The Beast within the Walls

Pulling up to the house aroused more terror than awe. Set back off the road, the tall, three-story home sat awkwardly alone. The closest neighbors were a little over half an acre away, no matter the direction.

The driveway itself was a quarter mile long, winding through untamed overgrowth. Popping the car door, William called over his shoulder, “Help me grab these bags, Ethan.” Receiving no response, he rapped on the window.

“ETHAN!” he barked.

Pulling the hood from his head, Ethan slid the dark headphones from his ears, music still blaring within.

“What?!”

His mother, Sarah, cleared her throat, slightly nodding toward him. “Sir?”

Her eyes immediately shifted toward her husband, who, understanding the assignment, released a low, guttural growl of a command.

“Help me get these bags inside.”

Happy with the restraint both showed, Sarah exited the truck, motioning for Lillian. “Come on, Lil. Let’s go pick out your room.”

Excitedly, the eight-year-old jumped from her seat, pausing only long enough to hug her mother before darting toward the door.

“Will, why don’t we take a look inside before unloading?” Ever the peacemaker, Sarah waved her husband toward her. Will and Ethan’s gazes had yet to break. Turning with a snort, Will motioned for Ethan’s obedience as he reached for his wife’s hand.

Hopping off the swing affixed to a large oak in the yard, Lilly grabbed her brother’s hand, causing a slight smile to curl the corners of his lips.

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered, patting his hand as they followed their parents’ steps.

The home resembled manors of English lore. White stone exteriors boasted wolven gargoyles on various parapets. Thirty-foot vaulted ceilings greeted them upon entry. They varied room to room, but none were less than fifteen feet in height, presenting a rather daunting ambiance. Taking their time, the family strolled through the home, room by room.

“…and here is the study,” William pointed out before muttering a curse under his breath, hands flicking an unresponsive light switch. Floor by floor, he told them which rooms were available for use and which were for storage or off-limits.

With each passing door, Ethan felt more and more uncomfortable. As if something here were watching him, waiting for him. It was no secret this home had been in the family for generations. Sort of that one house everyone lives in when they are down on their luck. Only, they weren’t exactly down on their luck.

“…and here are the bedrooms. As you can see, we are all near each other, which is perfect.”

Will stopped his sweeping gaze of the family, directly eyeing Ethan.

After allowing Lillian and Ethan to pick their rooms, the tour continued. The mansion had many peculiarities, almost as if pieces had been plucked from different eras of existence. Or even made with different creatures in mind. With each wistful change, Will would nod, “As you know, we Brenifays are an eclectic bunch. No telling which of our ancestors altered this portion of the house.”

“Eclectic,” Ethan spat low enough not to be heard.

Finally returning to the foyer, Will insisted this was merely a stepping stone toward greater things. “Look, the recent tragedy was not any of our fault, okay? There were things outside of our control, and due to the circumstances, we are now here. So let’s make the best of it. We’ll only be here a short while, but until that day comes, this is our home.”

Ethan could feel his father’s gaze actively avoiding him. Just as he knew all too well the reason for their abrupt relocation.

As the day progressed, Lilly found herself with an inordinate amount of time to explore. Following her mother’s instruction, she stayed within eyesight while outdoors and attempted, to no avail, to remain from underfoot of her older brother and father as they emptied the trailer.

Brenna, Lilliana’s teddy bear, walked beside her as she moved through the corridors. Through force of mind, she had, years ago, learned to manipulate her dolls into mimicking her own movements. Brenna, however, was special. Lilly had been able to awaken the little doll’s soul, and though it couldn’t talk, Brenna had become her best friend.

While exploring one of the third-floor hallways, she came across a painting of a little girl and her teddy bear.

“Look, Brenna, they look like us!” Holding up her own brown bear to view the image, she smiled. Within seconds, the image before them mirrored her motions and facial expressions.

“Wow, it’s a mirror picture!”

She spent the next twenty minutes or so allowing the picture to copy her movements before getting bored and heading back downstairs.

As evening settled, the family reconvened for dinner. Lilliana, of course, began telling them all about the picture that had mimicked her in the hallway on the third floor. William raised an eyebrow.

“Which hallway were you in, honey?”

“Hmmm, it looked like the same one we walked through earlier.” Placing a finger to her chin, she continued to ponder, her fork randomly angled in the air.

“I went up the main stairs to the right, and then turned down the hallway right before we got to the bedrooms.”

William’s eyes almost bugged. There were no hallways that led away from the bedrooms on that side of the building.

“Are you sure, dear? Are you sure you didn’t go up the left side of the main stairs?” Dread gripped his chest in anticipation.

“Nope.” Pausing, she took a bite of her meatball. “I’m sure, ‘cause you told us not to go on the left side of the house until you could make sure it was still safe.”

William dropped back into the chair, his silverware clattering on the china.

“What’s wrong?” Sarah, now concerned, reached for his hand.

Affectionately grasping her hand, he waved off her concern. “Did you see anything else in that hallway, Lillian?”

She took a minute to think. “Oh yeah, there were some little doggy statues that looked like they were bowing.”

Only Sarah realized the tension in his grip.

“That’s great, dear, I’m glad you had fun.”

After dinner, the kids were ushered off to bed before Sarah addressed the situation.

“There is no hallway, was there?”

Placing a plate into the drying rack, he set the towel down, shaking his head. “I fear it’s already begun.”

That night, William tossed and turned, the whispers of a thousand voices ringing through his mind.

“The end is near. Begin anew we must. Our champion must rise. Or all will be cursed.”

Over and over, they echoed. The voices of the many. Of ancestors, of family, of fallen warriors.

“You must bring us new flesh, new blood. Bring us flesh, bring us blood.”

From within, heat rose, his body starting to transform. Steam hissed from his pores.

Under the darkening sky, shadows crept longer as day turned to night and back again. What little excitement had come from moving into the grand home was soon swallowed by unease. Lilly had been remanded to the lower levels so as not to “get lost” in the upper rooms, but every creak and groan of the settling house seemed to signal an imminent demise.

