The heat hit Finn like a sock full of sand the second Liam killed the engine. It wasn't just hot; it was the kind of dry, suffocating heat that made the back of his throat stick together.

"Welcome to Nevada," his older brother, Liam, deadpanned, rubbing the red stubble on his chin. Liam, at seventeen, had the sun-faded red hair and skeptical squint of someone who’d seen too much of the world—which, in his case, meant the dull suburbs of Sacramento.

Finn, at sixteen, pushed his mop of blonde hair off his forehead. He was the worrier, the one who read too many books and saw shadows in corners. "It's barely June. Why does it feel like the sun is trying to kill us?"

Liam just pointed. "Behold, the reason we’re here."

The house loomed at the end of a long, cracked asphalt driveway. It wasn't a rambling ranch or a stucco box, which was what Finn expected in a desert town. This was a Victorian mansion, massive and dark, its turrets and gables like snarling teeth against the bright blue sky. It looked less like a house and more like a massive, misplaced tombstone.

"She said it was old," Finn muttered, pulling his backpack out of the trunk.

"She said it was almost 350 years old," Liam corrected. "Which is nuts. Nevada wasn't even a state when that thing was supposed to be built. It’s wrong, Finn. It's the wrong house for the wrong place."

Their Great Aunt Eda, whom they barely knew, was waiting on the porch. Aunt Eda was an estate seller who made her living "flipping" historical properties, and she looked like a manic hummingbird—small, dressed in bright, clashing colors, with silver rings on every finger.

"Boys! You made it!" Eda rushed forward, giving them each a quick, bone-crushing hug before letting them go instantly. "Isn't she glorious? Just bought the place. I've been calling her 'The Antiquity.' She needs work, of course, but the bones are magnificent. Pure late-Victorian, maybe some early Gothic Revival, with… well, never mind the details. You'll be staying in the North Wing. I have a contractor meeting in an hour, so keep the tour brief!"

She gestured toward the colossal front door, which looked like it hadn't been painted since the house was new. The second they stepped inside, the heat vanished. The air was cool, dry, and thick with the smell of dust, ancient leather, and something metallic—like old coins.

Eda’s tour was a blur of grand, empty rooms, shadowed hallways, and peeling wallpaper. "Kitchen's that way, don't worry about the noise up here," she chirped, pointing vaguely toward the ceiling. "I’ll be in the study. Dinner at six, don't touch the brass ornaments, and don't—under any circumstances—go up to the attic. It's full of lead dust."

With that, she disappeared into a side room, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind her.

Liam dropped his bag on the worn wooden floor. "The North Wing, huh? Sounds like a good place to be murdered."

They found their room—a large, surprisingly clean space with two twin beds and a window that overlooked a vast, overgrown backyard. The glass in the window was wavy, distorting the dry, golden-brown weeds outside.

"Well, this is our summer," Finn sighed, flopping onto a bed. "Three months of listening to Aunt Eda talk about property values."

Liam was already looking out the window, his head cocked. "Hold up. Look at that yard. And that fence. It's all… dead."

As Finn got up to join him, a flash of movement caught his eye. A figure was standing by the sagging, rusty fence, watching them. It was a boy, maybe a year or so older than them, dressed in faded jeans and a dark t-shirt, squinting into the sunlight.

Liam shrugged. "Local kid, maybe. Wants to see the weird newcomers."

But when the boy saw Finn looking, he didn't look away. Instead, a slight, curious smile touched his lips. Finn felt a nervous heat rise in his cheeks, a reaction he hadn't expected. The boy—Caleb, as they would soon learn—didn't seem like the kind of kid who stared to be mean. He looked like the kind of kid who was waiting for a secret.

Finn glanced quickly at Liam, who was busy trying to open the window latch, and then looked back at Caleb. The boy lifted a hand in a small, almost imperceptible wave, then turned and disappeared behind a towering, dying rosebush.

He already thinks we're weird, Finn thought, but the thought wasn't unpleasant.

Later, exploring the dusty grounds, they found Caleb again, sitting on the low stone wall at the edge of the property.

"You the new kids staying at the Eda place?" Caleb asked, his voice low and gravelly.

"Liam and Finn. Yeah," Liam said, leaning against the fence, instantly radiating "older brother" energy.

"I’m Caleb." He looked past Liam, directly at Finn. "That house. It's called the Anchor by some of the old-timers. You guys should probably not stay there."

Liam scoffed. "And why's that? Ghosts?"

Caleb shook his head, his eyes glued to Finn. "Worse. It doesn't have ghosts. It has… a problem. There’s a rumor. A room. It's not supposed to be there. And anyone who goes inside that room never comes out quite right."

