Crimson Reckoning
Chapter 4
By: Mikolai
Back within Holloway Mansion’s decaying grandeur, the air crackled with a different kind of tension. Chloe, cheetah, pressed herself flat against the faded floral wallpaper of a second-floor linen closet, her breath ragged and shallow. The damp scent of mildew and forgotten fabric filled her nostrils. Outside the narrow closet door, a rhythmic, dragging scrape echoed down the hallway – *shhhh-thump, shhhh-thump*. It sounded like something heavy, wrapped in wet sackcloth, being hauled across the warped floorboards. Chloe squeezed her eyes shut, clamping a trembling hand over her mouth.

She hadn’t seen Leo die. Not all of it. Just the impossible horror: the plaster exploding inward, the spectral hand – impossibly large, grey as storm clouds, fingers tipped with jagged nails – closing around Leo’s throat like a vise. His choked gasp, cut off mid-snarl. The brutal yank that hauled him bodily through the solid wall as if it were smoke. Dust motes swirling where he’d stood. Chloe hadn’t screamed then; pure, paralyzing terror had locked her throat. She’d just… run. Blindly, frantically, deeper into the suffocating labyrinth of the mansion’s upper floor. Every corner felt like a trap, every creak a death knell. Doors slammed shut seemingly on their own, hallways twisted back on themselves, and the chilling whispers seemed to coil around her ankles. Hours. It felt like hours of panicked flight, yet she hadn't found stairs down, hadn't found an exit. Only more oppressive corridors and the growing certainty that Leo was gone. The dragging sound paused directly outside the closet door. Chloe froze, her heart hammering against her ribs like a frantic bird. Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

The closet was narrow, smelling sharply of mothballs and damp linen. Chloe had stumbled into it purely by instinct, driven by the desperate need to vanish. The door had clicked shut behind her with surprising ease. Now, pressed against shelves stacked with yellowed sheets, she prayed the flimsy latch would hold. Outside, the dragging resumed. *Shhhh-thump… shhhh-thump*. Slow. Deliberate. Passing directly by the closet door. Chloe squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe shallowly through her nose. The sound faded slightly down the hallway. Relief, cold and thin, washed over her. She hadn't been seen. This tiny, forgotten space was her sanctuary. For now.

Then came the whispering. It wasn't loud, but it was everywhere. Soft, sibilant voices, layered over each other like dry leaves scraping across stone. They seemed to seep through the walls themselves. "Lost… little girl…" one hissed. "Pretty hair…" crooned another, chillingly close. "So scared… taste it…" Chloe clapped her hands over her ears, pressing hard, but the whispers burrowed straight into her skull. They weren't just sounds; they were cold fingers tracing her spine. Panic flared again, hot and blinding. She couldn't stay here. The closet suddenly felt like a coffin.

She fumbled blindly in the pitch-blackness, her fingers scrabbling against rough wood. She curses herself for dropping her flashlight while she was running. The door latch. Cold metal. She pushed. It didn't budge. Terror surged. She pushed harder, throwing her shoulder against the wood. A muffled groan escaped her lips. Nothing. The whispers intensified, swirling excitedly around the door now. "Trapped… trapped…" they hissed gleefully. *Ours now…"

Chloe whimpered, pressing her back against the shelves. Something soft and dusty brushed her neck – an old curtain or towel. She flinched violently. The dragging sound stopped abruptly. Utter silence descended, heavier than before. Then, a soft click. The closet door latch disengaged. The door creaked open a fraction, spilling a sliver of dim, greyish light from the hallway into the dusty gloom. Chloe froze, breath catching.

The hallway seemed clear. No monstrous silhouette filled the doorway. No wet, dragging sound echoed. Only the oppressive stillness remained, broken by the frantic thudding of her own heart. The whispers had vanished, too, replaced by a silence so profound it rang in her ears. Dust motes danced in the weak light filtering through grimy windows at the hallway's end. Warped floorboards stretched away, empty. Relief, sharp and dizzying, flooded her. She had been spared. For now.

Chloe edged out of the closet, her sneakers whispering on the dusty floor. Every nerve screamed to run, but where? Downstairs? Where did Benny disappear to? Where had Leo been snatched? The memory of Leo’s terrified gasp echoed, chilling her blood. Upstairs? Deeper into the suffocating maze? She pressed her back against the cool wallpaper, scanning the corridor. A faded painting hung crookedly nearby – a stern-faced man in outdated clothes, his eyes seeming to follow her. She shuddered and looked away.

