31 Frights of October

Tainted Invitation

The town of Saint Briar's Grove had always been unremarkable, a speck of old cobblestone streets and swaying willows tucked between two great cities. Most people passed through without a second glance. But it wasn't the town they should've been looking at—it was the woods that surrounded it, thick and ancient, twisting with history that no one ever spoke of, at least not openly.

The elders would warn in low voices about the forests, but even they didn't dare speak about the house. No one acknowledged its existence, though everyone felt it looming just past the treeline, the scent of damp earth and something sharper—like copper—clinging to the air. It had stood there for centuries, untouched, uninviting, yet always...waiting.

Tonight, however, there was a change. An invitation.

A sliver of moonlight sliced through the overcast sky as if summoned for a single purpose: to illuminate a letter at the foot of Dorian Oakes's bed. He hadn't heard anyone come in; the doors and windows had been locked. Yet, there it was—an envelope sealed with wax, unmarked except for a single word written in old, spidery ink.

Tonight.

There was no signature, no sign of who sent it or how it arrived. Dorian hesitated, his fingers trembling slightly as they grazed the edge of the paper. He was no stranger to the strange; Saint Briar's Grove had a pulse to it, a dark, irregular heartbeat that he'd felt since childhood. But this...this was different.

It had been years since anyone had spoken of the house beyond the trees. Years since the last disappearance.

Still, curiosity gnawed at him like an insistent hunger. His heart pounded in time with the soft creak of floorboards as he dressed in the stillness of his room, pulling on his boots and a jacket too thin for the October chill. The letter sat heavy in his pocket as he left, a decision already made.

He was going.

—

The woods felt alive beneath his feet, every snap of twigs beneath his boots echoing louder than it should, as though the forest itself was following him. The trees were skeletal in the moonlight, their branches curling toward him like claws. Dorian kept his eyes ahead, but the feeling of being watched crawled along the back of his neck, prickling his skin.

The house appeared suddenly, as if it had been waiting just out of sight, crouched between the trees. The structure was old, its wooden boards rotted in places, the windows like darkened eyes set deep into the skull of its frame.

There was no warmth to it, no light inside to suggest life, yet the door creaked open as he approached, a yawning invitation into its belly.

Dorian swallowed hard, his breath a thin cloud in the cold air, before stepping over the threshold.

The inside was worse than he'd imagined—an eerie quiet smothered everything, layers of dust thick enough to choke on. The smell hit him first, sharp and chemical, like rot mixed with something faintly sweet. He gagged, pulling his sleeve to his nose, but there was no escaping the scent. It coated the walls, soaked into the wood.

Still, he pressed on, deeper into the house, down a hallway that seemed to stretch endlessly. Every step echoed, hollow, as if the floorboards themselves had forgotten how to support the weight of the living.

And then, at the end of the hall, a door.

It was different from the rest—newer somehow, with no visible signs of decay. He didn't have to open it. He knew, instinctively, what was on the other side.

But the invitation...

Before he could think, his hand was on the doorknob, turning.

The room beyond was nothing like the rest of the house. It was pristine, with velvet curtains drawn back to reveal a large, dining table draped in blood-red cloth. Candles flickered in golden holders, their flames casting long, eerie shadows across the room.