Finn, despite himself, was instantly hooked. "What happens to them?"

"They change," Caleb said seriously. "Or sometimes, they just go missing. Folks say the house doesn't just hold secrets, it eats them."

"Sounds like something you'd read in a bad comic book," Liam said, crossing his arms. "You just trying to scare us, Caleb?"

Caleb finally broke eye contact with Finn, shrugging. "Maybe. But I'm serious about that house. Look at it. It's too old for this desert. It’s got bad juju." He paused, then looked back at Finn, a different kind of challenge in his gaze. "Come on. If you're going to explore it, I want to be there. I'll come back tonight. We can find this room."

Liam immediately protested, but Finn was already nodding, a shiver running down his spine—a shiver that was half fear, half something else entirely, something warm that had everything to do with Caleb’s intensity.

"Deal," Finn said, before Liam could stop him. "We'll meet you out back after Aunt Eda is asleep. Around eleven."

Caleb's face broke into a genuine, relieved smile. "Cool. Don't be late."

As Caleb walked away, heading toward the deeper shadows of the late afternoon, Liam turned on Finn.

"What was that? We don't even know that kid, and you're inviting him to sneak around a weird old house with us?"

Finn felt his cheeks burning again, and he avoided his brother’s gaze. "He's a local, Liam. He knows the stories. Besides," Finn said, looking up at the towering, dark attic windows, "you know you're curious, too. And I think he was telling the truth."

Liam grumbled, but he didn't argue. In truth, the house was already starting to feel less like a temporary summer home and more like a cage waiting to spring shut. And somewhere, hidden behind the high walls and ancient secrets, there was a small, impossible door.

The night arrived slowly, thick and heavy with the Nevada heat.

Finn lay awake, his mind buzzing. It was long past midnight. The air in their room was stifling, and the sounds of the house—creaks, groans, and the occasional unexplained thump—made every nerve tingle. He kept replaying the image of Caleb’s face, the earnest look in his eyes when he talked about the "problem" room.

Liam was snoring lightly in the other twin bed, his red hair a dark tangle against the pillow.

Finally, Finn couldn't stand it. He slipped out of bed, grabbing the flashlight he’d packed. He tiptoed to Liam's bedside and nudged his shoulder.

"Liam. Wake up. It's time."

Liam groaned and slapped Finn's hand away. "Five more minutes of no alien house monsters."

"Come on," Finn urged in a whisper. "Eleven-thirty. We have to go."

After a few more groans and some theatrical stretching, Liam finally sat up, scrubbing his face with his hands. "Fine. But if this kid gets us caught, I'm blaming you."

The house was completely silent now. The lack of noise was somehow worse than the earlier creaking. The moonlight filtering through the wavy glass of the tall hall windows cast long, distorted shadows that seemed to writhe on the walls.

They crept down the hallway, past Aunt Eda's closed study door. They paused, listening for the faint sound of her breathing, but heard nothing. It was like she didn't exist when she wasn't talking about closing a deal.

They unlocked the back door and slipped out.

Caleb was already there, leaning against the stone wall, looking up at the dark outline of the house. He wore a dark hoodie and held a small, sturdy-looking shovel.

"You're late," Caleb whispered, his eyes immediately locking onto Finn.

"Liam was having a dramatic moment," Finn whispered back, ignoring his brother's glare. "Did you find a way to the attic?"

"There's a servants' staircase near the kitchen Eda didn't show you. It's the quietest route," Caleb replied. He looked down at the shovel. "And this is just in case."

He led the way, quiet and graceful, through the dark house. The servants' stairs were narrow and steep, the wood groaning beneath their weight. They climbed two flights, the air growing colder and heavier the higher they went, until they reached the door to the attic. It was heavy, plain wood, sealed by a thick layer of dust.

Caleb pushed it open slowly. The scent that rushed out was overpowering: rot, mildew, and something else—something electrical and sharp.

The attic was massive and cavernous, filled with the shapes of shrouded furniture, forgotten trunks, and bundles of things Finn couldn't quite make out in the gloom. Dust motes danced in the single beam of Finn's flashlight.

"The room," Liam muttered, suddenly sounding less cynical and more nervous. "Where is it?"

"The local story says it's in the west gable. Hidden behind a false wall," Caleb said, pointing toward the furthest, darkest corner.

They picked their way through the labyrinth of debris. Finn’s heart was drumming against his ribs. He felt Caleb move closer beside him.

"You okay?" Caleb whispered, just loud enough for Finn to hear.

