiful life. It was nothing like the sterile penthouse Damien returned to each night. He stood in the hallway, listening to Camila’s soft humming from the next room, and for the first time in years, Damien Carrington felt… human. “You can sit,” Teresa said, pointing to the couch.

She began to rewrite the local physics. The floorboards under the Executioner’s feet didn't just break; they transformed into liquid mercury, then into clouds of stinging hornets, then into jagged shards of pure memory. She was throwing the "bugs" she had harvested over ten years directly into the Executioner’s processing core. The entity flickered. For a microsecond, its perfect white form turned a muddy, bruised purple. "INCOHERENT," the Executioner pulsed, its golden mouth-slit widening. "LOGIC IS ABSOLUTE. YOU ARE... NOISE."

"You're Spencer Quill, the one managing the encryption keys all along?" I nodded calmly. "Yes, that's me." Gary glanced at everyone before barking, "Come to the office with me! I need to talk to you!" Chester raised his head high and shot me a smug look, mouthing, "You're done." I merely glanced at him before shutting the door. The next second, Gary dropped to his knees in front of me with a thud.