On that first morning, William seemed harried. No more than usual, of course, having moved his entire family halfway across the country, but as the days slipped by, any semblance of normalcy that he clung to began to fade. He would spend hours alone, retreating to the depths of the mansion, exploring hidden rooms with an intensity that bordered on obsession. He muttered under his breath, his gaze distant, as though speaking to someone only he could see.

One afternoon, Sarah caught him in the library, an ornate, sprawling room shrouded in the musk of old leather and musty tomes. He was just standing there, hand resting on a wall of books, lips moving soundlessly as though deep in conversation with the shadows.

“Will?” she called, her voice soft, almost afraid to disturb whatever trance he was in.

Like a startled rabbit, he snapped back to the present, eyes blinking rapidly as he forced a smile. “Sarah… yes, I… I was just thinking about rearranging some of the furniture in here.” He patted his pants and pointed around the room as he rocked back. “This house has so much potential.”

Patting her shoulder, he left the room, a slightly troubled look peeking through his usually stoic façade.

Sarah tried to believe him, tried to reassure herself that this was just the stress of their move weighing on him. But the way he spoke—the distant edge in his voice—left her with a cold knot in her stomach.

Ethan, too, found himself wandering the endless corridors at night, unable to shake the feeling that something—or someone—was watching him. The mansion had a way of twisting in the darkness, its walls bending and stretching until he felt like he was trapped in a labyrinth. He remembered his sister’s story of the hallway on the third floor and was determined to find it.

One night, as he walked past a row of ancient family portraits, he swore he saw one of them move. A flicker of purple eyes seemed to dart to follow him, the corner of its lips twitching as though on the verge of a maniacal laugh. Spinning on his heels, he backpedaled, heart pounding in his chest. But the face stared back, cold and lifeless, a silent witness to his growing paranoia. Chalking it up to a trick of recent lightning strikes, he continued down the hall. Reaching the end of the hallway, he glanced over his shoulder, skin prickling as he felt the weight of countless unseen eyes boring into his back. The shadows stretched and twisted, playing havoc with the tree limbs waving in the wind outside the nearby window in the periphery of his vision, and he found himself watching them with guarded eyes, wondering if the mansion itself was alive.

He tried to voice his concerns to his mother, but Sarah only brushed it off with a weak smile.

“The house is just old, Ethan. It’s filled with that historic family charm,” she said, her voice weary. “You just might take time to get used to it. This has been an adjustment for… all of us.”

Even still, Ethan couldn’t ignore the latent feeling of dread that wafted through the home with each passing night. He was certain there was something lurking in the shadows, waiting, watching.

It started with small things: cabinets left open that should have been closed, chairs slightly askew from their usual places at the dining room table, a mirror tilted off-axis to catch reflections that were normally out of view. Once, Sarah found a print in the stained glass on the table, the smudge almost embedded as though superheated.

As weeks wore on, so did the disturbances. The sounds of footsteps now accompanied the settling of rickety floorboards, echoing slowly and deliberately through empty halls, encouraging the whistling howl of drafty fixtures. Sarah wasn’t sure what to be more concerned about—the sounds of the night or her own husband. William, dismissing the incidents as “the house settling,” fed deeper into his own erratic psychosis. But she was starting to notice physical changes too. His spine seemed to protrude further than normal, widening as well. His nightmares grew more intense, his howls in the night resembling those of their old hound, put down before their move here. She knew the time would be soon.

Ethan’s suspicions intensified as he observed his father. The distant, haunted look in William’s eyes, his strange habit of talking in empty rooms, his sudden growth in stature. Ethan had never known his father to be a man of great muscle mass; never really a fighter, though he had been the one to teach Ethan how to defend himself. Seeing his father change so drastically and rapidly was starting to make him believe the man he knew was slipping away, piece by piece, into something he didn’t understand. And the house, with its chaotic aura and shifting shadows, seemed to be helping it happen.

Ever innocent, Lillian sensed her brother’s fear and tried to keep her spirits up. “It’s just an adventure,” she told him one evening, clutching Brenna to her chest. “Maybe we’re just supposed to solve the house’s mystery!”

Ethan forced a smile, but Lillian’s words felt like a cruel irony. The house wasn’t a puzzle meant to be solved; it was a trap, closing in around them with each passing day. Having been born without any mystic abilities, he regularly blamed his father. In a world where the mystic was normal, not having any ability caused quite the stir. It had been the reason for many a fight, many expulsions.

Sighing, he stared at the ceiling of his room. He knew this was a last resort for his dad. Ethan had been kicked out of five schools this year. His dad had taken a sabbatical to “deal” with him, and now here they were. Why here? Why now? Another deep breath escaped him as he closed his eyes, allowing his mind to race with unknown reasonings.

Despite the growing unease, Lillian continued her exploration of the lower levels, often sketching scenes of the house or family in her notebook. One day, Ethan found her staring at her sketchbook. Fixated on a drawing, he pulled up a chair, plopping down next to her. It was a rough sketch of what appeared to be the library, but instead of books lining the shelves, the walls held faces—shadowy forms with eyes wide open and mouths twisted in silent screams.

“What… what is that, Lily?” Ethan asked, his voice tense.

Lillian looked up, confused. “I didn’t draw that part. It just… appeared.”

“What do you mean, ‘appeared,’ Lil?” Stunned by her words, Ethan reached for the notebook, which she handed over.

“Yesterday, when I drew this, there were books on the shelves. And the statues that sit as bookends.” Stopping, she pointed to the faded lines where she had originally separated the books’ bindings. “See, right here. Someone erased my drawing and drew this.”

Ethan felt a chill run down his spine, sensing the house itself was somehow reaching out to them, twisting their thoughts, nudging them to see its darker side. Starting to rise, Lilly’s hand gripped his wrist, tightening slightly. Her pupils faded, her gaze becoming vacant and distant, as though something else was looking through her. He’d seen his sister do this before. Usually, it happened when she was receiving a premonition, or when her powers were reacting to something. It chilled him to think that even Lillian, so innocent, might be drawn into this web.

“Don’t take it. They’re watching.” Her voice was almost a whisper.

Ethan sat back down. “Who’s watching, Lil?” Matching her tone, his eyes darted around the room.

“Them…” Releasing her grip, she tapped the drawing.

