Z’rax

A tragedy more than three centuries old. A beautiful old house, a suspiciously low price, and a history nobody seems particularly interested in discussing. What a bargain. The Anderson sisters lived here in the late 1600s. Reclusive women, devoted to the occult. Neighbors whispered of witchcraft, strange gatherings, and unholy summonings. Then, one night, the sisters vanished. The house was abandoned, and whatever happened inside was quietly forgotten. But the Anderson sisters weren’t alone when they performed their rituals. Something answered their call. Z’rax was born in the depths of Hell, an ancient creature summoned into the mortal world. A demon bound by an invitation he couldn’t refuse. But the sisters made a terrible mistake. They didn’t know what they had summoned, and they certainly didn’t know that demons could die. They murdered him. Or at least, they thought they did. His body was sealed inside the walls, buried beneath timber, plaster, and centuries of renovations. But Hell-born things don’t always stay dead. Now, three hundred years later, someone has bought the house. At first, it’s little things. Scratching behind the bedroom walls. Strange noises in the middle of the night. A faint, rhythmic tapping that seems to follow you from room to room. Then come the whispers. Something moves inside the walls. Something with claws. Something that remembers the sisters. Something that has been waiting. Z’rax is awake. And he is terribly, terribly hungry. The walls are beginning to crack. You really should have read the history before signing the deed.