This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/ExceptingAlice on 2025-04-26 03:56:54+00:00.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

We pulled up to the house and stopped cold.

There it was.

The toy horse.

Propped in the front window. Facing us. Like it had been waiting.

Sam hugged Ellie tighter. I killed the engine but stayed frozen, staring back at it. A knot twisted deep in my gut.

“We burn it all,” I said.

Sam nodded. Her voice was steady. “The house, the horse. Everything.”

I popped the trunk. The gas cans were ready—two of them, still sloshing from the drive. We circled to the trunk, whispering fast—where to pour the gas, where to light it, how fast we’d have to move.

Mid-sentence, Sam stiffened.

“The horse,” she whispered.

I turned back to the house.

The window was empty.

Gone.

Before I could react, the ground rumbled beneath us—a low, throbbing vibration that climbed up through my shoes and into my bones.

The air shifted, heavy and sour, and then a sound rolled out from under the house: A deep, guttural growl.

The trees bent under the sudden gust of wind, howling through the yard, clawing at our eyes.

Sam shrieked.

Ellie was wrenched from her arms by an invisible force.

Sam lunged, grabbing at empty air—fingers scraping against the nothing that swallowed our daughter.

And then Ellie was gone.

One second she was there, clinging to Sam’s shirt—

—and the next, nothing but the echo of Sam’s scream.

We didn’t hesitate.

We ran.

We knew exactly where she was.

The attic.

The heart of it all.

The front door crashed open under my shoulder. Inside, the house was already tearing itself apart.

Lights stuttered and sparked. TVs and radios shrieked static loud enough to splinter the windows. The walls pulsed, bowing outward like the whole frame was breathing.

We barreled up the stairs two at a time. The attic door yawned open at the top.

We rushed in—

—and froze.

Literally.

My legs locked mid-stride. I could still see, still breathe—but couldn’t move. It was like every joint had been bolted in place.

Ellie sat in the middle of the floor, tiny and still, clutching the wooden horse to her chest.

Around her, a ring of candles sputtered and danced. Symbols had been carved into the floorboards—circles, jagged lines, things that hurt to look at too long.

Then came the masks.

Two floated forward.

One pressed itself over Sam’s face.

The other locked onto mine.

They didn’t smother—they caged. I could feel the dead weight of them clamping down, pulling me deeper into the ritual.

A third mask rose slowly, hovering above the scene.

An invisible figure wore it.

My grandfather.

The entity.

It floated toward Ellie, reaching out with arms that weren’t there, yet somehow still moving.

Ellie didn’t resist. She didn’t cry.

She just waited.

The candles flared. The symbols pulsed.

The entity lifted her.

And then—

The attic door exploded inward, rattling on its hinges.

Caleb.

Or what was left of him.

He burst into the room like a dying star, flickering, unstable—but still burning.

The entity recoiled.

Ellie slipped from its grasp.

Caleb caught her.

He cradled her against his chest for a moment—and then dropped to his knees, collapsing beside her, trying to wake her. His hands passed through her more than touched her, flickering and unstable.

Behind him, the air warped.

Seven figures emerged from the darkness.

The vessel children.

Their eyes burned red with fury—children who had been offered up like lambs to the slaughter.

At their head was Frank.

Small. Silent. Seething.

Frank screamed—an awful, ripping sound—and lunged at his father, knocking the mask clean off.

The others followed, swarming the entity.

They didn’t attack just the thing in front of them. They attacked the memory of all in the bloodline that had betrayed them. The families that should have protected them, but instead gave them up.

The entity faltered—losing form under the sheer weight of their rage.

I saw it then—the flicker of realization.

It was losing.

It couldn’t win against the vessel children.

It needed help.

And so it spoke.

Not to us.

To Caleb.

"Help me," it rasped, "help me defeat them—you can have her. You can possess her. I’ll wait for the next one."

The words slithered through the ritual space, poisoning everything they touched.

Caleb froze.

I could see it—the terror on his face.

He was spent. Whatever force had let him manifest was almost gone. Even if he saved Ellie now, he would fade into nothingness.

But if he accepted…

He could live.

The entity knew exactly where to strike—at the same fear that had ruled Carl’s heart.

I saw Caleb falter.

Saw him look at Ellie.

At the children.

At the door back into existence swinging open before him.

He hesitated.