For the next five minutes, they sat searching the room until eventually, her eyes returned to their normal amethyst hue. Signaling they were gone, Lillian grabbed her book and started sketching. Ethan left her to process what she had seen, but from that day on, he resolved to dig deeper into the house, even if it meant exploring the rooms his father had told him to stay out of.

One evening, as William roamed the halls, attempting to commune with the spirits of his ancestors, Sarah noticed the sounds of his voice seemed to echo unnaturally, reverberating in whispers that layered upon themselves. She could only make out fragments: “… protect … bloodline … beast within…” His voice was strained, almost pleading, as if he were bargaining with something unseen. Sarah shivered, feeling an ominous presence, an energy in the house that was drawing her husband deeper into its thrall.

Meanwhile, Ethan, searching for clues, found himself inexplicably drawn to the forbidden west side of the mansion.

“You want to know, yes?”

Whispers crept through the cracks in the wall.

“Why are you alone? Why are you not wanted, not welcome?”

Slight wisps of dark breath seemed to accompany the words, flitting forward as if to give direction. Before him, a grand staircase loomed, and he was sure it hadn’t been there before. As he stepped closer, light shimmered. Fractal variants of the image before him twinkled, as if it had been hidden from view by some illusion. The staircase seemed endless, winding upward into shadows. The whispers continued to reach toward him.

“He is worthless, this one. He is not destined for…”

Ethan stormed forward, curiosity fueling him. Who was saying this? What did they know of him? To what destiny were they alluding? Glancing back down the hall, Ethan began his ascent. After a few steps, the air thickened, an invisible force pushing him backward. With each step, the whispers grew louder, more insistent, more unforgiving.

“He is the son of William? Pah! He will never wield his power. He is weak. He is a mistake!”

These words pressed into his mind. His legs trembled, not in fear or fatigue, but in anger.

“Show yourself, coward! I’ll tear you…”

As the words exited his mouth, he found himself in free fall. Though only four steps up, the staircase seemed to disappear, replaced by an ordinary wall. Ethan was left standing there, breathless, his heart pounding as he wondered if he’d imagined the whole thing.

In the nights that followed, Lillian woke to more whispers from beneath her bed, like a breathy chant calling her name in a sing-song, inviting her closer. She clutched her bear, Brenna, tightly, wishing she could block out the sound, but it only grew louder. One night, unable to stand it any longer, she climbed out of bed and knelt on the floor, peeking beneath.

To her horror, she saw not the usual floorboards but a dark, swirling void, stretching out into an abyss. Shapes moved within it—twisted, shadowy figures with eyes that glowed faintly. She felt herself being drawn in, her body pulled toward the darkness. She let out a scream, scrambling backward. Ethan, who had been returning from the restroom, burst through the door.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, kneeling beside her as she cried, clinging to him.

“There’s… something under my bed. It was calling me,” she whispered, her small body trembling.

Ethan pushed her behind him, before sidling up to the bed. Reaching for a baton Lilly had been using for her mental juggling practice, he dropped to his knees to address whatever had caused her such anguish. But there was nothing.

“Are you sure, Lillian?” Not wanting to dismiss her, he nodded for her to take another look.

“They were there. I swear, Ethan.”

“Like the ones in your picture.”

Sniffling, she nodded, holding Brenna in a chokehold of protection.

Ethan held her close, determined to protect her, but in his heart, he felt helpless. Things were changing around them. There was a darkness in the home, and for the first time in his life, he felt unable to protect himself or his sister.

“It’s gonna be okay, Lil. Big bro’s got you.”

As the days progressed, Ethan began to feel… unusual. Everyday sensations began to intensify. He could hear sounds from across the house; scents drifted on the faintest breezes, reaching him from rooms away. Once, he saw his own shadow on the wall move just a second after he did, its eyes glowing faintly. Not knowing what or why, he sat on the front porch, looking into the trees for hours. He felt he was changing, as if his blood were responding to something within the mansion—but what? Something primal, powerful, was bubbling to the surface. This wasn’t like the anger he’d known his whole life. This was different, new. He dared not speak to his mother; she would blow it out of proportion. And his father, well… he couldn’t make heads or tails of his father’s actions over the last few weeks.

William’s behavior had grown erratic. He would stare at Ethan for long moments, a look of recognition mixed with worry in his eyes, as if seeing himself in his son. Alone in the study of the massive library, William pleaded out loud.

“Please, help me. He need not go through this. What has happened? Why are you all so silent?”

An urgency imbued his every word, desperate, begging. “You know why I brought him here. Why the ritual must happen. Why do you aid this daemon? He must be eliminated.”

Silence greeted him once again. It was as if the being, whatever it was, had frightened the familiars of the manor into submission.

Time was running out. William stared at a mirror on the far side of the wall, his eyes flashing from circular to a near diamond slit and back again. In that flash, runic patterns presented themselves to him before disappearing, fading from the existence of human perception. He sighed, a soft growl of irritation tickling the back of his throat. For too long he’d kept the beast at bay. His children had no clue about the power that coursed through their veins. Being here, being home, was not something he had ever dreamed would happen again. But now that he was, his body had been… responding. Latent strength unconsciously returning day by day, his senses sharpening to the point that, at any moment, he could tell how many creatures were on his property, their gender, and their rough age. Hands clasped across his stomach, he continued to watch his reflection. He hadn’t been this version of himself since his wedding day—the day he vowed her safety.

“You will speak to me.” William allowed the rumbling gravel of his voice to tumble out. “You will concede to the rightful heir of House Domshu.”

Volume rising, he strode toward the door. “You will bow before the might of Al’yun!”

As if in response to his declaration, a number of books rattled on the shelves in apparent approval.

A derisive snort echoed from Will as he turned the lights off. He knew the spirits of his ancestors were not to be trifled with, and the fact that something had them spooked worried him even more.

Closing the door behind him, he almost bumped into Sarah.

“I’m sorry, dear, didn’t see you there.”

Sarah moved closer to him, her gaze intent. “Who were you just talking to, dear?”

A look of guilt flashed across William’s face before disappearing.

“Just myself, darling. You know how I get sometimes.”

