Part 3 — Upstairs, Nancy Was Waiting

The stairs groaned under the detective’s weight.

One step at a time.

Slow.

Careful.

Like the house itself was deciding whether to allow him higher.

The humming floated through the darkness, gentle and wrong.

A lullaby meant for children.

But sung like a warning.

Officer Jackson whispered, “Detective… don’t.”

Detective Harlan didn’t answer.

His flashlight beam cut across the hallway upstairs.

Family photos lined the walls.

Nancy smiling at Christmas.

Nancy holding a birthday cake.

Nancy standing beside her husband.

Normal.

Too normal.

Like the house was pretending nothing had happened.

Then the humming stopped.

The air turned colder.

So cold it felt wet.

The detective raised his gun.

“Nancy,” he called again, voice tight.

No answer.

Just silence.

Then—

A door creaked open at the end of the hall.

The bedroom.

Nancy’s bedroom.

The detective moved forward.

The officers followed.

I stood halfway up the stairs, frozen, watching shadows stretch across the wallpaper.

The detective pushed the door wider.

Inside, the room was dim.

Moonlight spilled through the curtains.

The bed was perfectly made.

Everything neat.

Untouched.

Except for one thing.

The mirror.

It was covered in writing.

Words scratched into the glass like someone had used their nails.

I AM NOT GONE.

I AM NOT HERE.

I AM BETWEEN.

Officer Lee whispered, “Jesus…”

Detective Harlan stepped closer.

His flashlight trembled slightly.

Then the mirror fogged.

As if someone had breathed against it from the other side.

A shape appeared.

A woman’s outline.

Nancy.

Her face slowly formed in the mist.

Her eyes hollow.

Her lips moving without sound.

The detective staggered back.

“Nancy…?”

The mist cleared.

And her voice came from everywhere at once.

Not from the hallway.

Not from the phone.

From the walls.

From the floor.

From the air itself.

“I tried to scream,” she whispered.

“But the house swallowed it.”

Officer Jackson snapped, “Where are you? We can help you!”

Nancy’s voice turned soft.

Almost sad.

“You can’t.”

The detective clenched his jaw.

“What happened to you?”

A pause.

Then—

“I opened the door.”

The room seemed to darken.

The temperature dropped further.

Nancy continued:

“I thought it was just the night.”

“I thought it was just a man.”

“But it wasn’t a man.”

Her voice cracked like glass.

“It was hunger.”

Officer Lee whispered, “What does that mean…?”

Nancy’s voice sharpened.

“It lives in empty places.”

“In fog.”

“In silence.”

“In houses where people stop being seen.”

The detective’s flashlight flickered.

Then went out.

Every light in the room died at once.

Total darkness.

Someone cursed.

Footsteps shifted.

And then—

A sound behind them.

A wet dragging noise.

Officer Jackson spun, flashlight snapping back on.

And there—

In the corner—

Was Nancy.

Or what looked like her.

She was sitting perfectly still, knees drawn to her chest.

Hair wet.

Skin pale as candle wax.

Her eyes wide open.

Unblinking.

The detective whispered, “Nancy…”

She smiled.

Too slowly.

Too wrong.

Officer Jackson raised his weapon.

“Nancy, don’t move!”

Nancy tilted her head.

Then her mouth opened.

And her voice was not hers anymore.

It was layered.

Two voices.

Three.

A chorus beneath her words.

“You came upstairs.”

The detective froze.

“Nancy…?”

She stood.

Movements jerky, unnatural, like a puppet remembering how to be human.

Officer Lee shouted, “Stay back!”

Nancy stepped closer.

Each step left a wet footprint on the carpet.

But it wasn’t water.

It was mud.

Grave-soil.

The same soil from the filing cabinet.

The detective’s voice trembled.

“What are you?”

Nancy’s smile widened.

“I’m what answered.”

Officer Jackson fired.

The shot exploded through the room.

Nancy didn’t fall.

She didn’t bleed.

She only blinked.

Then—

She laughed.

A sound like someone crying underwater.

And suddenly the bedroom door slammed shut.

Locked.

The officers rushed it, pounding.

“Harlan! Open up!”

Inside, Nancy moved closer to the detective.

Her voice softened again.

Almost human.

“I called you because…”

She leaned forward.

“…I didn’t want to be alone in here anymore.”

The detective whispered, “In where?”

Nancy’s eyes filled with something ancient.

“This house isn’t a house.”

“It’s a mouth.”

The mirror behind her cracked.

And from inside the crack…

Something moved.

A shadow stretching outward like a hand reaching through.

Nancy turned her head slowly toward it.

Then looked back at the detective.

“I was missing for twelve days.”

Her voice became a whisper.

“But it was only twelve seconds for them.”

The shadow pulsed.

Hungry.

Waiting.

Nancy smiled.

“And now…”

Her eyes locked onto his.

“…you’ve been invited too.”

The mirror shattered.

Darkness poured out like smoke.

The detective screamed—

And the house went silent.

Downstairs…

Every officer outside heard it.

Then nothing.

No footsteps.

No voice.

No humming.

Only the rain.

And my phone buzzing one last time.

Incoming call.

Detective Harlan.

I stared at the screen.

Hands shaking.

And the message beneath the name read: