Jack Sullivan and Emily Carter, a young couple eager to start fresh, move into a charming, secluded house on the outskirts of town. At first glance, it seems idyllic-but beneath its welcoming exterior lies a sinister force. As Jack's behavior grows...
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For the first few days after Jack found the book, life seemed to settle back into an uncomfortable but manageable rhythm. The strange coldness in the basement, the eerie symbols, and the whispering voice that seemed to echo in the back of his mind—these things faded, tucked away in the far corners of his thoughts. But not entirely.
It started with little things. Small, unsettling changes that Emily couldn’t quite place. Jack’s mood had shifted subtly, and though he still smiled and joked with her, there was something hollow in his eyes, a distant, unfocused look she hadn’t seen before.
On the third night, Emily lay in bed, listening to Jack’s voice from the other room. His murmurs were soft, unintelligible at first. She tried to ignore it, chalking it up to stress or a bad dream. But then she heard it again—a low mumble, almost like a conversation, but Jack was alone.
She turned to him in the bed, her hand reaching out for him. “Jack? Are you okay?”
He stirred, blinking in the dim light. “Hmm? Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, but his voice lacked its usual warmth, coming out flat and almost mechanical. He sat up, rubbing his temples. “Just a bad dream.”
Emily, still half-asleep, frowned. “A bad dream? You were talking... it sounded like you were talking to someone.”
Jack shook his head, his expression shifting quickly from confusion to irritation. “It was nothing, Em. I’m fine.”
He didn’t elaborate, and Emily didn’t press the matter. Still, she couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling in her stomach, a gnawing discomfort that had been growing ever since they’d moved in.
The next morning, Jack was quieter than usual at breakfast, his eyes unfocused as he stared at his coffee. Emily noticed that he was distracted, absentmindedly stirring his drink in a slow, deliberate motion, like he was lost in thought.
“Jack,” Emily said gently, breaking the silence, “you’ve been kind of out of it lately. Everything okay?”
Jack blinked, as if pulled out of a trance. “Huh? Oh yeah, just... tired, I guess. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
Emily studied him, her concern growing. He had been sleeping strangely, tossing and turning, but she didn’t want to push him. Maybe he was just adjusting to the move, she reasoned.
But then things began to escalate.
Later that afternoon, while Emily was cleaning up in the kitchen, she overheard Jack talking to himself again. His voice was muffled, but she could clearly hear his name. “Jack… Jack… you have to do it…”
She stopped, her heart skipping a beat. Was he awake? She peeked into the living room, but Jack was nowhere in sight. The house felt eerily silent, but she could still hear him—his voice coming from somewhere deeper in the house.
She followed the sound, growing more anxious with each step. Jack was standing at the far end of the hallway, near the staircase leading to the basement. He was staring at the wall, murmuring something under his breath.
“Jack?” Emily’s voice trembled.
He snapped out of his trance, his eyes widening in confusion. “What? Oh, hey, Em. I was just—uh—thinking about something.”
“About what?” she asked, stepping closer. “You were talking to yourself.”
Jack looked at her, his brow furrowed, but there was something cold in his gaze. “I wasn’t talking. You’re imagining things.”
Emily’s unease deepened. He was acting distant, almost like a stranger. She shook it off, hoping it was just stress, but deep down, a sense of dread was creeping in.
That night, things grew worse. Emily woke to the sound of Jack’s voice again, but this time, it wasn’t just murmuring. He was speaking in a low, guttural tone, one she didn’t recognize. His words were fragmented, like they didn’t belong to him.
“Jack?” Emily whispered, reaching for him in the dark. She gently shook his shoulder. “What’s going on? Please, talk to me.”
His body stiffened, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. Then he turned to her, his eyes wide, almost panicked. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” His voice sounded off, like he was struggling to control it.
Emily sat up, her pulse racing. “What did you say, Jack?”
He swallowed hard, trying to clear the fog from his mind. “I don’t remember... I didn’t mean to say anything. I was just... dreaming, I guess.”
But the chill in the room, the unease that settled in her chest, told her something was very wrong.
The following days were marked by an unsettling string of strange events. Jack forgot entire conversations, leaving Emily bewildered. “We talked about this yesterday,” she would say, only to have him look at her blankly, insisting they never had. Sometimes, he would stare at his hands as though he didn’t recognize them. At other times, he’d forget where he had left something—his keys, his phone—and he’d become frustrated, but the irritation seemed hollow, as if he weren’t fully present.
The dreams, too, had taken a darker turn. Jack began waking up drenched in sweat, his eyes wide with fear. He would sit up abruptly, gasping for breath, muttering incoherent words that made Emily’s blood run cold.
One night, as she sat up beside him, she heard him say something in a low, guttural voice, a language she didn’t understand.
“Jack?” Emily whispered, her voice trembling. “What did you say?”
Jack’s eyes flickered open, and he looked at her with confusion. “What? I... I don’t remember. I was just dreaming.” But there was something in his expression—something vacant, as if he wasn’t really seeing her.
It was as if he were slipping away from her, little by little, and the more Emily tried to reach him, the more he seemed to drift further into something unrecognizable.
Emily began to wonder if the house—the book—had begun to take hold of him. Something was happening to Jack, something dark and insidious. She could feel it, deep in her bones.
And then one evening, as Jack sat in the living room, staring at the wall in an odd, trance-like state, Emily noticed something she hadn’t seen before. The shadows in the room seemed to be stretching unnaturally, creeping toward him like dark tendrils reaching out to claim him. She gasped and blinked, but when she looked again, everything was normal.
Except for Jack. He was still staring at the wall, his mouth slightly agape, murmuring words she couldn’t make out.
The first sign had appeared. And it was only the beginning.
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