Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

The walls breathed. Shadows stretched like grasping hands. Mira's screams for Draven faded into nothingness, swallowed by the house's endless hunger.

Elias and Zara ran toward the staircase—only to find it missing. The grand foyer had twisted, shifting into a long, endless corridor lined with doors, each one whispering with unseen voices.

Zara gritted her teeth. "I hate haunted houses."

Elias flicked his lighter open, the flame flickering violently. "This place ain't haunted. It's alive."

Something pounded on a door nearby. A wet, meaty sound, followed by ragged breathing.

Mira turned, clutching the Cursed Book, its pages trembling in her grip. "We need to find Draven."

The Forsaken Girl stared ahead, her expression blank. "He's already inside."

Inside what? Before Mira could ask, the door at the end of the corridor exploded open, revealing a grand dining hall, bathed in candlelight. A long table stretched before them, set for a feast.

And at the head of the table sat Draven.

But something was wrong.

His skin had paled, his eyes sunken. A golden goblet sat in his hand, the liquid inside thick and red. Plates overflowed with rotting meat, steam rising from food that shouldn't be fresh.

Mira stepped forward. "Draven?"

He smiled, but the motion was unnatural, stretched too wide. "You made it. Sit. Eat."

Zara unsheathed her dagger. "We're not eating a damn thing."

A laugh slithered from the shadows.

The host emerged—a figure in a tattered noble's coat, his face hidden behind a mask of stitched flesh. His voice was silk and decay.

"Guests," he purred. "It has been so long."

The candles flickered, and suddenly, the seats were full—occupied by withered corpses, their hands gripping silverware, their empty eyes staring.

Mira's heart hammered. "Draven, we have to go."

Draven lifted his goblet, staring into the thick, crimson liquid. "I don't think I can."

The host's grin widened. "He has already partaken in the feast. To leave would be… painful."

Elias raised his revolver. "What the hell did you do to him?"

The host gestured to the table. "This house takes those who are forgotten. It feeds on those who have no place in the world. Your friend?" His eyes gleamed beneath his mask. "He belongs to it now."

Draven's fingers twitched, his skin graying. His veins darkened, as if something inside him was changing.

"No," Mira whispered.

Zara lunged, driving her dagger toward the host's chest—only for her blade to pass through empty air.

The host laughed, his voice splitting into many.

The corpses rose, their chairs scraping back, their jaws unhinging.

The feast had begun.