"Just... the air in here feels heavy," Finn admitted.

"It's the house. It knows we're looking," Caleb replied, and a moment later, his hand brushed Finn's arm. The accidental touch was a strange jolt of warmth in the cold, creepy darkness.

They reached the west wall. It was bare planking, ancient and dry. Liam knocked on it hard with his knuckles. "Solid."

Caleb didn't argue. He got down low, sweeping the flashlight beam across the baseboard. "It wouldn't be a false wall," he murmured. "That's too easy. It would be a crawl space. The local story is probably distorted."

He ran his hand along the bottom of the wall, past splintered wood and cobwebs. Then, his fingers stopped. He reached into a dark recess near the floor. With a soft click, a single plank popped inward.

Liam and Finn watched as Caleb peeled the plank back, revealing a gap. Behind the gap was a small, round wooden door, barely the size of a pizza box, set into the wall. It had a tiny, rusted iron pull-ring. It looked less like a maintenance hatch and more like the entrance to a mouse's luxurious home.

"There it is," Finn breathed, his voice catching.

"Don't," Liam said, reaching for the door first. He didn't trust Caleb.

Caleb beat him to it. He pulled the iron ring, and the little door swung inward on squeaky, unseen hinges, revealing a dark, claustrophobic opening barely big enough to crawl through. A rush of air came out—humid, earthy, and smelling faintly of mold and something metallic.

"It's just a crawl space," Liam said dismissively.

"Not just a crawl space," Caleb countered, shining his light into the opening. "Look."

In the distance, just beyond the reach of the light, was another wall, and set into that wall was a second door. This one was full-sized, made of dark, swirling wood, and utterly unmarked by hinges or handles. It was perfectly smooth, utterly silent, and impossibly black.

"Okay," Liam conceded, his voice strained. "That's not normal."

"It's the room," Finn whispered, utterly mesmerized. He didn't feel scared; he felt pulled, as if the dark doorway was a magnet.

"I'll go first," Liam said, the oldest-brother instinct kicking in. He dropped to his knees.

"Wait," Caleb said, looking at Finn. "Be careful." It wasn't a warning, it was a plea.

Liam crawled into the small opening, muttering under his breath. Finn followed. The passage was tight and filled with old plaster dust. Finally, they reached the space by the second door, able to stand up in the small, oddly clean chamber.

Caleb was right behind Finn, close enough that Finn could feel his breath on his neck.

Liam reached out and hesitantly touched the dark, smooth surface of the second door. His fingers passed right over it. It had no texture, no coldness, no warmth. It was just an absence.

Then, the air in the chamber shifted. A low, grinding sound—like granite scraping granite—vibrated through the soles of their shoes. A faint, blinding white line appeared, carving out the shape of the door in the swirling black wood.

Liam stared, transfixed. "It just... opened."

The line widened, and the door swung open silently, revealing not another dark, dusty chamber, but a blast of humid, hot air and a wall of color—vibrant, screaming greens, reds, and bioluminescent purples.

Finn’s eyes went wide. He gasped.

The sound that answered was not a house sound. It was a guttural, wet snort, followed by a heavy thump that shook the ground.

Liam stared into the impossible view, his jaw slack. Caleb reached out and, without thinking, grabbed Finn's hand, pulling it tight.

And then, a creature stepped into the doorway: a squat, armored thing with multiple segmented eyes, jaws full of needle-like teeth, and skin that shimmered like oily, living obsidian. It fixed its awful gaze on them and let out a clicking, hungry shriek.

"Go! Go! Go!" Liam yelled, suddenly finding his voice, and he threw himself back into the small crawl space, desperately trying to scramble backward through the small wooden opening and back to the attic.

Finn didn't hesitate. Clinging to Caleb's hand, he turned and dove into the opening after Liam, the creature's hungry clicking close behind them.

The scramble backward through the small, tight crawl space was blind terror. Liam, in the lead, was already halfway out. Finn, propelled by the clicking, wet noises of the thing behind them, shoved his way through the dust and darkness. Caleb was right on his heels.

When Liam finally burst into the attic, he didn't stop. He turned and yanked the small wooden door shut, slamming the plank back into place and bracing himself against the wall.

Finn and Caleb tumbled out behind him, landing in a heap of flashlight and limbs. The air in the attic, though stale and heavy, felt like a breath of fresh air compared to the humid terror they'd just escaped.

They lay panting in the dust, listening. For a moment, there was a terrible, thick silence. Then, a furious thumping started against the wooden plank, followed by a sound like claws scratching wood. The sounds were muffled, thank goodness, but undeniably strong.