"Rotten."
Anna had always loved exploring old, abandoned places. When she heard of an ancient farmhouse on the outskirts of her town that no one dared to enter, she couldn't resist.
Rumor had it the farmhouse was cursed, left to decay after the family who lived there mysteriously disappeared decades ago. People whispered that anyone who went inside would return “rotten.” No one could explain exactly what that meant, but Anna wasn’t one to believe in spooky stories. Grabbing her flashlight, a notebook, and a camera, she set out for the house.
The farmhouse loomed dark and silent, with broken windows that looked like hollow, watching eyes. As she stepped inside, a sickly-sweet stench hit her—a smell like rotting meat and decaying wood. She forced herself to ignore it, moving carefully through the broken furniture and peeling wallpaper. Her flashlight illuminated dust-covered walls and shattered mirrors.
In one room, she found faded family portraits hanging crookedly on the walls, their faces smudged and distorted, as if something had melted the ink. In the dim light, she thought she saw the faces twitch, but brushed it off as her imagination.
As she walked deeper into the house, the foul smell grew stronger, making her gag. She pulled her sleeve over her nose and pushed open the door to the kitchen. There, an ancient fridge sat in the corner, its door slightly ajar. Against her better judgment, she pulled it open.
Inside were piles of food, decades old, all covered in a dark, pulsing fungus that seemed to breathe. The mold spread like dark veins across the shelves, and as she stared, it seemed to stretch toward her.
She stumbled back, feeling something wet and sticky on her hand. She looked down and screamed—her skin was beginning to decay, turning a sickly shade of green and brown, patches peeling away as if she were rotting from the inside out. Panicked, she turned to run, but her feet wouldn’t move.
The floor beneath her creaked, then cracked open. From between the floorboards, skeletal hands reached out, crawling toward her. They latched onto her ankles, their touch freezing and clammy. She struggled, but the more she fought, the faster her skin seemed to rot, pieces falling away in dark, sticky clumps.
She felt the rot spreading, her heartbeat slowing, her flesh growing colder as though something were draining the life from her. Her vision blurred, and she looked down at her arms, horrified to see her veins darkening, her skin turning gray and lifeless. She was becoming part of the house itself, her body decaying by the second.
In her last moments of consciousness, she heard a low, raspy voice echo from the walls: “Welcome to the family.”
The townspeople found her two days later, collapsed at the edge of the farmhouse property. But Anna was no longer herself. Her skin was gray and withered, her eyes hollow and staring. She was alive, but barely—a shell of the vibrant person she’d once been. She never spoke again, never returned to who she was. From that day on, anyone who dared to enter the farmhouse was found in the same state, cursed and rotten, claimed by the house that fed on the living.
"Rotten."
Anna had always loved exploring old, abandoned places. When she heard of an ancient farmhouse on the outskirts of her town that no one dared to enter, she couldn't resist.
Rumor had it the farmhouse was cursed, left to decay after the family who lived there mysteriously disappeared decades ago. People whispered that anyone who went inside would return “rotten.” No one could explain exactly what that meant, but Anna wasn’t one to believe in spooky stories. Grabbing her flashlight, a notebook, and a camera, she set out for the house.
The farmhouse loomed dark and silent, with broken windows that looked like hollow, watching eyes. As she stepped inside, a sickly-sweet stench hit her—a smell like rotting meat and decaying wood. She forced herself to ignore it, moving carefully through the broken furniture and peeling wallpaper. Her flashlight illuminated dust-covered walls and shattered mirrors.
In one room, she found faded family portraits hanging crookedly on the walls, their faces smudged and distorted, as if something had melted the ink. In the dim light, she thought she saw the faces twitch, but brushed it off as her imagination.
As she walked deeper into the house, the foul smell grew stronger, making her gag. She pulled her sleeve over her nose and pushed open the door to the kitchen. There, an ancient fridge sat in the corner, its door slightly ajar. Against her better judgment, she pulled it open.
Inside were piles of food, decades old, all covered in a dark, pulsing fungus that seemed to breathe. The mold spread like dark veins across the shelves, and as she stared, it seemed to stretch toward her.
She stumbled back, feeling something wet and sticky on her hand. She looked down and screamed—her skin was beginning to decay, turning a sickly shade of green and brown, patches peeling away as if she were rotting from the inside out. Panicked, she turned to run, but her feet wouldn’t move.
The floor beneath her creaked, then cracked open. From between the floorboards, skeletal hands reached out, crawling toward her. They latched onto her ankles, their touch freezing and clammy. She struggled, but the more she fought, the faster her skin seemed to rot, pieces falling away in dark, sticky clumps.
She felt the rot spreading, her heartbeat slowing, her flesh growing colder as though something were draining the life from her. Her vision blurred, and she looked down at her arms, horrified to see her veins darkening, her skin turning gray and lifeless. She was becoming part of the house itself, her body decaying by the second.
In her last moments of consciousness, she heard a low, raspy voice echo from the walls: “Welcome to the family.”
The townspeople found her two days later, collapsed at the edge of the farmhouse property. But Anna was no longer herself. Her skin was gray and withered, her eyes hollow and staring. She was alive, but barely—a shell of the vibrant person she’d once been. She never spoke again, never returned to who she was. From that day on, anyone who dared to enter the farmhouse was found in the same state, cursed and rotten, claimed by the house that fed on the living.
