There’s no place like home…
Blake Porter is riding high, until he's not. Fired abruptly from his job as a VP of marketing and unable to make the mortgage payments on the new brownstone that he shares with his fiancee, he's desperate to make ends meet.
Enter Whitney. Beautiful, charming, down-to-earth, and looking for a room to rent. She's exactly what Blake's looking for. Or is she?
Because something isn't quite right. The neighbors start treating Blake differently. The smell of decay permeates his home, no matter how hard he scrubs. Strange noises jar him awake in the middle of the night. And soon Blake fears someone knows his darkest secrets...
Danger lives right at home, and by the time Blake realizes it, it'll be far too late. The trap is already set.
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Blake’s hand trembled as he turned the key in the lock.
The house was too quiet.
No creak of floorboards. No hum from the fridge. No footsteps from Whitney upstairs. Just silence—and that awful, rotting smell again. It slithered through the air, subtle but sharp, like something dead was buried deep within the walls.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, heart thudding like a drum. Every shadow seemed to stretch longer. Every room, darker. He took a cautious step toward the stairs, eyes scanning for signs of life—or movement.
“Whitney?” he called out.
No answer.
Only the faint sound of dripping water. From the bathroom? The basement?
He walked slowly toward the hallway, drawn toward the source, even though everything inside him screamed to leave. The door to the basement stood ajar.
That door was always shut.
As he neared it, a chill curled around his spine. The stench was stronger here, heavier, almost visible in the dim light. He pushed the door open. It creaked like a groan, and the darkness below seemed to breathe back at him.
Then he saw it.
A light flickered on at the bottom of the stairs.
And a voice—soft, unfamiliar—whispered his name.