Her lungs burned. She couldn't keep running blindly. Panic clawed at her throat. Where are the damn stairs? She’d passed the same peeling floral wallpaper three times, the same shattered vase lying in a corner. The mansion felt alive, shifting its walls to trap her. She leaned against the wall, gasping, sweat stinging her eyes. How far could she push her trembling legs before they gave out? Before it found her? The dragging sound echoed faintly from somewhere distant, a grim reminder.

Chloe fumbled her cellphone from her pocket, her fingers shaking. The cracked screen flickered to life. **NO SERVICE**. The bar remained stubbornly empty. A choked sob escaped her. No help. No way out. Just her, the oppressive silence broken by those awful whispers, and whatever hunted her. What's worse is that her phone is about to die. She jammed the useless phone back into her pocket, the plastic casing cold against her thigh.

The distant *shhhh-thump* started again, echoing from the left branch of the corridor. Chloe instinctively turned right, breaking into a silent, desperate jog. Her footsteps were feather-light on the creaking boards, her breath held tight. The hallway ended abruptly at a heavy oak door, slightly ajar. Faint, flickering light spilled through the gap – candlelight? Hope, fragile and dangerous, flared. Light meant people. Benny? Anyone. She pushed the door open slowly, wincing at its low groan.

Beyond lay the master bedroom. It wasn't a sanctuary; it was a frozen tableau of decayed grandeur and profound violation. A massive four-poster bed dominated the space, its canopy shredded like cobwebs. The velvet hangings were bleached grey with dust and age. On the bed lay two distinct piles of ash – unnervingly human-shaped outlines, one larger, one smaller. Lord and Lady Holloway.

The flickering light came from dozens of candles. They weren't placed decoratively; they were jammed haphazardly into every available surface – atop dusty dressers, melted onto the warped floorboards, even wedged into the crumbling plaster of the walls. Their flames cast long, dancing shadows that writhed across the ceiling and walls, making the dust motes look like frantic ghosts. The air reeked of tallow smoke and something older, fouler – the lingering scent of charred bone and despair.

Chloe stumbled further inside, drawn by the impossible flames. The door groaned shut behind her with a soft, final click. She spun, heart lurching. The latch had engaged itself. Trapped again. Panic clawed higher. She whirled back towards the bed, towards the candlelight, and froze.

She wasn't alone anymore.

Four spectral boys who looked around thirteen to fourteen years old stood between her and the ash-outlined bed, their forms translucent yet sharply defined in the candlelight. They wore tattered remnants of fine clothes – moth-eaten velvet jackets and knee-britches from another century, stained with phantom mud and something darker. Their eyes glowed with an unnatural, hungry light. The tallest had the lean, powerful build of a wolf, ears pricked atop his head, his elongated muzzle pulled back in a silent snarl that revealed sharp ghost-teeth. Beside him, twitching nervously, stood a rabbit-eared boy, his nose constantly quivering, long-limbed and trembling. To his left, a sturdy boy with floppy hound ears and mournful eyes shuffled his misty hands. And perched precariously on the shredded canopy frame above them, taloned feet gripping the rotten wood, was a crow boy with sleek black feathers instead of hair, his sharp eyes fixed unblinkingly on Chloe from beneath glossy crow wings folded tightly against his back.

Before Chloe could draw breath to scream, they moved. Not with ghostly drift, but with predatory speed. The wolf-boy lunged first, a grey blur that slammed into her midsection, knocking the air from her lungs in a painful gasp. The rabbit-boy seized her left arm with surprising strength, his long fingers digging into her flesh like cold iron. The hound-boy grabbed her right leg, pulling her off-balance. Together, they hauled her struggling form towards the center of the room, directly over a rough pentagram scratched deep into the dusty floorboards beneath. Chloe kicked wildly, her sneaker connecting only with insubstantial mist that solidified instantly to hold her tighter. A choked cry escaped her lips, instantly silenced as the crow-boy dropped from the canopy, landing lightly behind her. His feathered hands clamped over her mouth, sharp talons pricking her cheeks.

