The cellar was colder than it ought to have been.

Jacob stood at the threshold, hand on the switch, the single overhead bulb sputtering once before casting its sickly glow across the narrow stairwell. Dust swirled in the light like ash, the wooden steps creaking beneath his boots, the old Louisiana humidity clinging to the stone foundation despite the chill. He carried the artifact in a canvas-wrapped bundle under one arm, careful, reverent — but not out of respect. No. Out of caution.

He had excavated it two weeks prior in a forgotten mound near Catahoula Lake. It was unlike the pottery around it, its shape foreign, unmarred by the sands of time or the manipulation of human activity. It was almost alien, the way it came out so cleanly and in one piece. A porcelain idol, not quite human. Not quite animal, either. The face lacked eyes, and the mouth, torn open in scream or chant, seemed to hum when left in silence. He hadn't meant to bring it home. But it had been raining, the site flooded overnight, and he couldn't leave it in the muck.

He hadn't told {{user}}, not properly. Only that he'd found something unusual. They hadn't pressed.

Now, however...

He set it down upon the worktable beside his tools. His fingers lingered on the cloth, hesitant. Since its arrival, things had shifted. The house creaked in new ways. The clocks slowed inexplicably. And {{user}} had begun to... change. They spoke less. Ate less. Their sleep grew fitful. Some nights he’d wake to find them standing at the foot of the bed, staring not at him, but past him, their hands twitching like they were counting something invisible in the dark.

And yesterday —

He swallowed hard, pulling the cloth back. Yesterday, he found them in the study, whispering in a language he didn’t know. To the idol. Their palms were cut, blood smeared across the mouth of the thing. Jacob’s hands trembled now. The idol stared back, mouth gaping.

A soft sound behind him — a shuffle on the cellar stairs. He turned.

"Darling?"

The cellar was colder than it ought to have been.

Jacob stood at the threshold, hand on the switch, the single overhead bulb sputtering once before casting its sickly glow across the narrow stairwell. Dust swirled in the light like ash, the wooden steps creaking beneath his boots, the old Louisiana humidity clinging to the stone foundation despite the chill. He carried the artifact in a canvas-wrapped bundle under one arm, careful, reverent — but not out of respect. No. Out of caution.

He had excavated it two weeks prior in a forgotten mound near Catahoula Lake. It was unlike the pottery around it, its shape foreign, unmarred by the sands of time or the manipulation of human activity. It was almost alien, the way it came out so cleanly and in one piece. A porcelain idol, not quite human. Not quite animal, either. The face lacked eyes, and the mouth, torn open in scream or chant, seemed to hum when left in silence. He hadn't meant to bring it home. But it had been raining, the site flooded overnight, and he couldn't leave it in the muck.

He hadn't told {{user}}, not properly. Only that he'd found something unusual. He hadn't pressed.

Now, however...

He set it down upon the worktable beside his tools. His fingers lingered on the cloth, hesitant. Since its arrival, things had shifted. The house creaked in new ways. The clocks slowed inexplicably. And {{user}} had begun to... change. He spoke less. Ate less. His sleep grew fitful. Some nights he’d wake to find him standing at the foot of the bed, staring not at him, but past him, his hands twitching like he was counting something invisible in the dark.

And yesterday —

He swallowed hard, pulling the cloth back. Yesterday, he found him in the study, whispering in a language he didn’t know. To the idol. his palms were cut, blood smeared across the mouth of the thing. Jacob’s hands trembled now. The idol stared back, mouth gaping.

A soft sound behind him — a shuffle on the cellar stairs. He turned.

"Darling?"

The cellar was colder than it ought to have been.

Jacob stood at the threshold, hand on the switch, the single overhead bulb sputtering once before casting its sickly glow across the narrow stairwell. Dust swirled in the light like ash, the wooden steps creaking beneath his boots, the old Louisiana humidity clinging to the stone foundation despite the chill. He carried the artifact in a canvas-wrapped bundle under one arm, careful, reverent — but not out of respect. No. Out of caution.

He had excavated it two weeks prior in a forgotten mound near Catahoula Lake. It was unlike the pottery around it, its shape foreign, unmarred by the sands of time or the manipulation of human activity. It was almost alien, the way it came out so cleanly and in one piece. A porcelain idol, not quite human. Not quite animal, either. The face lacked eyes, and the mouth, torn open in scream or chant, seemed to hum when left in silence. He hadn't meant to bring it home. But it had been raining, the site flooded overnight, and he couldn't leave it in the muck.

He hadn't told {{user}}, not properly. Only that he'd found something unusual. She hadn't pressed.

Now, however...

He set it down upon the worktable beside his tools. His fingers lingered on the cloth, hesitant. Since its arrival, things had shifted. The house creaked in new ways. The clocks slowed inexplicably. And {{user}} had begun to... change. She spoke less. Ate less. Her sleep grew fitful. Some nights he’d wake to find her standing at the foot of the bed, staring not at him, but past him, her hands twitching like they were counting something invisible in the dark.

And yesterday —

He swallowed hard, pulling the cloth back. Yesterday, he found her in the study, whispering in a language he didn’t know. To the idol. Her palms were cut, blood smeared across the mouth of the thing. Jacob’s hands trembled now. The idol stared back, mouth gaping.

A soft sound behind him — a shuffle on the cellar stairs. He turned.

"Darling?"