The Inheritance

Chapter Fifteen - The Breaking Point

The conversation with his mother lingered in Mike's mind as he spiraled further into the grip of the haunting. Her helplessness mirrored his own, and the realization that there might not be an escape weighed heavily on him. The haunting wasn't just some external force—it was in his blood, woven into the fabric of his family's history. There was no way to separate himself from it.

But he couldn't live like this. He couldn't keep running from the shadows, the voices. The haunting had consumed his life, and if he didn't stop it, he knew it would destroy him the way it had destroyed his grandfather.

The answer, he thought, was still in the house. Abraham Dunn's letter, the desperate warning to destroy the house, had to mean something. It was the only clue he had, and as terrifying as the thought was, Mike knew he had to go back.

That night, Mike drove out to the house at the edge of town once more. The moon hung low in the sky, casting eerie shadows over the dilapidated structure as he parked his car. His hands trembled as he stepped out, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. The air was thick with the weight of the unseen, and Mike could feel the presence of the shadows lurking just beyond the edges of his vision.

He approached the house, the door creaking open as he stepped inside. The interior was just as he had left it—dark, silent, and oppressive. But this time, the sense of being watched was stronger, more tangible. The shadows seemed to move with purpose now, swirling around him as he made his way deeper into the house.

Mike stopped in the center of the living room, clutching the letter from Abraham Dunn in his hand. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the fireplace, where old, charred remnants of wood lay in disarray.

He had brought gasoline with him, the weight of the can heavy in his grip. He knew what he had to do. He needed to burn the house, just as Abraham had instructed.

But as he moved to pour the gasoline over the floor, the shadows surged toward him, swirling faster, darker. The room seemed to close in on itself, the air thick with a presence that pressed down on him from all sides.

"You won't escape."

The voice was back, louder than ever. It echoed in his mind, reverberating through his body as the shadows closed in.

Mike's hands shook, the can slipping from his grasp as the weight of the haunting bore down on him. His knees buckled, and he fell to the floor, gasping for air as the shadows engulfed him.

He tried to move, tried to scream, but his body was frozen, paralyzed beneath the crushing weight of the darkness. The figures loomed over him, their voices rising in a cacophony of whispers.

"It's your turn, Mike."

His mind screamed, but his body wouldn't obey. The shadows pressed closer, colder, until they seemed to seep into his very skin.

And then, everything went still.

Mike jolted awake, gasping for air, his body drenched in sweat. He was no longer in the house. He was back in his apartment, sitting upright in bed. His heart raced, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he looked around the room.

The shadows were gone.

Had it been a dream? A hallucination?

Or had he somehow escaped?