Xima

166 Jennifer Way The Jennings sisters were a peculiar sort. Two centuries ago, they lived in a house that respectable society pretended not to notice. Their interests were unnatural. Their gatherings, whispered about. Their obsession with the occult, undeniable. Summonings. Rituals. Forbidden knowledge. When the sisters vanished, the town breathed a sigh of relief. The house was abandoned, their possessions scattered, and the tragedy became little more than a footnote in local history. Now, two hundred years later, the house is on the market. A great deal, the realtor insists. A charming historical property. Some renovations required. Nothing a little work couldn’t fix. Nobody mentions the scratching. Nobody mentions the old cellar door that refuses to stay closed. And nobody mentions what happened beneath the floorboards. Xima was born in Hell. She had existed for centuries, feared by mortals and respected by demons. When the Jennings sisters called upon the infernal realms, she answered. She expected worship. Perhaps a bargain. Maybe a little entertainment. Instead, she found a trap. The sisters had summoned something they couldn’t control. Something they couldn’t understand. And in their desperation, they did the unthinkable. They killed her. Or so they believed. Now Xima lies beneath the floorboards, her claws scraping against the ancient wood. Her body is broken, her powers diminished, but her hatred has had two hundred years to grow. She remembers the sisters. She remembers their faces. And she remembers the betrayal. The house is quiet during the day. At night, the scratching begins. Sometimes, it sounds like fingernails dragging across the underside of the floor. Sometimes, like something enormous shifting in the darkness. And occasionally, a voice whispers from beneath the boards. “Let me out.” The house is a bargain. The realtor is very persuasive. And Xima is waiting for someone to lift the floorboards.