Dad pushed it.
Inside—
The living room was empty.
Clean.
Nothing out of place.
No shoes.
No signs of visitors.
Nothing.
“Mom?” I called softly.
Still nothing.
Then—
We heard it.
From inside the bedroom.
Voices.
Many voices.
Whispers.
Deep.
Low.
Like men talking.
Dad looked at me.
I looked at him.
Fear.
Pure fear.
Slowly…
He walked toward the room.
Step by step.
The whispers grew louder.
Clearer.
But strange.
Like they were echoing from somewhere… not quite human.
Dad reached the door.
His hand hovered over the handle.
He looked back at me.
“Stay behind me,” he said.
I nodded, trembling.
He pushed the door open.
And what we saw inside—
Made my father stagger backward.
My mother was in the middle of the room.
Surrounded.
By them.
The same seventeen men.
But this time—
They weren’t normal.
Their eyes…
Completely black.
Their skin…
Too pale.
Their smiles…
Too wide.
And worst of all—
Their feet…
Were not touching the ground.
They were floating.
Slowly.
Circling her.
My mother was laughing.
Like nothing was wrong.
Like this was normal.
One of them turned.
Slowly.
And looked straight at us.
My blood froze.
Because this time—
He could see us too.
“Phillip…” it said.
Its voice…
Was not human.
“You were not supposed to come back.”