The candle flames surged higher, casting monstrous, writhing shadows on the walls as the boys descended. Hands – clawed, tore at her Halloween costume with frenzied purpose. The cheap polyester of her "witch" outfit offered no resistance. Shreds of black lace flew. The faux-leather corset ripped apart like paper, buckles pinging off the floorboards. Her fishnet stockings unraveled under frantic claws. The rabbit-boy’s twitching nose pressed close to her exposed stomach as he shredded the last scraps of her skirt. The wolf-boy snarled, rending her top with brutal efficiency. Within seconds, Chloe lay pinned on her back, utterly exposed on the cold, dusty floor. Her fur prickled in the chill air, goosebumps rising everywhere. The candlelight danced over her nakedness, illuminating terror in her wide eyes, the frantic rise and fall of her chest. The ghostly boys ringed her, their hungry eyes devouring her vulnerability, a silent communion of malice crackling between them.

The boys stepped back, their forms shimmering. Their tattered aristocratic clothes dissolved into wisps of spectral mist, evaporating like smoke. Underneath, they were naked. Translucent fur and feathers stretched over lean muscles, their animalistic features against their youthful forms. The wolf-boy’s lean frame pulsed with predatory energy, his canine member already stiffening. The rabbit-boy trembled, his long limbs tense, his own arousal evident. The hound-boy shuffled his feet, mournful eyes gleaming with unnerving hunger. The crow-boy feathers rustling, his sharp gaze fixed on the girl. Chloe’s mind screamed. She knew. The pentagram beneath her felt like ice against her bare skin. The intent radiated from their glowing eyes, a suffocating wave of violation. Fear paralyzed her limbs tighter than ropes. Her throat locked, trapping the scream inside. She could only whimper, a pathetic, breathless sound lost in the crackle of the candles.

The wolf-boy lunged. His ghostly form solidified, heavy and impossibly strong. He landed across Chloe’s hips, pinning her pelvis to the dusty floorboards with crushing weight. His clawed hands seized her wrists, slamming them down above her head. The cold bite of his spectral claws dug into her flesh, causing blood to drip from the wound. Simultaneously, the hound-boy dropped onto her legs, his sturdy weight pressing her thighs apart, anchoring her lower body. Chloe bucked wildly, a frantic, useless thrashing against their immovable hold. Dust choked her nostrils. Tears blurred the sight of the writhing shadows on the ceiling. The rabbit-boy knelt swiftly beside her head. His trembling fingers tangled in her hair, forcing her head sideways against the rough wood. His other hand, cold and furred, clamped over her nose, cutting off air. Panic exploded behind her eyes. She gasped, mouth opening wide in a desperate, silent plea for breath.

The rabbit-boy seized the moment. With shocking force, he shoved his phantom cock, thick and icy, deep into her open mouth. It tasted of grave dirt and ozone. Chloe gagged violently, her throat convulsing against the intrusion. Tears streamed down her temples. Above her, the wolf-boy snarled, a sound that vibrated through her pinned body. He shifted his hips, aligning himself. With a brutal thrust, he drove his own rigid length into her unprepared vagina. A ragged scream tore from Chloe’s throat, muffled grotesquely by the rabbit-boy’s cock filling her mouth. The pain was white-hot, tearing, a violation that ripped through her core. She felt stretched, invaded, and shattered. The coldness of him burned inside her, a searing agony that radiated outwards.

The wolf-boy began to rut, his thrusts deep and punishingly hard. Each inward drive ground her pelvis against the rough pentagram etched into the floorboards, scraping her skin raw. The rabbit-boy matched the rhythm, pistoning his hips, forcing his cock deeper down her throat with each thrust. She choked, saliva and phantom essence dripping from the corners of her mouth. The hound-boy, still pinning her legs wide, leaned forward. His mournful eyes gleamed as he watched the violation, his tongue lolling out in a panting grimace. The crow-boy circled above, his talons clicking softly on the floorboards near her head, his shadow falling over her face. His sharp gaze drank in her agony.

Chloe’s body arched in a futile spasm. The wolf-boy’s claws tightened on her wrists, drawing fresh beads of blood. The rabbit-boy’s furred hand pressed harder over her nose, suffocating her between thrusts. Stars burst behind her eyelids. Her lungs screamed. The pain was everywhere – the tearing stretches below, the choking fullness in her throat, the scrape of wood against her back, the cold, relentless pressure holding her down. It wasn’t just physical. A deeper violation seeped into her soul – the utter helplessness, the crushing weight of their spectral malice. She felt small, broken, discarded. The ghosts weren't just using her body; they were erasing her.

