This is a rough draft but im curious if this is good will it hold the readers is it actually thrilling this is my first time writing a novel
​
I watched the dark, bruised clouds rolling in from the west as I took the dogs out. The wind had a bite to it; I could feel a heavy storm coming. Honestly, I would have looked forward to it if it weren’t for Mother’s deep-rooted terror. She’s been afraid of storms for as long as I can remember.
Years later, Grandma told me why. When Mother was a child, she and her best friend were playing in a cow pasture when a storm rolled in. As they raced back, her friend forgot about the electric fence. When the lightning cracked, they ran harder—the friend tripped and landed right on the wire. Mother had to watch, helpless, as the current surged through her friend’s small body until it was over. Grandma said it changed her forever. So, I always try to keep her distracted when the sky turns gray.
I’ve been home from the mental hospital for about three weeks. I still think I should have stayed longer. I miss Skylar; he visited me every day, and we’d sit and draw together without a care in the world. I keep our drawings hidden now. I worry about how I’ll see him now that I’m stuck here.
The second reason I wanted to stay was the dread of coming home to this. I’m still plagued by dreams—or visions, I don’t know which. The doctors gave me antidepressants, which Mother hated, and while they stop the "dark thoughts" from playing on repeat, they haven't fixed the feeling of this house.
“Come on, y’all, let’s hurry up!” I tugged on the leashes. The wind was picking up, turning the leaves over so their silver bellies showed. I could smell the rain—thick and metallic.
As we reached the porch, the first rumble of thunder shook the ground. I paused, taking a deep breath. Dread crept up my spine. My body grew heavy, as if I were submerged in deep water, fighting to reach the surface for one last breath. I had the impending feeling that a catastrophe was coming—one I couldn't escape.
The moment I stepped inside, I pulled off my headphones. I could hear Mother frantic in the kitchen.
“Gia, unplug everything! The storm is right on us!”
“I saw, Mom. The clouds are black,” I said, glancing out the window. She didn't even look at me; she was a blur of motion, yanking cords from the walls.
“Mom, it’s going to be okay. Let’s just sit in the living room and listen to music? I have some new songs to show you.” I helped her by unplugging the TV and the lamps.
“Gia, let me just finish, okay!” she hissed. Her eyes were wide, frantic.
I stayed silent. I knew once the lightning started, she’d be in the living room anyway. She couldn't bear to be alone in the dark. After five minutes, she emerged from the bedroom and sank into the rocking chair in the far corner—the spot furthest from the window.
In my rush, I had forgotten to close the curtains. It was a small mistake, but fate is funny that way. It makes me wish we had a hand on our own doomsday clock. Everything that followed was physically unseen but spiritually expected. It didn't soften the blow.
I remember screaming until my throat was raw.
I had my arms locked around her chest, my face pressed against her shoulder blades, trying to anchor her to the wooden floor. She was like a wild animal caught in a trap, prepared to gnaw off her own leg to break free. She scratched at my arms until pools of warm blood made my grip slick.
“Mother, please! STOP! It’s okay!” I pleaded.
But she just lashed out harder. She reached back blindly, clawing for my face. I buried my head in her shoulder, breathing in the scent of sweat, panic, and the copper tang of blood. She caught a fistful of my hair anyway.
Then, the sky split open.
The sound of wood cracking outside echoed like bones snapping. A blinding blue light ripped across the window. I saw the lightning strike the old tree in the front yard; it flared orange and split in two, instantly catching fire.
Another bolt flashed. This one didn’t just strike—it crawled. A thick blue vein slammed into the ground and spidered across the wet yard, moving with intent toward the house. Time slowed to a crawl.
The porch exploded in blue light. The front door slammed open with such force that I knew it wasn't just the wind. Rain burst inside, soaking us in seconds. My grip failed.
“I’m coming!” Mother screamed. “I’m coming, Lilly! Let me go—I can save her!”
She tore free and ran for the open door. I tried to chase her, but suddenly, I couldn't move. I was frozen. In the corner of the room stood Forrest—the little boy from my visions at the hospital. His face was healed now. His mouth was open wide, screaming at me, but only static filled my skull. He shook his head violently, begging me to stay back.
I watched helplessly as Mother stepped onto the porch, chasing a ghost. Lightning bolted down again—this time with a purpose. Purple and orange light consumed her. The sound was like a baseball bat cracking against a skull.
She collapsed.
I didn't scream words; I howled.
When my legs finally worked, I surged toward her, but Forrest grabbed me. His grip was impossible—he had the strength of a grown man.
“Don’t go out there,” he said, his voice finally breaking through the static. “Don’t touch her. She’s full of the current. If you touch her, you’ll be just as dead.”
“No!” I sobbed, fighting him. “I have to check on her!”
But deep down, I knew. I had seen this before in my visions. Another body. Another death. Suddenly, a crushing blow hit the back of my head—a tearing sound, like claws scraping the inside of my skull. I dropped to my knees.
“Stay with me,” Forrest said calmly. “You’ve met the others, but I was the first one here. I have the truth, Gia, and it isn't pretty. They’re coming. The Dark Ones. This house wants you just like the others. It will take everything you love. You must watch for the mist.”
I snapped. “I’m so fucking sick of your riddles!” I ripped my arm free.
As he dissolved into white light, he whispered, “You’ll understand soon.”
That’s when I saw it. A black mist slid out from under the basement door—thick, slow, and dragging itself toward my mother’s body like a living shadow. I ran for the porch, but the door slammed shut in my face. I tried the back door—sealed. The house was locking me in.
I turned back to the living room. The scent of burnt wires and sulfur was overwhelming. And there she was.
Mother was standing there, her head bowed. Water dripped from her hair, pooling in a black circle at her feet. Slowly, she lifted her head. Her eyes were no longer green; they were cloudy, empty, and dark.
She took a step. Her joints didn't move like a human's; they cracked like dry wood. She tilted her head and a smile crept across her face—too wide, too many teeth. A wet growl vibrated in her throat.
“Mother?” I stammered, backing away.
She didn't answer. She pounced.
When I woke, the house was silent. A heavy, predatory quiet. I was on the floor, my cheek pressed against damp wood that smelled of rot.
“Mother?” I whispered.
She was sitting in her rocking chair. A black puddle was soaking into the floorboards beneath her, as if the house were drinking her.
“I stayed,” she said. Her voice was a dry, ancient hiss. “I tried to leave, but the house doesn't release us.”
The black mist rose from the floorboards, wrapping around her like vines. It entered her mouth and nose, threading through her veins like ink. I heard the sound of roots digging into the earth.
“Your mother is part of the house now,” she—it—said. “The mist stepped inside. I feel every scream this house has ever kept.”
She raised a hand, and black oil dripped from her fingers.
“You came back, Gia,” she smiled. “That means you belong to it, too.”
I ran. Not because I thought I could escape, but because staying still felt like giving up. Behind me, the mist surged. Something laughed. And deep beneath the floorboards, the house settled back into place, satisfied.
It had her. Now, it just had to wait for me