Chapter 14: Voice at the Door

Inching backwards, Ren could feel the heat of the flame licking her back as she moved closer to the fire. 

The other demons followed suit, backing away from the door, retreating as the frame.  Believing that as much of a distance they could muster by inching away, would act as a repellent to the thing outside.

But such was not the case. 

It was well aware that they were there.

It knew. 

As time passed, the pounding on the door continued. 

It didn’t stop.

It didn’t lessen.

It only grew worse. 

The chaotic rain, hammering down on the roof in bursts of unsheathing fury could no longer cover up the knocking, no- the beating- of the door. 

‘No, No, No… This- This isn’t right…’

The thought came to Ren as an Ice-cold and absolute fact. 

‘I have to get away from here. That door isnt going to last-’

But then a voice in her head asked the question she as so dreading to think about- Go where? 

Where was she to go?

Run outside? 

Into the rain?

She swallowed, pulse hammering in her ear. 

The voices outside keep that dread away with more primal and immediate fear of survival. 

They whispered, the cried, they begged all. 

Their crescendo rising and falling with the rain. 

An unholy matrimony between the downpour and the things that lurked in it. 

And then, with a crackle of thunder, the world outside- Screamed. 

A single note. 

High and keen. 

It carried through the wood and stone, vibrating Ren to her bones. 

The fire shuddered in its hearth as if startled, no- frightened by the howl outside.

And in that moment when the fire flickered, the room seemed to have darkened, further.

And so did the expression of all that resided in it. 

Ren could see the patches of glistening sweat on the faces of the other demons. 

Their muscles twitched. 

Throats moved as they swallowed hard. 

She could see the hands shake and tremble. 

But their eyes?

Those remained fixed.

Fixed at the door. 

The knocking ceased. 

The rain slowed, just a fraction.

But even that was noticeable to those inside in their state of hyper sensitivity.

The room eased for a second as Ren let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding.  

And that started a chain reaction of others doing the same. 

The fire’s glow got brighter as an uneasy relief washed over the lot. 

BANG. 

THe door nearly wrenched from its hinges. 

The wooden frame groaned under the pressure, the old nails screaming and hollering as they held on for dear life. 

Ren flinched, her whole body locking up before she willed herself to move. 

She turned towards the demon women. 

And froze. 

The fire poker in the woman’s hand was glowing. 

Not a bright red and orange from being left in the fire for too long.

No. 

But instead a blue. 

An icy, blue. 

Ren looked at the poker, then at the woman. 

Her expression was hardened, tempered like steel. 

She wanted to ask. 

She wanted to demand an explanation. 

But then- 

BANG. 

Another hit. 

The door buckled, its wooden surface cracking, the grain splitting like a bone under a dull blade. 

Ren sucked in a sharp breath, her heart rattling like a caged animal trying to be free. 

She clenched her jaw and forced herself to look away from the fire poker, her eyes snapping back to the door—back to the thing that was still there. 

The thing outside, as if realizing brute force wasn’t enough, shifted.

The knocking faded into soft, uneven thumps, like weak fists barely able to muster the strength to continue.

The voices, once unified in their unnatural rhythm, fractured.

The whispers lost their strength, unraveling into fragile, desperate pleas.

“Please… please… it hurts…”

A single voice, soft and patient.

Ren’s stomach turned to ice.

Ren’s breath caught in her throat. 

The shift was wrong—not because it was terrifying in the same way as before, but because it wasn’t. 

The thing was changing tactics.

It was pretending.

‘It knows we’re afraid. It knows that didn’t work. So now it’s trying something else.’

She forced herself to look at the others, trying to gauge their reactions. 

Most of them still wore the same expression—eyes wide, lips pressed into thin lines, their terror etched deep. 

But two of them stood apart.

The old woman’s grip on the glowing poker had loosened, her rigid stance softening as she gazed toward the door. 

Her brow furrowed, not in fear, but in hesitation. 

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something—as if she wanted to respond.

The man, however, was the opposite. 

His entire body had gone stiff, his expression twisting into something raw and familiar, like an old wound torn open anew. 

His hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms, but his eyes weren’t on the door. 

They were locked onto the woman.

As if he knew exactly what the voice was doing to her.

As if he had seen this happen before.

“It’s so cold out here,” the voice whimpered.

“I just… I just need a little warmth…”

A shiver crawled up Ren’s spine.

‘It’s lying. It’s lying and it knows someone will listen.’

She wasn’t sure which was worse—the thing outside, or the possibility that someone inside might answer.

“We are not opening that door.”

The demon man’s voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy air of the room. 

His fists remained clenched at his sides, his whole body coiled with tension. 

The blue glow of the fire poker cast long, flickering shadows over his face, sharpening the lines of barely contained fear and frustration.

The old demon woman turned to face him fully, her grip still loose around the fire poker.

Her brows were drawn together, lips pressed tight, but there was something vulnerable in the way she looked back toward the door.

“What if it’s real?”

Her voice was quiet but firm, the weight of her years behind every word.

“It’s not.”

The man stepped forward, voice rising.

“You know it’s not. You know exactly what it’s doing—why are you letting it get to you?”

The old demon woman’s grip on the glowing fire poker faltered further. 

Her gaze lingered on the door, her expression shifting, caught between fear and something deeper—something painful.

The demon man took a step closer, his voice softer now, though no less firm.

“It’s not her.”

The woman’s breath hitched. 

The flickering blue light of the poker reflected in her wide, tired eyes, making them seem even older. 

For a long moment, she didn’t move, as if she were waiting—hoping—for him to be wrong.

But he wasn’t.

And she knew it.

Her fingers trembled against the poker’s worn handle, her knuckles pale with strain. 

Ren watched as something inside the woman—something that had held strong for so long—fractured. 

It was only for a second. 

A single, fleeting moment where the veneer of resilience she had come to expect shattered before her eyes.

Then, the moment passed.

The woman inhaled sharply, squared her shoulders, and turned away from the door.

“Reinforce it,” she ordered, her voice steady once more, though there was a crack in its foundation, barely concealed beneath the weight of her command. 

“Pile the furniture against it. Make sure that thing doesn’t get in.”

The demons moved without hesitation, though a lingering heaviness remained in the air.

Ren glanced at the man. 

His fists had finally unclenched, but his expression remained taut with something unsaid. 

He looked at the old woman for a moment longer, as if gauging whether she would waver again.

She didn’t.

Instead, she set her jaw, turned to the others, and raised the poker once more, its icy glow casting sharp shadows across her face.

“Whatever it says,” she murmured, “you do not listen.”

And with that, the last of whatever had cracked inside her was sealed away once more.