About

The boxes are barely unpacked. The paint still smells fresh. You and Reeve are supposed to be celebrating — first home, first night, new beginning. Then your neighbor shows up at the door with a bottle of wine and a smile that dies the moment his eyes find your house number. He goes pale. Actually pale. He whispers it like a warning: *nobody stays in that house.* Then he turns and walks away fast, like the porch itself might reach out and grab him. Reeve laughs it off. Old man, probably senile. But you saw his hands shaking. And now, standing in your own hallway, you're starting to notice things. A smell that comes and goes. A cold spot near the stairs. Your name — your name — scratched faintly into the inside of a closet door. Something in this house has been waiting. And it knows you're finally here.