The Hungry Dark

Deep in the Appalachian foothills, the Airbnb sat nestled among the trees, promising tranquility. Jason had booked it to celebrate his promotion with his friends Tina, Derek, Lisa, and Emily. The photos had painted an idyllic picture: misty woods, a wraparound porch, and an old stone fireplace. But as they arrived, the charm of the place faded.

The house felt wrong. The air was damp, and the creak of the wooden floorboards beneath their feet seemed more deliberate than random. Near the kitchen, they found the basement door. Heavy oak, wrapped in rusted chains, with a yellowing sign hanging from the lock:

“Do not enter. You’ve been warned.”

“Maybe they’re hiding something cool—treasure, or maybe a serial killer’s journal?” Derek joked.

Tina frowned. “Or maybe something’s locked in there for a reason. Let’s not mess with it.”

Jason brushed it off, determined to keep the mood light.

“Come on, guys. We’re here to relax. Let’s just ignore it and enjoy the weekend.”

But as the first night fell, ignoring the basement became impossible.

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Night One

It began with whispers.

Lisa was the first to hear it—faint voices that seemed to come from just beyond the walls. At first, she thought it was the wind, but the voices grew sharper, weaving through her dreams and pulling her awake.

Emily heard it too. A low, guttural murmur that seemed to crawl beneath the floorboards. When it whispered her name, she bolted upright, her breath fogging in the cold air.

By morning, everyone was on edge.

“Old pipes,” Jason said, though his voice wavered.

Tina shook her head. “Pipes don’t say your name.”

The others laughed nervously, but the unease lingered.

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Night Two

The whispers turned to footsteps.

Emily woke to the sound of heavy, deliberate thuds pacing below her bed. She sat up, her pulse racing, and whispered, “Who’s there?”

The only response was silence, then the sound of chains rattling in the distance.

When Derek didn’t come down for breakfast the next morning, the panic set in.

His bed was unmade, his phone and shoes untouched. They searched the house and the yard, calling his name, but he was gone.

“This isn’t normal,” Lisa said, her voice trembling.

Jason approached the basement door, now sagging slightly on its hinges. The sign had changed. The letters were fresh, dripping with black ink:

“One down. More to go.”

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Night Three

Jason decided to set up a camera, pointing it directly at the basement door. That night, the pounding started again. It wasn’t just footsteps now—it was fists hammering against the wood.

At midnight, the chains fell to the floor.

The camera caught only darkness.

They gathered at the top of the stairs, armed with flashlights and trembling hands. Jason pushed the door open, and the smell hit them first—a stench of rot and decay that made their stomachs churn.

The basement steps descended into a cavern, the walls slick and pulsing as if alive. At the bottom, a pit yawned open, jagged at the edges and lined with black, writhing tendrils.

Jason froze.

Derek was there, suspended above the pit. His eyes were wide, his mouth slack, and his body hung limp in the grip of the shadowy tendrils.

“Help me…” The voice was faint, but it wasn’t Derek’s.

The pit swallowed him whole.

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The House Feeds

They ran, scrambling up the stairs and slamming the door shut.

“It’s the house,” Tina said, her face pale. “It’s alive.”

Jason didn’t argue. The walls seemed closer now, the air thicker. The windows wouldn’t budge, and the front door refused to open no matter how hard they pulled.

At midnight, the house began to shift. The walls groaned, the floorboards heaved, and the basement door burst open again.

The shadows spilled out, reaching for Lisa first. She screamed, clawing at the ground as they dragged her into the darkness. Her cries were cut short with a sickening crunch.

Jason and Tina ran. The walls twisted and pulsed, the house bending and shifting to trap them. They found themselves in the living room, the shadows pooling at their feet.

Jason shoved Tina forward. “Go! Get out!”

“What about you?”

Jason didn’t answer. He grabbed the fireplace poker and swung at the shadows, buying her enough time to run.

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The Forest

Tina burst through the front door, the house finally releasing her. She sprinted into the woods, her breath ragged, the branches tearing at her arms and legs. Behind her, she heard Jason scream.

She didn’t look back.

When she finally stopped, her legs gave out, and she collapsed in the dirt. The house was gone, swallowed by the dark.

But the whispers followed her.

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The Listing

The Airbnb was listed again weeks later.

The new description read:

“Secluded Appalachian retreat. Recently renovated. Perfect for groups.”

The photo of the basement door was gone. But in the background of one of the living room pictures, a shadow loomed—its hollow eyes glowing faintly.

Waiting.