Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

The world tilted as the floor gave way, and the survivors plunged into the darkness below. Draven crashed onto something wet and writhing, the impact forcing the air from his lungs. His fingers sank into the surface—not wood, not stone, but something fleshy, something that shuddered beneath his touch.

Mira landed beside him, gasping as she scrambled to her feet. Around them, the walls pulsed, their texture disturbingly organic, like the inside of something alive.

Elias groaned, gripping his revolver. "Tell me this ain't what I think it is."

Zara, blade already drawn, scanned the shadows. "A house shouldn't have a stomach."

The hallway ahead twisted unnaturally, walls stretching and dripping with black bile. Somewhere in the distance, a sound echoed—a wet, clicking noise, like teeth gnashing together.

Mira clutched the Cursed Book, its pages quivering as if sensing the evil surrounding them. "We're inside it," she whispered. "The mansion—it's alive, and it's feeding."

Draven cocked his shotgun. "Then we cut our way out."

They moved carefully, their boots squelching with every step. The air thickened, reeking of rot and something deeper, something ancient. Shadows slithered along the walls, forming shapes that watched them with hollow, gaping eyes.

Then they saw them.

Rows of twisted figures, half-buried in the fleshy walls. Their faces stretched in eternal screams, their limbs fused into the structure. The house had absorbed them, their bodies still twitching, their eyes rolling wildly.

Elias took a step back. "Hell no."

One of the trapped souls moved, its jaw creaking open as a dry, croaking voice escaped.

"Run."

The walls shuddered, and a low, monstrous growl rumbled from deeper inside.

Then the floor convulsed.

A flood of limbs burst from the walls—decayed hands, too many to count, reaching for them.

Draven fired, blasting them back, but more crawled from the fleshy abyss. Zara slashed wildly, severing fingers that kept moving even after they hit the ground.

Mira flipped through the Cursed Book, her voice rising in desperation. The symbols on the pages burned with eerie light, and suddenly—the walls screamed.

The hands recoiled, the hallway writhing like a wounded beast. A path ripped open ahead, revealing a stairway leading up, bathed in sickly green light.

Draven grabbed Mira's arm. "Move!"

They sprinted, the walls bucking and twisting, trying to swallow them whole. Behind them, a grotesque shape emerged—a mass of fused bodies, their mouths gnashing, their voices moaning in agony.

Zara was the last through the door as it slammed shut, cutting off the nightmare below.

They found themselves in a grand, rotting ballroom, moonlight spilling through stained-glass windows. At the center of the room stood a figure in tattered robes, watching them with glowing, empty eyes.

Father Alistair smiled.

"I was wondering when you'd arrive."