Let me tell uou about a true story, lost in time.

In the early 1700s, nestled deep within the dense pine forests of East Texas, stood an old plantation house known as the Hollow Manor. The locals whispered tales of its dark past, claiming it was alive—an entity that thrived on the flesh of the living. They spoke of the way the house seemed to breathe, its wooden beams creaking like a sinister laugh whenever a traveler wandered too close.

The plantation was owned by the Hawthorne family, who had settled in the region seeking prosperity. However, as the years passed, the family began to disappear one by one. First, it was the eldest son, Thomas, who ventured into the woods one evening and never returned. Then, the matriarch, Margaret, went missing after a violent storm, her screams swallowed by the howling wind. The townsfolk shook their heads, convinced the house had claimed them, but the Hawthornes remained, bound to the cursed land.

One fateful autumn night, a young drifter named Ginalyn stumbled upon the Hollow Manor while seeking shelter from the relentless rain. She was weary, her clothes tattered, and her stomach growled with hunger. As she approached, the house loomed over her, its windows dark and inviting. The door creaked open, as if beckoning her inside.

Ginalyn hesitated but was drawn in by the warmth emanating from within. The interior was lavishly decorated, an unsettling contrast to the decay that surrounded it. A grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals glinting like teeth in the dim light. She stepped inside, and the door slammed shut behind her with a bone-chilling thud.

As she wandered through the opulent rooms, Ginalyn felt an inexplicable sense of dread. The walls seemed to pulse, and she could hear faint whispers, like the echoes of those who had come before her. The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of something rotten. She stumbled upon a dining room, where a long table was set for a feast, though no food adorned the plates. Instead, the table was stained with dark, dried splotches that looked disturbingly like blood.

Suddenly, the whispers grew louder, morphing into anguished cries. Ginalyn turned to flee, but the house shifted around her, the walls closing in as if they were alive. She sprinted toward the door, but it was no longer there; instead, she found herself in a long corridor lined with portraits of the Hawthorne family. Their eyes seemed to follow her, filled with a mix of hunger and despair.

Panicking, Ginalyn stumbled backward and fell into a hidden room. It was a gruesome sight—a chamber filled with bones, remnants of those who had been consumed by the house. Her heart raced as she realized the truth: the Hollow Manor was indeed alive, and it fed on the souls of the lost.

In a desperate attempt to escape, she clawed at the walls, but they closed in tighter, the very structure of the house seeming to pulse with a grotesque hunger. Suddenly, a trapdoor opened beneath her, and she fell into a dark pit. The walls were slick with blood, and she landed among the remains of the previous victims, their faces twisted in eternal agony.

As she lay there, the truth hit her like a cold wave: the house didn’t just eat people; it absorbed their essence, their fears, their very souls. In that moment of realization, the whispers grew into a cacophony of laughter—Ginalyn was not the first, nor would she be the last.

But the twisted climax came when she felt the floor beneath her shift. The bones began to rattle, and the spirits of the house rose, merging with her, their screams intertwining with her own. She was trapped, not just as a meal but as a part of the house itself, destined to lure others into the same fate.

The final twist came when, years later, a group of travelers stumbled upon the Hollow Manor. The door creaked open, and a warm breeze beckoned them in, the air thick with the scent of a feast. As they entered, they heard the faintest whisper of Ginalyn, now a voice among the many, echoing through the halls, “Welcome… I’ve been waiting for you.”

And the house, hungry once more, began to breathe.