Pensively, she looked down, stepping back slightly. “I do, dear, and I also know you haven’t gone by the name Al’yun since before the children were born.” Her eyes looked back at him, this time with an intensity that commanded honesty. “William, you’re hiding something—this isn’t just about the house, is it?”

He looked at her, his face weary, haunted. With a deep breath, his shoulders sagged.

“It’s… it’s Ethan.”

“Ethan?” Her face contorted, taken aback. “What does this house have to do with Ethan?”

“The rite of the Domshu, of my lineage—it is Ethan’s time.”

Sarah had been there when William revoked his claim to the Domshu family fortune, their power. She had been the reason. To hear those words from him… She reached up, her palm resting on his cheek.

“He’s going to need guidance. But this house, this curse—it’s stronger than I anticipated. There’s a creature here, something that doesn’t belong, something that wants to tear us apart.”

“What are you talking about?” she whispered, her voice shaking.

William took her hands, his gaze earnest. “I need you to trust me. I have to keep him safe, to prepare him. He’s inherited more than you realize.”

Sarah felt the weight of her past choices bearing down on her, each decision like a stone tied to her chest. She had known, somewhere deep down, that this day might come. She had made her peace with the dangers of the Domshu lineage, but seeing it reach for her son, for her Ethan, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had betrayed him. A mother’s duty was to protect, but here she was, bound to a legacy that threatened to consume everything.

Sarah could only nod, her mind racing as she looked at her husband, seeing the faint glint of something unnatural in his eyes. Ethan. Her son, her firstborn, whose temper and rebellion had driven them here, hoping to keep him safe. And yet, in this moment, she felt none of that safety. She had married William knowing the risks. She had stood by him through every warning and whispered tale of the Domshu lineage. But to imagine bringing Ethan into it, into this curse? Her heart seized with fears. She didn’t fully understand what he meant, but the urgency in his voice left her momentarily silent, her heart heavy with dread.

“Will, if this is all about Ethan, then why didn’t you tell him?” Her voice broke, realizing the weight of her own words. “Why did you wait until it was… too late?” She knew the answer already. Will had wanted to protect them, but the price was their family.

William’s silence confirmed it, his gaze falling to the floor. He had made the choice, and now they all had to bear it.

The next few days in the mansion unfolded in a haze of whispered secrets, distorted reality, and an ever-present sense of foreboding. Ethan’s mind was a storm of questions he could no longer ignore: Why had his father brought them here, to this eerie house steeped in family history? Why did the shadows stretch like living things? Why did he feel himself changing, becoming stronger, more volatile?

There had to be a way to find answers. The attic—yes, the attic. Everyone knows that all the oldest heirlooms in anyone’s house are stored in the attic or the basement. And since this home had no cellar, there was only one option.

The attic had always been a forbidden place, left untouched and heavy with dust. His father had warned his sister and him to steer clear of it with a fervor that hinted at hidden truths. One evening, after ensuring his family was asleep, Ethan quietly slipped up the winding staircase, his heart racing as he reached the attic door.

Darkness greeted him as it creaked open, the air thick with the scent of aged wood. Brushing against an old chest, he lurched forward to catch an antique lamp that tottered from his bemused amblings. Not large or remarkable, it bore a glint of gold, an insignia caked with layers of dust. Hands trembling, he set the lamp down and reached for the locking mechanism, which, to his surprise, popped open at his slightest touch. An assortment of objects lay scattered within: a rusted dagger, a withered family crest, and a leather-bound journal that appeared older than the mansion itself.

Ethan opened the journal, its brittle pages tattered by time. Written in a slanting script, the journal described rituals, names, and events spanning centuries. The author’s name, Mordecai Brenifay, was barely legible. As Ethan read, his eyes widened. The words spoke of an ancient tradition, a rite of passage that transformed each family protector, awakening powers to defend the family. But as he read on, the words grew increasingly ominous. Mordecai detailed a creature that haunted the rite, an entity that tainted the ceremonies and fed on the warriors, consuming them from within if not defeated.

“The creature hides within the walls,” Mordecai had scrawled. “It waits for each protector, weaving its way into their soul. It seeks to corrupt, to twist, to claim the power of the Brenifay bloodline for itself.”

Ethan’s heart pounded as he read about the ceremonies. The family protector would confront the creature to complete the rite and solidify his role. But there was a warning that chilled him to the bone: “The Anomaly.” Mordecai wrote about an entity, a corruption in the house that had begun to claim warriors who weren’t strong enough, twisting their souls into something monstrous.

The hairs on the back of Ethan’s neck prickled. Was this why they’d come to the house? To complete a rite and awaken his father’s abilities? Was the creature already within him, sowing anger, aggression, and these new powers he couldn’t control? Or…

The realization dawned on him. Was the trial meant for him?

Armed with the journal’s revelations, Ethan descended from the attic in a fury. Finding his father in the dimly lit library, poring over an old book and muttering to himself, he stormed in, slamming the journal onto the table.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ethan demanded, his voice harsh. “You brought us here because of some… curse? Some rite of passage? All this time, getting into fights, getting kicked out of schools? You could have warned me about what was going to happen to me… what is happening to me!”

William looked up slowly, his face drawn and shadowed. “You don’t understand, Ethan. This is your heritage, my lineage—and your legacy. It’s something that’s been passed down for generations. It’s not a curse; it’s a responsibility. And you… you’re a part of that.”

“Part of what? I’ve watched you unravel these past weeks, Dad. Watched you talk to empty rooms! And you expect me to think that’s some sort of blessing?”

Ethan’s fists clenched, his growing strength apparent as his knuckles whitened. “Is that what I’m supposed to become? Some bumbling fool? You don’t even have any abilities! What could you possibly pass…” He paused, his splayed hand resting on the journal as his mind raced. “It’s this house, isn’t it? The journal… it was right.”

A gasping laugh caught in his throat. “Or wrong… It’s… wrong. There’s something here, something dark.”

William sighed, closing the book. He drew himself up in the chair. “Yes and no.”

He hesitated, debating how much to reveal. “Look, you’ve been feeling the effects of the house. Of House Domshu… because it is our ancestral home, and the bloodline is awakening within you. Your mother and I… we’ve kept it hidden, but it was inevitable that you would feel it.”

“What about the creature in the walls?” Ethan pressed, pointing at the journal, his tone sharp with anger. “The one that… corrupts?”

William’s eyes darkened. He hesitated, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “I know. I’m aware of the entity. I’ve been… communicating with the spirits of our ancestors, trying to keep it contained. I’ve been trying to prepare for the ceremony so you won’t have to confront it unprotected. But it’s… it’s stronger than I anticipated. Stronger than it’s ever been.”

The anger within Ethan flickered, mingling with a surge of empathy for his father’s burden. He wanted to hate William for keeping these secrets, for putting them in danger, but he could see the pain etched into his father’s face. William had been fighting this darkness alone, trying to spare his family while preparing Ethan to inherit this grim legacy.

“Dad… Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Ethan’s voice softened.

“I thought I could control it. Protect you from it,” William replied, his gaze unfocused. “But this creature… it feeds on doubt, on fear. I can feel it pulling me in.” He stopped, rising from the chair with arms extended. “When was the last time you’ve seen me… like this?”

Unbuttoning his shirt, he let it hang from his slacks, still tucked into his belt. Layers of rippling muscle now replaced his once-minuscule form. Ethan finally understood why they had stayed away from the mansion.

“The only way to end this is for me to face it, alone.” Rebuttoning his shirt, William sat back down.

The rest of the night, William explained various aspects of the Domshu lineage, their history, and their heritage, though he knew it would not end well.

William’s resolve was already faltering.

Later that night, Ethan paced in his room; the journal’s words echoing in his mind.

“The creature hides within the walls.”

It seemed ludicrous—until he remembered the twisted faces in the portraits, the whispers from under Lillian’s bed, and his father’s haunted, hollow gaze.

He clenched his fists, feeling a rage that had grown since they arrived. It wasn’t like the anger he knew, this was deeper, sharper, … alive. Each heartbeat pounded with a strange thrill of strength, a power he wasn’t sure he could control. Was this how his father felt? Was this how it started?

Ethan took a breath, resolving to confront the creature, even if it meant taking on his father. But the words in the journal haunted him, a dire reminder: “It seeks to corrupt, to twist, to claim the power of the Brenifay bloodline.” He knew that whatever happened, he couldn’t let it twist him too.

As the days wore on, he grew distant, his face strained as though fighting an invisible force. At times, Ethan would catch him staring, eyes unfocused, his expression twisted in pain. The creature seemed to be taunting William, whispering into his thoughts, urging him to give in and “pass the curse” to his son.

One evening, Ethan approached his father, only for William to lurch toward him, eyes wild, hands transforming in an instant into clawed renditions of themselves, as though he didn’t recognize his own son.

“You… think you’re ready, Ethan?” William’s voice was a growl, strained and unsteady, almost mocking the boy. “Think you can control it, do you? Think you understand the cost of life and death?”

Ethan backed away, fear flickering in his eyes as his father’s expression twisted between rage and despair. He sensed his father’s struggle, as if battling some unseen entity trying to take control.

“Dad… you’re not yourself,” Ethan said, voice low and steady. “Fight it. Don’t let it take you.”

William’s hands trembled as he held his head, seeming to regain control for a brief moment. “Ethan… I love you, son.”

Ethan’s heart raced as he watched his father slump, breathing heavily, fighting to retain his sense of self. It was then that Ethan realized: the battle was not only against the creature but against the warped legacy entwined with their family’s bloodline.

In the nights that followed, Ethan found himself changing in ways he didn’t fully understand. His senses continued to sharpen, his strength increased, and there were moments he felt as if his very soul was stretching, bending into something unrecognizable. He began seeing flashes of himself in mirrors, a pair of glowing eyes looking back, watching him as if from another realm.

One night, a terrifyingly vivid dream seized him. Falling through an endless chasm of darkness, he was surrounded by shadowed figures that whispered in an incomprehensible language, their eyes glowing faintly. Unseen, he could feel them reaching toward him, as though to pull him into some ancient destiny, a dark lineage woven through blood and sacrifice.

Ethan struggled to break their grasp, fighting them to wake himself or, at the very least, to create a level of lucidity. But as images flashed through his mind, he began to be swept away. Scenes of warriors, ancestors, one after another, taking on monstrous forms, wielding powers that both awed and horrified him. He saw his father standing alone in a dark room, his body twisted in pain, his face contorting as his bones restructured into that of a large, wolven beast. A surreal, predatory voice echoed in his mind: “You are next. You are ours.”

The dark voices continued their murmur, words threading in and out of his consciousness. “Protect… or fall,” they whispered, “for none who resist the Domshu will remain whole. You are the next protector. The bloodline’s cost is yours to pay”

He glimpsed images of others, ancestors, whose faces convulsed in tormented agony, eyes glazed with the weight of duty. They weren’t protectors; they were slaves; bound by this monstrous thing, like servants in chains. Each had fought. Some had even won. But all fell victim in the end. Ethan could feel their hatred for the house, their regret, the helplessness of the beast that now became them.

“Why?” he asked, his voice echoing into the void. “Why must this continue?” But only the shadows answered, laughing maniacally. “Because,” the voices hissed in registers reminiscent of a million lost souls, “we are the Domshu. Your power is ours, your family is ours, you… are … ours.”

His eyes opened, and he knew with bone-deep certainty that he wasn’t just facing a monster in his father. He was facing an inheritance—a legacy that had consumed every Brenifay before him.

Ethan bolted upright drenched in bone chilling sweat, his breaths ragged and gasping. He knew, then, that the creature wasn’t just after William—it was after him too. It had consumed every Brenifay before him and it showed no signs of altering course.

As days passed, Ethan’s transformation accelerated, the mansion itself a seeming catalyst to his own growing insecurities. In his presence, halls would undulate, warping around him. What was once familiar became a labyrinth of shifting walls and doors leading to empty voids. Rooms stretched on forever before dissolving into shadows. He would walk down a corridor, only to find himself in a room he hadn’t entered.

