Part 1 * Part 2 * Part 3 * Part 4

Erin tossed and turned, her dreams a kaleidoscope of dark visions and whispered threats. The image of a deep, cavernous fire and brimstone crater whose edges were lined with ominous, flickering shadows, played on repeat in her mind’s theater. Every now and then, the menacing androgynous figure from that fateful email, with their puppet mask and jerky movement appeared, their voice a distorted echo, taunting her about the insignificance of her existence and the glorious button she pressed that altered her importance in the greater scheme of things.

Gasping for air, she woke, the remnants of her nightmare clinging to her like cobwebs. Beside her, Mark was restless, his features twisted in discomfort, a rare sight for the usually sound sleeper. The digital clock displayed 3:07 AM—too early for morning, too late for any hope of peaceful sleep.

Silently, she slid out of bed and padded down the hall to check on the children. Each room she entered painted a similar picture of unrest. Emily clutched her wubby tightly, muttering about bogeyman shadows. In the next room, the twins, Jenny and Cindy, shared troubled whispers in their sleep, a symphony of disjointed fears. Bobby was the most physically restless, his small body thrashing under the covers as if battling unseen foes. But it was Ryan’s room that halted her heart—her oldest son, tears streaking his face, pleaded in a hushed, desperate tone, “Please don’t do that, please, please,” over and over to some invisible tormentor.

Erin reached out, shaking Ryan gently. “Ryan, wake up, honey.” But he was locked deep within his nightmare, unreachable. A chill swept through her as she stood helpless, her family’s torment a tangible presence in the room.

Returning to the master bedroom, Erin made a decision. She needed answers. Maybe the tome Helen had given her held some clue on how to protect her family, some ancient knowledge about warding off evil. She went to the study where she had last seen it, her movements hurried, driven by a rising panic.

But the tome was gone.

Erin searched frantically, pulling books off shelves, opening drawers, her heart pounding as each new second passed without any sign of the book. The house felt alive around her, the shadows deeper, the silence not empty but charged with a whispering malice.

Defeated, Erin slumped against the wall, her mind racing. The missing tome, the worsening nightmares—it was all spiraling out of control. On a sudden impulse, she raced to her laptop, which wasn’t in the den, as it had been confiscated by the authorities after the email incident. Fishing through her handbag, she found a business card and dialed Detective Mason Gray. He’d have access to laptop which still contained the original disturbing email. Maybe, just maybe, he had seen something in it that could help, some clue as to what was happening.

The phone rang, cutting through the stillness of the night. After several rings, a groggy voice answered, “Gray speaking.”

“Detective, it’s Erin Kamoche. I—I need your help,” Erin stammered, the urgency in her voice palpable even to her own ears.

There was a pause, a rustling of sheets. “Ms. Kamoche, it’s the middle of the night. Can this wait—”

“It can’t,” Erin interrupted, her voice firm despite the tears that threatened to spill. “Something’s happening. It’s about the email—the one with the video. There’s something off about my house, my kids, and I think it’s all connected. You still have my laptop; there might be something on it.”

Another pause. Then, a sigh. “Okay, I’ll look into it first thing in the morning. Meet me at the station at 8 AM.”

“Thank you,” Erin breathed out, a mix of relief and renewed fear as she hung up the phone.

As she turned to head back to bed, a sudden, chilling breeze swept through the room, and the faint sound of a child’s laughter echoed down the hallway. Erin froze, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. Whatever was haunting them was close—too close. And time was running out.

Not. The. End.