The whispers outside my door clawed at those memories. “You promised.”

The knocking was relentless now, shaking the walls. The voices—Timmy’s, Sarah’s, Matt’s—twisted into a chorus of hunger and rage.

“Let us in! You promised!”

I clutched the baseball bat, my mind spinning. It couldn’t be them. They were dead. Gone. But Timmy’s voice cut through the noise, clear as the day he’d said it: “You’re the last one, Danny. You can’t leave us out here.”

Danny. My childhood nickname. No one had called me that in years.

I stumbled to the door, hands trembling as I unlocked it. I had to see. I cracked it open, just a sliver, and the air turned cold.

They were there.

Timmy stood closest, his wet hair plastered to his skull, water dripping from his clothes like he’d crawled out of the lake. Sarah’s head lolled to one side, her neck bent unnaturally, her eyes black and endless. Matt loomed behind them, his frame gaunt, his hands clawing at the air.

“You’re the last one,” Timmy said, his voice echoing inside my head.

“We kept our promise,” Sarah hissed, her lips cracked and bleeding. “We came back.”

Matt’s skeletal fingers brushed the door. “Now let us in.”

I slammed it shut, bolting every lock, but the pounding only grew louder. The house groaned under the force, and the whispers seeped through the walls.

“We’re hungry, Danny. So hungry.”