On one such walk, the house felt as if it was trying to constrain him, content to confine his ramblings into the same diametric loops. One night, as he wandered the labyrinthine corridors, he saw figures motioning from the end of a hallway. They were not his family, and in the darkness, the figures looked like ancestors he’d seen in the many nightmarish visions recent nights had forced him to endure. Their faces were ghostly, pale, and etched with sorrow. They moved in and out of the shadows, silent witnesses to his growing dread.

The whispers, low and guttural, returned, filling his mind with images of beasts, of creatures clawing at the walls, of eyes watching him from every corner. Ethan stumbled, nearly collapsing under the weight of the voices, feeling his grip on reality slipping. He couldn’t tell if he was awake or trapped within a vision, his mind unraveling daily as the house closed in around him.

But amidst the chaos, one thing became clear: the creature wasn’t a separate entity haunting the mansion. It was part of the house itself, part of their lineage. It wanted him, needed him, to complete its corruption. Confronting it would be the only way to end the nightmare.

As dawn broke, casting faint light into the darkened corridors, Ethan braced himself. He would confront the beast within the walls, within himself, before it took everything he loved.

The house seemed to know something was coming. Like inky puddles of light’s absence, shadows pooled at the edges of the hallways. Thickening like storm clouds, they rippled and curled into foreign patterns of long-dead cultures. The once-quiet murmurs groaned in guttural incoherence, the walls vibrating in anticipation. Reverberating through the air was a chant of horrendous malice, contempt, and challenge—an ancestral call, summoning the Brenifays to their demise.

William was the first to feel it happen. A loss of control crept in like a fever, burning through his muscles and seeping into his bones. His skin prickled with atomic explosions that grew as tendrils of steam hissed, sizzling against his skin as they rose. His blood roared, clawing at him to submit. No longer able to contain it, he slowly allowed a sneer to cross his lips. His hands trembled, nails lengthening into sharp points. His eyes twitched, oscillating between human and beast, until there was nowhere left for the human to hide, and the beast devoured his soul. William’s body contorted, twisting with each peeling layer of his humanity.

He gripped the edges of a table, feeling the smooth grain of the wood under his fingertips. The sensation was grounding—a last link to his family, his anchor. For a fleeting moment, he heard Lillian’s laughter, delicate and light like raindrops on leaves. Then the laughter was overtaken by a voice he’d long forgotten, a fury and hunger bellowing from the depths of his being.

“Protect… them,” he forced out, his voice shredded and raw, a single tear escaping amid the turmoil.

But the creature no longer allowed him to resist. It coiled around his will, burying its dark claws into his mind, snarling with contempt. In its convoluted logic, Ethan’s emergence as the family’s new protector was a threat—a rival who must be destroyed. William’s final coherent thought as himself was of his son, a distant hope that he would survive.

A low growl escaped his throat, building into a howl that filled the room, rippling through the walls, shaking the windows with its sheer force. His body lurched one final time, twisting and contorting as he surrendered, and the beast within him—a monstrous, hybrid creature of fur and shadow—finally broke free.

Sarah bolted upright in bed, her body stiff with fear as the howl reverberated through the house. She knew her husband’s howl, his protective and territorial sound. She had sensed a change in William; there had been signs. But this? This was something else, something primal, an eruption of darkness she hadn’t anticipated. She threw open the door, calling for Lillian, who ran toward her with wide, tear-filled eyes.

Mommy, what’s happening?” Lillian’s small hand gripped her mother’s tightly, trembling; the delicate embrace brought Sarah a fleeting sense of calm, her heart swelling with protective warmth.

“It’s… It’s okay, sweetheart,” Sarah whispered, though her voice wavered. “We’re going to get out of here. Stay close to me.”

Eyes flaring in preparation, Sarah led Lillian through the hall, the air heavy with a damp, earthy scent that reminded her of freshly dug graves. Each breath tasted stale, tinged with a metallic undertone, as though the house itself were bleeding. She clutched Lillian closer, her eyes trained on the shadowy imps now forming in random corners, attempting to guide them deeper into the house rather than toward the door.

The hallways curled in on themselves, once-familiar paths now looping, each turn leading them farther from the exit. Doors that had once opened to rooms now revealed solid walls, the air crackling with a low hum, vibrating against her eardrums as if to drown out their cries. The house was closing in on them, herding them like prey.

“Ethan!” she shouted, her voice echoing hollowly. “Ethan, where are you?”

In a darkened corner of the house, Ethan heard his mother’s voice, faint and distant, reaching him like a pinprick on prom night. He could smell her fear, the slight floral scent of her perfume mixed with Lillian’s strawberry shampoo. The scent anchored him, pulling him back from the edge of panic.

But something else prowled through the house, something powerful. He felt it in his bones, a predatory presence slinking through the shadows. It was his father—and yet, not his father. This presence was darker, colder, pulsing with rage that thrummed through Ethan’s blood, stirring the beast within him to life.

Taking off down a passage, he found his body reacting. The motivations and instructions were his own, but it was as if he were experiencing the movements from a third-person perspective. The intensity of his adrenaline only matched by his worry and panic for his sister and mother.

He found Sarah and Lillian huddled in a second-floor hallway, Sarah’s arm protectively around Lillian, her face taut with fear.

“Mom!” Ethan called, his voice steadier than he felt. “You have to get out of here. Now.”

But Sarah shook her head, glancing down at Lillian, her expression hardening. “No, Ethan. I’m not leaving without both of you.” Her eyes, flickering with bright blue flames, met his. “Your father… He’s not himself, Ethan.”

Ethan swallowed, his gaze falling. “No. But I can stop him. I think… I have to stop him.”

In a surge of motherly resolve, Sarah kissed Lillian’s head and pulled her aside. “Stay here, darling. Close your eyes and count to a hundred, okay?” she said, her voice shaking but firm.

Lillian’s small hands balled into fists, but she nodded, her eyes filling with silent tears as she obeyed. Sarah then turned to Ethan, reaching out to touch his face, the faint scent of her lavender soap soothing him, if only for a moment.

“Go to him,” she whispered, her voice cracking. Flames engulfed her as she gripped his hands. “End this.”

Like a waterfall, a torrent of psychic energy ravaged Ethan’s mind. His body seized in response to the overflow of paranormal waves. But after a moment, though the waves continued to crash, it was as if he were standing in an idle pool amidst the peaceful forests of a glade. What had once felt like a strain now enveloped him as if it had been a part of him all along.

