Chapter 5: The House of Forgotten Screams

Elton’s head throbbed. His breath was shallow, and his chest felt like it was being crushed under a heavy weight.

He didn’t remember how he got here. He was no longer in the gas station. No longer in the misty road outside.

Instead, he found himself lying on the creaky floorboards of an old, decaying house.

The walls were stained and peeling, the air thick with the scent of mildew and decay. A distant, muffled sound echoed through the house—a faint, agonized scream—the kind that pierced the soul.

Elton bolted upright, his heart racing.

Where was he?

He tried to stand but stumbled. His hands grazed the floor, and he noticed the bloodstains—his blood? He couldn’t be sure.

The house was silent now, except for his ragged breath. The light from the flickering, dying lamp above him cast strange shadows across the room, stretching unnaturally along the walls. He pushed himself up and looked around.

The door on the far side of the room was ajar, and he could hear whispers.

Faint voices. Laughter. Distorted.

It wasn’t just the house. There was something off—something wrong.

Elton staggered to his feet, his legs weak. He needed answers. He needed to know how he ended up here.

As he stepped forward, his foot hit a broken floorboard. He winced at the sound—too loud. Too real.

Suddenly, the door creaked open.

He froze.

Three figures stood in the doorway.

The same three women.

Evana, Viviana, and Yolanda.

But this time,

they looked different.

Their faces were drawn and pale, their eyes too wide, their smiles stretched too thin—like something had hollowed them out.

"Welcome to the House of Forgotten Screams,

" Evana said softly, her voice unsettlingly calm. Yolanda stepped forward, her eyes glinting with something Elton couldn’t quite place.

"You don’t remember this place, do you?"

Elton’s breath caught in his throat.

He didn’t remember anything.

“This place,

” Viviana continued,

“was once a home. A home that held things better left forgotten.”

Elton could barely speak. His mind was reeling from everything he had seen—the photos, the thing wearing his face, the gas station that never seemed to end.

He blinked.

A flash of memory passed through his mind, but it was gone before he could grab it.

"What happened here?" he whispered.

Evana’s gaze hardened.

"What happened here is the reason you’re still alive."

Yolanda tilted her head, her smile growing wider.

"But not for much longer."

Elton didn’t understand. His body felt as though it was locked in place, weighed down by something invisible. Viviana stepped forward, the flickering light catching her sharp eyes.

"The house is alive, Elton. And it’s hungry."

Suddenly, the floor beneath him groaned, the walls seemed to pulse, and Elton felt an overwhelming sensation of being trapped. The house wasn’t just a building; it was something far more sinister.

A voice echoed in the distance. It sounded like it was coming from the walls themselves.

"You’re not ready."

The three women exchanged looks, as if they knew something Elton didn’t. Then they turned back to him.

"You’re not ready to remember."

Evana said.

Elton’s chest tightened.

“Remember what?”

Before they could answer, a loud crash echoed from another room.Evana’s eyes narrowed.

"He’s here." Viviana nodded.

"Johnny. Brody. Eddy."

Elton’s breath caught. Johnny. Brody. Eddy.

He had seen them in the photos. In the old footage. They were tied to something dark. But what?

Yolanda grinned.

"They’re the ones who started this."

"And now they’re back to finish it."

Elton turned quickly, his eyes scanning the room for an escape. But the windows were shut tight, and the door was blocked by the three women.

The house seemed to close in on him, the walls shifting, the air growing colder. He could hear scratching, like nails dragging across the floorboards. The distant whispers were growing louder.

Then he saw it.

A figure in the shadows.

It was Johnny—but not the way he remembered.

His body was twisted, deformed, his face barely recognizable beneath a layer of rotting flesh. His eyes were bloodshot, and his smile was distorted.

"You’re still here, Elton." Johnny’s voice was low, guttural, and seemed to come from every direction at once.

Brody appeared next, his body contorted in an unnatural way, his hands stretched out like claws.

And then Eddy.

All three men were not alive—they were something else. Something worse.

Elton stepped back, but the walls closed in on him. The air grew thick.

"You thought you could escape?" Brody snarled, his voice too deep, too far away.

Johnny stepped forward, his skeletal fingers reaching for Elton. "You belong here. Just like us."

The house groaned again, as though it was alive, as though it was swallowing them whole.

Elton’s body moved before his mind caught up. He ran towards the back door, ignoring the voices and the growing chaos behind him.

The moment he stepped outside, he realized—the house had changed.

The house wasn’t just a prison—it was the very thing that kept them trapped.

The house would never let him go.

But there was something else now—the thing in the dark.

It was closing in. And it wasn’t the house.

It was his past. It was time to face it.