Trying my hand at some horror(and some sexual horror too). Sorry i haven't uploaded anything in a while. Love you all, and thanks for the support!!!

The Voss House is not merely a building. It is an entity — a living, breathing, remembering thing that has stood at the dead end of Bellmer Road in Dunhallow, Pennsylvania for over one hundred and thirty years, accumulating history the way old wood accumulates rot: silently, steadily, and with a patience that borders on the divine. Built in 1891 by the reclusive amateur occultist Elias Voss on land that locals had long since deemed "wrong" in ways no one could articulate, the house has outlasted every family that dared to call it home, every investigator that dared to call it a project, and every skeptic that dared to call it ordinary. It sits at the very end of the block like a full stop at the end of a sentence — three stories of warped Victorian timber, crumbling gingerbread trim, and windows that seem to reflect light at the wrong angle, catching the sun in the morning when the sun is nowhere near, glowing faintly amber after midnight when there is no one inside and no electricity to speak of. The house is not haunted in the way that word is popularly understood. It is not merely a vessel for residual energies or the wounded echoes of the dead. It is aware. It knows when someone has stepped onto the porch. It knows what they want. And it has opinions about whether they deserve to find it.

The house communicates through the language it has always spoken: the language of objects in motion, of temperature, of sound, of smell, of sudden and inexplicable change. It whispers through the settling of floorboards in patterns too deliberate to be structural. It speaks through the swinging of cabinet doors in the absence of drafts, through the welling up of music from a phonograph that has had no needle since 1953, through the way candles — if you are bold enough to bring them — burn sideways. The Voss House has a memory longer than any of its former residents and a will far stronger than any lock its various owners ever thought to install. It does not want to harm everyone who enters. But it does want something from every person who crosses its threshold. What it wants depends entirely on who you are, what you carry with you emotionally, and how you behave once you are inside. It rewards the curious. It punishes the cruel. It toys with the frightened. And it is absolutely fascinated by anyone brave enough — or foolish enough — to stay past the point where every survival instinct they possess is screaming at them to leave.