The wolf-boy growled, a deep rumble vibrating through Chloe’s pinned hips. He resumed thrusting, but faster now. Brutal, piston-like strokes hammered deep into her core. Each impact jolted her entire body against the unforgiving floor, the pentagram’s cold lines scraping her bare back raw. The tearing agony intensified, a white-hot fire spreading with every punishing drive. His claws dug deeper into her wrists, fresh blood welling hot and slick.

Beside her head, the rabbit-boy matched the frantic pace. His phantom hips pistoned violently, forcing his icy cock impossibly deeper down Chloe’s throat with each savage thrust. She gagged violently, tears streaming, saliva and spectral essence dripping from her chin. Her jaw felt wrenched apart, her throat a bruised, convulsing tube. The rabbit-boy’s twitching nose pressed against her temple, his breath a cold, rasping whisper as he choked her relentlessly. Above her, Chloe’s breasts bounced wildly with the jarring rhythm, trembling in the flickering candlelight.

The wolf-boy snarled, a guttural sound ripped from his spectral chest. His thrusts became frenzied, a brutal hammering deep into Chloe’s core. She felt every inch of him – the cold, unnatural hardness stretching her impossibly wide, the tearing burn radiating through her pelvis with each violent plunge. Her body arched uselessly against the crushing weight pinning her wrists and legs, scraping her raw back against the pentagram’s icy lines. The pain was a blinding white noise drowning out all thought.

Beside her head, the rabbit-boy whimpered, his own thrusts turning frantic and shallow. His cock pulsed thickly in Chloe’s ravaged throat, forcing choked gags past the suffocating blockage. Tears streamed down her temples, mixing with saliva dripping from her stretched lips. His twitching nose pressed wetly against her cheekbone, his cold breath rasping against her skin.

The wolf-boy threw his ghostly head back with a savage howl that echoed off the decaying walls. His hips slammed forward one final time, pinning Chloe deep against the pentagram's icy lines. She felt the violent release inside her – a flood of spectral ice that burned like acid, spreading through her core. It wasn't just physical; it felt like her very essence was being violated, scraped raw. A ragged scream tore from her throat, instantly muffled by the rabbit-boy's own climax filling her mouth. Phantom seed surged down her throat, tasting of grave soil and decay. She choked violently, her body convulsing against their crushing weight.

The rabbit-boy whimpered, his long ears flattening against his skull as he shuddered. He withdrew his softening cock from her bruised mouth with a slick, icy pop. Chloe gasped, gulping air that tasted of smoke and dust. Tears blurred her vision, mixing with saliva and phantom fluid smeared across her chin. Above her, the wolf-boy snarled softly, his claws releasing her bleeding wrists as he pulled himself free. The sudden absence of his icy intrusion left her feeling hollowed out, torn. Cold air rushed against her abused flesh.

Before she could even twitch, spectral hands seized her. The hound-boy's mournful eyes glinted with unnerving hunger as he hauled her limp body upright. The crow-boy's talons pricked her shoulders, sharp and demanding. Together, they flipped Chloe onto her stomach. The rough pentagram scraped her belly and breasts. Dust filled her nose. She tried to curl away, to shield herself, but the hound-boy straddled her thighs instantly, his solid ghost-weight pinning her lower body flat against the cold floorboards. His clawed hands gripped her hips, lifting her pelvis slightly, exposing her completely.

Behind her, the hound-boy positioned himself. Chloe felt the icy, blunt pressure against her tightest entrance. Panic surged – raw and primal. She kicked weakly, but his grip tightened on her hips like iron shackles. With a low, mournful growl, he thrust forward. Hard. The invasion was a jagged rip tearing through her, a violation deeper than anything before. Chloe screamed into the dusty wood, her voice muffled and broken. Her fingers clawed uselessly at the floor as he began a relentless rhythm, driving deep into her unprepared body. Each thrust ground her pelvis against the pentagram, reigniting the raw scrapes on her skin.

Simultaneously, the crow-boy moved. His glossy black feathers brushed her cheekbone as he knelt beside her head. With sharp talons, he gripped her jaw, forcing it open wide. She tried to twist away, but his grip was unyielding. His cock, slick and unnaturally cold, plunged into her mouth, filling her throat instantly. It tasted metallic, like frozen blood. Chloe gagged violently, tears streaming anew, choking on the thick intrusion. Above her, the crow-boy watched with predatory stillness, his dark eyes gleaming in the candlelight. He didn't thrust wildly; he held himself deep, a suffocating presence forcing her jaw unnaturally wide, making her throat spasm around him. Saliva pooled beneath her cheek, mixing with dust and tears.