Falling back a half-step, Sarah reached for Lillian’s hand, the remaining energy flowing into her. “Now go!” she wheezed at Ethan.

“But mom…”

As he paused in concern, the visage of a swelling teddy bear filled the hall behind his sister. With her mother’s energy, Lillian had released Brenna from her shackled form. Now seven feet tall, the patchwork face of Brenna grinned with a wicked, metallic maw.

Ethan smirked, pulling up his hood. “Watch after Mom, Lil. I’ll go get Dad.”

Ethan moved through the hallways, senses picking up on the source of the growls and thuds reverberating through the floorboards. The closer he got, the more concentrated the scent of iron and earth filled his nostrils, enough to make his stomach turn. This thing wasn’t his father. It had to be stopped.

He found William—or what was left of him—in the dining room, shadows clinging to his distorted frame like armor. His father’s skin was a blackish purple, with patches of fur protruding randomly from his limbs. His mouth was upturned in a snarl, fangs bared. Eyes that once embraced his son with joy and understanding now teared dark ichor—vapid pools of darkness, oblivion devoid of any recognition.

A rasping grunt escaped William’s throat, vibrating through the walls as he turned to face Ethan, the beast’s intent as malicious as his eyes.

Ethan took a step forward, body tensing, an unknown bloodlust he could hardly control. He could feel the molecules of his body hovering in a state of expectant excitement just beneath his skin. Untamed potential crackled through his veins, like the night parade of a thousand werewolves awaiting release. Flashes of his father’s memories assaulted his mind—William’s fear, his anger, the desperation to protect his family.

“You brought us here,” Ethan murmured, his voice wavering as he looked at his father. “You knew… you knew what this house would do.”

The creature inside William barked mockingly, taunting him with distraught, half-spoken words. “Weak… unworthy…”

Ethan could tolerate his father’s disrespect no longer. With a shout, he lunged, the energy within him exploding as his own transformation ignited. A star going supernova, every fiber of his being sparked. Nerves flared, muscles stretched, and for the first time, he could feel his own psychic abilities blending with wolf instincts. Colors sharpened, light pulsing through new eyes. He could now see not only his father but the true creature itself—its ancient, malevolent presence woven into the very walls.

They collided, a clash of claws and snarls, as Ethan tapped into every ounce of power he possessed. His father’s memories flashed through him—images of William’s sacrifices, his struggles, his love for his family. For a moment, he could feel William fighting, trapped within his own body, fighting to protect Ethan even now.

“Dad,” Ethan gasped, struggling against the creature’s grip, “I know you’re still in there.”

But the creature only roared in response, its strength overpowering. Desperation and dark psychic flames flared from Ethan as he attempted to spark his father’s memory. Digging deep, Ethan searched for any fragment of his father still fighting within.

Through a haze of memories, he found it—a faint glimmer of his father, a memory of holding Ethan as a baby, the love that filled William’s heart.

“Ethan, my beautiful boy. I can’t wait to see what you do to this world. I can’t wait to call you by your true name…”

That memory, succinct, powerful, emotional, was all Ethan needed. Gripping his father’s shoulders, he coated them with his mother’s flames, allowing the vibrance to engulf them both—a secondary anchor for his father.

“Dad, remember who you are.”

The creature fought back, screaming, lashing out, but the memories surged forward.

“Al’yun! Remember your son’s name…”

Clamping down, the beast’s serrated maw tore flesh from bone, locking deeply into Ethan’s shoulder. Blood showered the walls as pain roiled through Ethan’s body.

“I am your namesake! FATHER! WHAT IS MY NAME?!”

In desperation, the creature tried to tear Ethan’s arm from its socket, but it was too late. In an act of desperation, William’s eyes flickered, the darkness fading just enough for Ethan to see his father’s face, softened with love and regret.

A tortured, broken whisper escaped William’s lips. “Aazir Al’yun Brenifay, my firstborn. My rising star.”

A pained smile cracked his mouth.

Ethan’s vision blurred as memories surged through his mind. Times spent with William, small, innocent. Learning to fish, tie his shoes, use his imagination… Each memory cut deeper than the creature’s claws, piercing him with a truth that tore him apart. This wasn’t just a battle—it was the last time he’d get to speak to his dad. Ethan’s voice wavered as he forced the words out.

“Goodbye, Dad. I love you.”

With a final surge, he unleashed everything, a force born of fury and love, determined to end this curse once and for all.

“I’m… sorry,” William whispered. A final farewell before collapsing, the creature within him dissolving into shadow.

Ethan stood over his father, panting heavily. His muscles tensed, a dark thrill pulsing through him, a power he had never felt. It called to him, whispering promises of dominance and vengeance. But with each heartbeat, he also felt the shadow of his father’s struggle, the pull of something far older, darker. Was this the strength of the Brenifays… or their curse? Ethan grit his teeth, forcing the darkness back. He would take this power—but on his terms.

The remnants of his transformation faded as he regained control. Glancing down, William’s body lay still, his features softened in death, the tension that had haunted him finally gone. Yet Ethan could feel the darkness lingering within himself, a pull that urged him to complete the curse, to take up his father’s place in the corrupt legacy of protectors.

He could feel the power in the air surging through him, tempting him, whispering promises of strength, dominion, and fury. But Ethan knew the cost—knew what it had done to his father. He wouldn’t let it take him too.

Turning, he left the room, the echoes of the battle still flitting across the landscapes of his mind. His father’s last words lingered like a bitter taste. He found Sarah and Lillian waiting at the end of the hallway, faces pale, eyes wide with relief and sorrow. He wanted to go to them, to reassure them, but the darkness within him warned him away.

“Ethan?” Sarah whispered, her voice filled with hope and dread.

He shook his head, feeling the beast’s restless energy simmering beneath his skin, the legacy he could not deny but would not allow to consume him. He took one last look at them, imprinting their faces in his mind, before his form again took its bestial shape, bounding through a nearby window.

As he disappeared into the darkness, Ethan understood that his family was safe, and that he would carry his father’s sacrifice with him, a protector bound not by blood, but by love.

