Chapter 9 The Final Rituals

Donald was gone.

At least, that's what Jones told himself as he stumbled away from Black Hollow Road, the house no longer behind him.

But deep in his gut, he knew the truth.

The house hadn't disappeared.

It had simply moved on.

And Donald was still inside it.

---

For weeks, Jones tried to forget.

He left town, booked a cheap motel room miles away, and tried to convince himself that none of it had been real.

But then he heard the whispers.

It started in his sleep. Faint at first, but then clearer.

"Jones... help me."

It was Donald's voice.

He woke gasping for air, his sheets drenched in sweat.

Something wasn't right.

And then he saw it-

Outside his motel window, in the empty lot across the street, where nothing had been the night before...

Stood the house.

Perfectly intact.

Waiting.

For him.

---

Jones knew running wouldn't help.

The house was everywhere now-it had anchored itself to him, just as it had to Donald before.

But Donald had sacrificed himself to save him.

That meant there had to be a way to undo it.

He needed to go back.

Not just to confront the house-but to end it.

---

Jones stepped through the front door.

The moment he did, the world outside vanished.

The air grew thick, suffocating. The hallways shifted, twisting in unnatural angles.

The house had no rules anymore.

And then-he heard Donald.

"Jones... you shouldn't have come."

Jones turned.

And there, standing at the top of the stairs-

Was Donald.

But he wasn't the same.

His eyes were black voids, his skin pale as death.

The house had changed him.

It had made him its keeper.

------

"You need to leave," Donald said, his voice hollow. "Before it takes you too."

Jones shook his head. "I came to free you."

Donald laughed. But it wasn't his laugh-it was the house's laugh.

"There is no freedom," Donald whispered. "Not for me."

Then, the walls began to bleed.

Darkness spilled from the ceilings, stretching toward Jones.

The house was awakening, ready to claim another soul.

Jones had one chance.

He pulled Melissa Blackwood's journal from his jacket-the one filled with rituals and desperate prayers.

He flipped to the final page, where she had written:

"A keeper can only be freed if another takes their place."

A trade.

Donald had saved him.

Now, Jones had to do the same.

---

Jones looked up at Donald. "I'm taking you out of here."

Donald's expression broke.

For the first time, he looked afraid.

"You don't understand," Donald whispered. "It's too late for me."

But Jones refused to believe that.

He dropped to his knees and began reciting the ritual.

The house screamed.

The walls shook.

Donald fell to the ground, clutching his chest as if something was being torn out of him.

And then-

Everything collapsed.

---

Jones woke up outside.

Dirt. Grass. The morning sun rising in the sky.

He gasped, sitting up, his heart pounding.

The house was gone.

Not vanished this time-truly gone.

And beside him-

Donald.

Alive.

His eyes back to normal. His skin warm.

The house was dead.

Finally.

Donald turned to Jones, voice raw. "You saved me."

Jones let out a shaking breath. "Yeah. I guess I did."

They sat there for a long time, staring at the empty lot where the house had once stood.

It was over.

Or at least... they hoped it was.

Because in the distance, a soft whisper still lingered in the wind.

"The house never sleeps."

---