The hound-boy behind her maintained a steady, brutal rhythm. His mournful whines had vanished, replaced by low, rhythmic grunts. Each deep thrust jolted Chloe forward against the crow-boy’s grip, her face scraping the floorboards. The pentagram’s etched lines burned like ice against her belly and breasts. The rabbit-boy reappeared, crouching low beside her. His trembling fingers traced the curve of her hip, then slid lower. His furred hand pressed against her swollen, abused clit. A spark of unwanted sensation shot through her, sharp and confusing amidst the agony. He pressed harder, rubbing small, insistent circles. Chloe whimpered against the crow-boy’s cock filling her mouth, the sound muffled and broken. Her body betrayed her, a traitorous flicker of heat igniting beneath the relentless pressure of the rabbit-boy’s cold fingers, warring violently with the searing pain of the hound-boy’s violation.

The wolf-boy watched from the foot of the bed, his lean form tense. His glowing eyes tracked every flinch, every choked sob. Seeing the rabbit-boy’s ministrations, a predatory grin split his muzzle. He stalked forward, claws clicking on the wood. He knelt beside Chloe’s pinned hips, opposite the rabbit-boy. His clawed hand joined the rabbit’s, his touch rougher, demanding. He pinched her clit hard. Chloe screamed silently around the crow-boy’s shaft, her body bucking helplessly against the conflicting sensations – the tearing invasion behind her, the cruel, icy pressure from the wolf-boy’s claws, and the relentless rubbing from the rabbit-boy. Tears streamed freely, carving paths through the grime on her cheeks.

The hound-boy felt her involuntary spasm. His mournful whine turned guttural. His thrusts became frantic, a pounding rhythm that slammed Chloe’s hips against the hound-boy’s solid grip. Each brutal drive forced her face harder against the crow boy's cock. Above her, the crow-boy reacted. His stillness vanished. He began fucking her throat with sharp, shallow jabs, his talons digging deeper into her jaw. Her gag reflex triggered violently with each thrust, her throat convulsing around the icy intrusion. The wolf-boy snarled, his claws digging into her sensitive flesh, twisting the unwanted pleasure into agony. The rabbit-boy whimpered, his own fingers moving faster, mirroring the escalating frenzy.

Chloe’s body betrayed her. The conflicting sensations – the tearing pain behind her, the choking fullness in her throat, the cruel, icy pressure on her clit – collided into a horrifying wave. It crested despite her mind screaming no. A ragged, muffled cry tore from her as her hips bucked uncontrollably against the hound-boy’s relentless assault. Shame flooded her hotter than the unwanted climax. Tears streamed freely, mixing with saliva dripping from her chin. The wolf-boy roared in triumph, pinching her brutally as she spasmed. The rabbit-boy shuddered, his touch faltering.

The hound-boy felt her convulsions. His mournful whine escalated into a frantic howl. His thrusts became desperate, pounding frenzy, slamming Chloe’s hips against his own grip. Each brutal drive forced her face harder onto the crow-boy’s cock. Above her, the crow-boy reacted instantly. He abandoned stillness, pistoning his hips in sharp, shallow jabs that choked her violently. Her throat convulsed around the icy intrusion, gagging uncontrollably. The hound-boy’s movements grew erratic, frantic. With a final, guttural groan that shook his spectral frame, he slammed deep and froze. A flood of freezing, viscous phantom seed erupted inside her, a burning violation that seared her insides. He shuddered violently atop her, his grip slackening slightly.

Simultaneously, the crow-boy arched his feathered back. A harsh caw ripped from his throat as he thrust one last time, burying himself to the root in her mouth. Chloe choked as icy essence flooded her throat, thick and tasting of old blood and feathers. He held himself there, pulsing, forcing her to swallow convulsively before withdrawing with a slick, icy pop. Saliva and spectral fluid dripped from her bruised lips onto the dusty pentagram.

The boys withdrew their softening cocks. Chloe collapsed onto her stomach, trembling violently. Every muscle screamed. Her throat burned, her core felt shredded and frozen, her back scraped raw. Exhaustion pressed down heavier than their spectral hands. She couldn't lift her head. Couldn't move. Tears carved paths through the grime on her cheeks, silent sobs shaking her broken body. She heard shuffling footsteps, the soft click of claws on wood, but couldn't muster the energy to look.