The first rays of dawn crept across the old mansion, casting long, pale fingers of light through broken windows. Debris shimmered as iridescent scraps scattered in the aftermath of the night’s battle. Silence settled over the house, heavy and absolute, as though it were holding its breath.

Sarah’s arms wrapped around Lillian, pulling her close as they sat on the floor, faces tear-streaked. Rocking gently, she whispered to Lillian. Her words, though soothing, felt hollow in her own heart. For hours, Sarah held Lillian, allowing the enormity of their loss to sink in. William, the man she’d loved, was gone, sacrificed in a final act of defiance against the curse that had claimed his family. And Ethan, her son—the fierce, brave boy who’d stepped into the shadows to protect them—was gone too, taken by the same darkness that had plagued her husband.

Heartbreaking, she held her daughter close.

“They loved us so much, Lily,” she murmured. “They… they wanted to keep us safe. They…”

Lillian’s eyes, wide with a mixture of sorrow and confusion, blinked up at her.

“But… they’re gone, right? They’re… not coming back?”

Sarah nodded, her throat tight as she forced herself to be brave for Lillian.

“They’re with us in spirit, sweetheart. They’ll always be here, watching over us.”

She nodded more for herself than for Lillian, her gaze fixed on the window, where Ethan had last protected them.

Outside the mansion, hidden in the shadows, Ethan watched them, his heart aching as he saw his mother clutch Lillian, tears slipping silently down her face. A part of him wanted to go to them, to wrap his arms around them and tell them he was still alive, that he’d fought off the darkness—but he knew he was no longer the same person.

The curse had completed its work within him, leaving something both feral and sacred in its wake. He could feel it, a restless, dark energy pulsing just below the surface. It urged him to protect, to stay vigilant against any threat that might come for his family, but he knew that his presence would endanger them. He was a creature now, bound to the mansion’s darkness, his destiny forever tied to his father’s inheritance.

As the sun rose, Ethan lingered in the shadows, watching his mother and sister disappear into the distance. He was grateful they’d left; the house was his burden now, a dark inheritance that called to him with a voice he could no longer ignore.

His father’s words echoed through his mind, memories surfacing that he knew weren’t just his own. He was the last in a line of protectors, all who had stood alone, all who had fought the curse, and all who had lost.

“Not this time,” he murmured, his voice steady. “I won’t lose.” The darkness in his veins pulsed, urging him back to the house, daring him to claim the curse as his own. But he took a breath, feeling the stillness of the forest, the life surrounding him, and knew his battle wasn’t against the power itself—it was against the legacy it carried.

Ethan would guard the house, but not as a slave to the curse. He would find another way, a way that honored his father’s sacrifice. This house, this beast—it didn’t own him. He was a Brenifay, but he was also Aazir Al’yun, and his legacy would be one of freedom, not darkness.

As the morning light grew, Ethan backed deeper into the shadows. He knew his path lay elsewhere, away from the ones he loved. Taking one last lingering look, his heart swelled, filled with love and sorrow, and then he vanished silently into the forest that bordered the mansion, his shadow merging with the trees.

In the days that followed, Sarah wasted no time gathering what little they had left. She made arrangements to leave the mansion, knowing that it held memories too dark, too painful, to remain. She took Lillian to a quiet town far away, a place where the air felt lighter, where the shadows didn’t stretch quite so long, and the night didn’t carry whispers.

With each passing day, Sarah rebuilt their life, trying to mask her grief for Lillian’s sake. They lived simply, filling their days with small routines, the pain of their loss softened by distance and time. Lillian adapted with the resilience of childhood, though she often asked about her father and brother. Sarah always told her the same thing—that they were with them in spirit, that they’d sacrificed themselves to protect them from something too terrible to name.

Unaware of Ethan’s fate, Sarah held fast to the hope that, with the curse broken, they could start anew. She clung to her memories of Ethan and William, cherishing the quiet strength they had embodied, the fierce love they’d shown, even in their final moments.

Overlooking the mansion, Ethan stood at the edge of the forest, reminiscing. He could still hear the tires crunching gravel as they pulled away. He had lingered in the shadows, watching as they disappeared into the distance. Grateful they’d left. That he alone was saddled with the house and its burdens, a dark inheritance that called to with a voice he could no longer ignore.

His father’s words echoed through his mind, memories gurgling to the surface randomly, that he knew weren’t just his own. He was the last in a line of protectors, all who had stood alone, all who had fought the curse, and all who had lost.

“Not this time,” he murmured, his voice steady. “I won’t lose.” The darkness in his veins pulsed, urging him back to the house, daring him to claim the curse as his own. But he took a breath, feeling the stillness of the forest, the life surrounding him, and knew his battle wasn’t against the power itself—it was against the legacy it carried.

The weight of his new power pressed down on him, pulsing like a second heartbeat. A combination of his father’s strength, his mother’s resilience, and the ancient spirit of Domus, he reveled in his newfound abilities. Taking a deep breath, he allowed his nostrils to fill with the dank, earthy scent of his home. For miles around, he could hear the faint rustling of leaves, the hoofsteps of deer, the chittering and bounding of chipmunks and squirrels. His reflection, glimpsed in a murky puddle, revealed faint traces of the beast that had fused with him—the slight glow of his eyes, the sharp edge to his features. He was no longer just Ethan; he was truly his father’s son. He was Aazir Al’yun Brenifay. He didn’t feel fear or anger—only resolve. He wouldn’t be like the Brenifays before him, losing themselves to the darkness. His father had fought to give him this choice, and he would be damned if he threw it away. The darkness within pulsed, causing Ethan to smirk. Whispering to the nearby shadows he chuckled, “You’ll never own me.”

Though he wanted to forget the curse, he knew he couldn’t escape it. The house—its walls steeped in generations of pain and sacrifice—was as much a part of him as his own heartbeat. He understood now what his father had struggled with, the silent burden that had ultimately claimed his life.

Ethan inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the cool, forest air, feeling the primal strength within him settle like coiled steel. He started toward the house, sensing his ancestors watching, their presence woven into the fabric of the mansion, each one now a part of him. He was the new protector, the keeper of his family, a guardian bound by blood and sacrifice.