Chapter 5 The Aftermath

Donald escaped the House That Never Sleeps-but at what cost? The horrors he faced should have ended when he left Black Hollow Road, but something isn't right. The house may be gone, but Donald still feels its presence.

Donald thought he'd be safe after leaving, but the nightmares began almost immediately.

Each night, he found himself back in the house.

The layout changed, shifting like a labyrinth, its walls breathing as if the house were alive. The whispers returned, faint at first, then louder, screaming his name Do...na...lll...d..

He would always wake up drenched in sweat at exactly 3:12 AM, the same time he had escaped the house.

At first, he convinced himself it was trauma. A lingering fear from everything he had endured. But then the things he saw in his dreams began appearing in real life.

At first, it was small things.

His reflection in the mirror didn't quite match his movements.

His bedroom door would be open in the morning, even though he locked it.

The sound of footsteps in the hall when he was home alone.

Then, it got worse.

One night, while reviewing notes for his book, he heard a knock on his apartment door.

Three slow, deliberate knocks.

His blood ran cold. It was the same pattern the spirits had used in the house.

When he opened the door, no one was there.

But at his feet, resting on his welcome mat, was something impossible.

The journal of Melissa Blackwood.

Donald's hands trembled as he picked up the journal. He had left it inside the house before it collapsed.

How was it here?

The pages had changed. The writing inside was no longer Donald's it was his own. His dreams had been recorded inside, written in his handwriting, detailing things he didn't remember writing.

One sentence repeated over and over:

"You never left."

His heart pounded. He rushed to the bathroom, needing to splash cold water on his face. As he looked in the mirror, he saw something new-a scar running down his forearm.

He didn't remember getting hurt.

Then, in the mirror, something moved behind him.

A shadow. Watching.

But when he turned around, there was nothing there.

Determined to understand what was happening, Donald left town. He packed a bag and drove to a distant motel, hoping that putting miles between him and Black Hollow Road would end the haunting.

That night, as he lay in bed, he heard something-

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

He sat up. The sink wasn't leaking. He checked the bathroom dry.

Then, he turned toward the window.

Outside, where the motel's parking lot should have been, he saw it.

The house.

Standing there in the dark, as if it had always been.

Waiting.

Waiting for him to come home.

Donald's breath hitched. His mind refused to accept what he was seeing.

The house wasn't a place.

It was attached to him.

He hadn't escaped at all. The house had never needed walls to keep him trapped. It had infected him, marked him as its own.

No matter where he went, the house would follow.

There was no leaving it behind.

Because he was the new caretaker.

And the house never sleeps.