The wolf-boy crouched low beside the decayed bedframe. His clawed hand vanished beneath the dusty velvet skirt, rummaging for a moment before emerging clutching a thick. He padded silently towards the heavy oak door, his lean form casting a long, flickering shadow in the candlelight. Chloe barely registered his movement, her cheek pressed against the icy pentagram lines, breath hitching in ragged gasps.

Rough hands seized her shoulders and hips—the rabbit-boy and hound-boy hauling her limp body upright onto her knees. Her muscles screamed in protest. They twisted her roughly, positioning her naked back squarely facing the door where the wolf-boy stood waiting. The boys then hold her arms out, not giving her any chance to escape her fate. Tears blurred her vision as she hung suspended between their grips. "Why?" she choked out, her voice shredded raw. "Why are you doing this?"

The wolf-boy snarled, low and dangerous. "Abbie Hart," he spat, the name echoing like a curse in the decaying room. The rabbit-boy whimpered beside her ear, his grip tightening painfully. "You know why."

Confusion warred with terror in Chloe’s tear-filled eyes. "Abbie? My... grandma? No! She wouldn’t—"

The wolf-boy’s snarl cut her off, sharp as the crack that followed. He flicked his wrist. The thick leather whip sang through the smoky air and bit deep into Chloe’s exposed back. Pain exploded—white-hot, searing—ripping a scream from her raw throat. Blood welled instantly, hot trails snaking down her spine.

But worse was the vision. Blinding. Violent.

In a different room, dark and in a basement. Flickering candles. But the pentagram holds a boy – the wolf-boy, trembling. Not spectral, but flesh and blood, bound naked. An older woman stands over him. Her face – sharp chin, wide-set eyes – is Chloe's face aged thirty years. Abbie Hart. She wears a dark, severe dress. Her eyes burn with cold fury. In her hand, the same thick whip.

The wolf-boy whimper, twisting against coarse ropes biting his wrists and ankles. "Please, Mistress Hart... I didn't mean—"

*CRACK!* The whip bites again, deeper. Blood blooms across his shoulder blades. Abbie Hart’s lips curl. "Filthy beast," she hisses, her voice chillingly familiar. "You are nothing but filthy commoner." She drops the whip, hikes her skirts. The boy screams as she forces herself onto him, her movements brutal, mechanical. "This," she pants, grinding down, "is purification."

The vision snapped. Chloe gasped, choking on dust and phantom echoed. The whip cracked again across her own back. Agony ripped through her, merging past and present. She screamed, a raw, tearing sound that echoed Abbie’s victim’s cry. Blood slicked her spine, hot and sticky.

Another lash tore into her flesh. The pain was key, unlocking another brutal scene. The wolf boy bound tighter now, wrists raw and bleeding. Abbie Hart circled him like a vulture, her whip trailing on the stone floor. CRACK! The leather bites his ribs. He arches, a strangled sob escaping. "Please... stop..." Abbie laughs, cold and sharp. "Stop? We've only begun." She drops the whip, kneels before him. Her hand grips him roughly, forcing arousal from pain and terror. He whimpers as she mounts him again, her movements vicious, punctuated by sharp slaps to his face. "Filth," she spits. "You'll scream for me."*

The whip cracked again. Chloe tasted blood – her own, biting her lip. The vision shifted. Later. The wolf boy is limp on the floor with his hands tied behind his back, barely conscious. Bruises bloom across his chest and thighs. Abbie Hart stands back, admiring her handiwork. Two men in rough clothes enter – townsfolk Chloe vaguely recognizes from old photos. They leer. "Fine work, Mistress Hart," one chuckles. "Ready for the finale?" Abbie nods, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "String him up properly. Let the beast dance." They loop a coarse rope around his neck. He wakes, eyes wide with terror as they drag him towards a waiting beam. "No! Please!" His scream echoes in the stone chamber. 

They hoist him up. His legs kick wildly as the wolf boy struggled. Yet, due to the torture and rape he has endured he couldn’t keep the fight up for long. Then his kicks slow down. His face is purple, eyes in a shock state, and tears running down his face. Abbie watches, rapt, as he chokes, his body twitching in the air.

Another lash tore Chloe’s skin open. The agony was a bridge. The wolf boy hangs lifeless, swaying gently. Abbie Hart steps forward, skirts rustling. She runs her hand almost tenderly down his cooling leg. "All filthy boys deserve this fate," she murmurs. Then she turns to the men. "Cut him down. Dispose of him with the others." Her voice is cold, detached. "The Holloways will pay for sheltering this filth."

