The Devil's Mistress

Chapter 17: The Hollow Echo

Lilith’s breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as she stared at the grotesque figure looming before her. The stench of decay filled her nostrils, thick and suffocating, but it was the creature's eyes that held her paralyzed—those glowing pinpricks of light, shimmering in the darkness like embers in the heart of the abyss. They seemed to bore into her very soul, stripping away any facade of hope she had clung to.

The smile on its face—if it could be called that—was a twisted mockery of life, stretching its blood-slick lips into a sneer that revealed sharp, uneven teeth, yellowed with age. The thing moved slowly, unnervingly deliberate, its limbs cracking as though the bones inside were brittle, but the sound was wrong—wet and unnatural.

Lilith forced herself to stand, her legs trembling beneath her weight. She had to move, had to get away from the bodies, the stench, and the horror of the thing crawling toward her.

But as she took a step back, something about the creature shifted.

It stopped.

The glow in its eyes dimmed, and for a fleeting moment, Lilith saw something familiar in its expression. Not just hunger or malice, but pain—deep, hollow, and endless. The creature’s mouth opened slightly, and instead of the guttural growl she expected, a faint, broken voice echoed from its twisted form.

"Lilith…"

Her blood ran cold. It wasn’t the creature speaking—it was the voice of someone she knew. Someone she thought she had lost forever.

She stumbled backward, her mind spinning in disbelief.

"James?" Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling as though the name itself were too fragile to utter. She took another step back, her breath quickening as the creature’s form began to shift. Its grotesque shape wavered, flickering like a candle flame in the wind. The glowing eyes faded, replaced by something much more human.

Her husband’s face emerged from the darkness, pale and gaunt, his eyes hollow but unmistakable. He looked exactly as he had the day he vanished—worn and haunted, as though he had seen things no one should ever witness. His mouth moved, forming words she could barely hear over the pounding in her ears.

"You should’ve stayed away, Lilith."

She choked on a sob, her hand flying to her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes. This was impossible. James had been dead for years—she had accepted that, or so she had told herself. Yet here he was, standing before her, half-man, half-monstrosity, his voice filled with sorrow and something else—desperation.

"How—how are you here?" she stammered, her body trembling as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

His expression twisted with agony as his form began to shimmer again, the human visage slipping away, replaced by the monstrous one she had seen moments before. The thing that wore James's face was no longer recognizable—it was something else entirely. A puppet, strung along by the forces that controlled the house.

"Lilith…" the voice hissed, this time more guttural, more inhuman. "You were never supposed to return."

Her body screamed for her to run, to flee from the abomination before her, but her feet were rooted to the spot. There was something in the creature’s words, a truth she couldn’t ignore. Something had always drawn her back to the house, but not just because of its darkness. It was him. His voice. The same voice that had haunted her dreams since the day James disappeared. The house had taken him, just as it had taken her.

A new wave of terror washed over her as the truth began to crystallize in her mind. She had never been free of the house, not in the years since she left, not even when she thought she had escaped its reach. It had always been watching, waiting, manipulating her life from the shadows.

And now it had James.

Her heart pounded as she backed away, her eyes darting around the dim space. The bodies, the wet sound of movement—nothing about this place was real. It was an illusion, a twisted game orchestrated by the house. But the pain, the fear—they were real enough.

"You can’t save him." The voice was no longer James’s. It was the Mistress, speaking through the creature, through the walls, through the very air she breathed. "He belongs to me. As do you."

"No!" Lilith screamed, the sound tearing from her throat as she turned and ran. Her legs carried her through the maze of bodies and stone, her heart hammering in her chest as the walls seemed to close in around her. The darkness shifted and twisted, the air growing thicker with every step. It was as though the house was trying to swallow her whole.

As she fled, the whispers returned, swirling around her like a storm. They were louder now, sharper, filled with malice and anger. The walls groaned as though they were alive, and the ground beneath her feet trembled.

"Run, Lilith," the Mistress's voice taunted from everywhere and nowhere. "Run as far as you like. There’s no escaping me."

Lilith stumbled, her foot catching on something slick and wet. She looked down, only to see her hands and legs smeared with blood—the floor beneath her was no longer stone, but a writhing mass of flesh and bone, pulsating with sickening life. Her stomach churned as the ground shifted under her feet, grotesque shapes rising from the floor, twisted faces and bodies half-formed, their mouths open in silent screams.

She lurched forward, gasping for breath as the walls around her pulsed and twisted. The corridor stretched and shrank, warping like a nightmare come to life. And still, the whispers grew louder, each word a dagger to her mind.

She burst through an opening, finding herself in the grand foyer of the house once again, the air thick with the scent of rot and mold. The flickering light of the candle was back, casting grotesque shadows on the walls. But now the house was alive with movement—faces appeared in the windows, their hollow eyes watching her with unnerving stillness, and the walls pulsed as though they were breathing.

The front door was just ahead. It stood slightly ajar, but there was something wrong. The darkness beyond it was too deep, too absolute, as though it wasn’t an exit at all, but a void.

"You can leave, Lilith," the Mistress’s voice purred. "But at what cost?"

Her mind raced as she stared at the door. Could she escape, or was this just another trick? Another trap laid by the house? The walls trembled, the sound of grinding stone reverberating through the foyer as the house seemed to buckle under its own weight.

Behind her, the wet, slithering sound began again. The creature was coming, dragging itself toward her from the depths of the house, its pale, blood-slicked body leaving a trail behind it.

Lilith’s breath hitched as she reached for the door, her hand trembling. She had to leave—she had to get out. But as her fingers brushed the cold wood, a new sound echoed through the hall. A voice—not the Mistress’s, not the creature’s, but a soft, fragile voice she hadn’t heard in years.

"Lilith… don’t."

She froze.

It was James’s voice again, but this time it was different. There was no malice, no venom. Only sadness.

"If you leave… you'll never know the truth."

Her heart pounded in her chest, her hand hovering over the door handle. What truth? What was he talking about? Her mind spun as the house groaned and shifted around her. The creature was getting closer. She could hear it now, the wet slapping of its hands on the floor, its labored breaths echoing through the hall.

She had to make a choice.

Run and escape, or stay and face the truth she had been running from all along.

Trembling, she took a step back from the door, her mind racing as the voice whispered in her ear one last time:

"It was never just the house, Lilith. It’s always been inside you."

With that, the door slammed shut, sealing her fate.

Lilith turned to face the darkness, her heart pounding with dread. The house pulsed around her, alive with secrets and shadows, and somewhere deep within, the Mistress waited.

And this time, Lilith wasn’t running.

She was going to end it. One way or another.