The whip cracked again, snapping Chloe back to the decaying bedroom. Blood ran freely down her back, pooling at the base of her spine. Through tear-blurred eyes, she saw the rabbit-boy flinch as the leather struck her. His long ears trembled. A flash erupted: Abbie Hart’s whip slicing across the rabbit-boy’s naked back as he’s bound to a post. "Squeal for me, vermin!" she commands. He whimpers, a high-pitched sound, as she forces him onto his knees. Her fingers twist cruelly in his fur. "Open wide." Her skirts lift, and she shoves herself into his mouth, riding his face with brutal thrusts while the people laugh.

Another lash tore Chloe’s skin. The pain unlocked the hound-boy’s memory: Bound hand and naked on the cold stone floor, the hound-boy whines as Abbie Hart circles him. Her boot lands hard on his ribs. CRACK! The whip bites his flank. "Mangy cur," she sneers. Two men haul him on his back, spreading his legs wide. Abbie spits on her hand, then forces herself onto him with a grunt. He howls, the sound echoing off the walls as she rides him viciously, her nails raking his chest.

The whip cracked again. Chloe screamed, her back a map of raw agony. The crow-boy’s past flooded her mind: Strung up by his wrists from a beam, wings pinned painfully. Abbie stands below, whip coiled. "Filthy scavenger," she hisses. CRACK! Leather bites his thigh. Blood drips onto the stones. She climbs onto a stool, grabs his hips, and impales herself on him. His choked cries fill the room as she uses him, her laughter sharp. "Fly now," she mocks when she finishes.

Each lash unveiled their shared horror. The wolf-boy. The rabbit-boy. The hound-boy. The crow-boy. All bound. All whipped. All violated. And always, always, the same finale: a noose tightening around a bruised neck, bodies jerking lifelessly as Abbie Hart watched, cold satisfaction in her eyes. Chloe saw them all – writhing, choking, dying. Their terror became hers, their phantom breaths rasping in her ears.

The twentieth stroke landed. The wolf-boy froze mid-swing, the thick leather whip dangling loosely from his clawed hand. His spectral chest heaved, not with exertion, but with a fury that seemed to vibrate the very air. The rabbit-boy whimpered, releasing Chloe’s arm. She slumped forward onto her hands and knees, trembling violently. Blood dripped steadily from her ravaged back, spattering onto the pentagram below. The cold floorboards stung her scraped palms and knees, a grounding agony amidst the storm inside her skull.

A coil of coarse rope slithered across the dusty wood towards her. It moved with spectral intent, thick and unforgiving. Chloe watched it come, her vision blurred by tears and exhaustion. She knew. The visions – the hanging boys, Abbie Hart’s cold eyes – screamed the truth. Her grandmother wasn't just a stern matriarch; she was a torturer, a rapist, and a murderer. These ghosts weren't random predators; they were vengeance made flesh. And she… she was the bloodline offering. A choked sob escaped her raw throat. There was no fight left. Only a hollow, paralyzing terror that seeped into her bones.

The rabbit-boy snatched the rope’s end. His furred hands trembled as he fashioned a crude noose, the knot bulky and harsh. The hound-boy hauled her upright again, his claws digging into her bleeding shoulders. Chloe’s legs buckled, but he held her firm. The noose hovered before her eyes, smelling of dust and decay. The crow-boy fluttered above, talons clicking impatiently near the heavy ceiling beam. A spectral hook shimmered into existence there. The wolf-boy watched, his muzzle pulled back in a silent snarl, the whip still clenched in his fist. He gave a sharp nod.

Chloe knew. The visions of her grandmother’s victims choked her thoughts – the purple faces, the kicking legs, the final gasps. Her own throat tightened reflexively. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry as a desert. She couldn’t fight. Her back screamed in agony, muscles shredded. Her limbs felt like lead weights. A whimper escaped her, thin and broken. The rabbit-boy looped the scratchy rope over her head. The rough hemp settled against the raw welts on her neck, a cruel promise. She flinched at the touch, tears blurring the flickering candles.

The hound-boy hauled her limp body upright, claws digging into her bleeding shoulders. Her knees buckled. The rabbit-boy pulled the knot tight around her neck. It bit into her skin, instantly uncomfortable, terrifyingly final. The crow-boy cawed sharply overhead, talons scraping the ancient oak beam where a spectral hook shimmered into existence. The wolf-boy watched, eyes burning with vengeful fire, the whip forgotten at his side. He gave a curt nod.

Chloe’s ragged gasp was cut short. The rope snapped taut. Her feet left the floor. Air vanished from her lungs as the noose crushed her windpipe. A strangled, wet gurgle escaped her lips. Her body jerked violently, legs kicking uselessly in empty space. Above her, the rope groaned under her weight. The pentagram swam beneath her dangling toes, blurred by tears. The crow ties the end of the noose to the beam.

The ghosts gathered silently beneath Chloe’s convulsing form. The wolf-boy stood in front and center, muzzle lifted, eyes locked on Chloe’s face. The rabbit-boy trembled beside him; long ears flattened against his skull. The hound-boy tilted his head, nostrils flaring at the scent of blood and terror. The crow-boy perched on the beam, talons gripping the wood beside the spectral hook, his feathered head cocked intently. They watched, not with glee, but with grim, spectral fixation. This was the echo. The repetition. The final act that Abbie Hart had orchestrated for each of them. Now, it was her granddaughter’s turn.

Chloe’s kicks grew weaker. Her face was purple, eyes bulging wide and sightless. A thin line of bloody saliva trailed from her lips onto her chest. The rope creaked rhythmically with her fading struggles. The wolf-boy’s claws flexed. He saw not Chloe, but the memory of his own hanging – the rough hemp biting his neck, the faces of people below, Abbie Hart’s cold, triumphant stare. The rabbit-boy whimpered softly, remembering his own suffocating terror, the cruel laughter. The hound-boy’s mournful whine vibrated deep in his chest. The crow-boy ruffled his feathers, a harsh sound in the stillness.

They didn’t move. Didn’t touch her. They simply watched a silent circle of vengeance beneath the gently swaying body. The candlelight flickered across Chloe’s bruised skin, the whip marks stark and weeping on her back. Her fingers twitched once, then went limp. A final, wet rattle escaped her crushed throat. Her head lolled grotesquely to the side. The kicking ceased entirely. Only the slow, pendulous swing remained, the rope groaning softly against the beam.

Silence descended, thick and suffocating. The wolf-boy lowered his muzzle. The rabbit-boy’s trembling ceased. The hound-boy sniffed the air, catching the scent of death mingling with dust and old blood. The crow-boy ruffled his feathers once more, then settled. The fury that had animated them seemed to drain away, leaving only a profound, hollow exhaustion. One by one, their spectral forms flickered, becoming less distinct. They didn't vanish immediately. Instead, the wolf-boy took a step forward, not towards Chloe, but towards the rabbit-boy. He reached out a clawed hand, placing it gently on the smaller ghost’s trembling shoulder. The rabbit-boy leaned into the touch, burying his muzzle against the wolf-boy’s furred chest. A low whine escaped him, not with pain, but with shared sorrow. The hound-boy nudged against them, pressing close. The crow-boy fluttered down silently, landing beside them, his wing brushing against the hound-boy’s side. For a moment, they stood entwined – a tight knot of broken spirits sharing an impossible comfort. Then, as if a candle had been snuffed, their forms dissolved into wisps of cold mist. They faded soundlessly, leaving no trace behind.

Only Chloe remained. Her body hung limp in the stillness, swaying gently on the coarse rope. The candlelight cast long, grotesque shadows across her bruised and bloodied skin, highlighting the savage stripes etched into her back. Her face, purple and swollen, was tilted downwards, sightless eyes staring blankly at the pentagram beneath her dangling toes. Her torn clothes lay scattered nearby, useless rags. The thick leather whip rested discarded on the dusty floorboards. The air hung heavy with the coppery tang of blood and the faint, lingering chill of departed spirits. Dust motes danced in the flickering light, the only movement in the tomb-like room.

Silence pressed in, absolute and suffocating. Then, a shrill electronic chirp shattered it. Chloe's cellphone, half-buried under a scrap of her shredded costume skirt, lit up on the floor. The screen flashed: Mom Calling. It vibrated insistently against the wood, the cheerful ringtone horrifically out of place. The call went unanswered. The screen dimmed. A moment later, it lit up again with a soft ping. A text message appeared: "Hey sweetie! Just checking in. Everything okay? Don’t forget breakfast tomorrow morning with the family! Bring Leo! Grandma Abbie’s making her famous pancakes. Text me back so I don’t worry! Love you!"