Steve didn’t laugh. But somewhere in the dark, a phantom audience did. A slow, recorded clap. And the feeling that this wasn’t a haunting anymore. It was a franchise.
The tape showed a family—mom, dad, two kids—sitting on the same living room floor where Steve’s cot now sat. They looked exhausted. Dark circles. Twitching. Then a title card appeared, handwritten in marker: A HAUNTED HOUSE 2 — 2014 —
The second night, the piano played itself. Not a song—just one note. Middle C. Over and over. Steve unplugged the piano from the wall. It had never been electric. He slept in his car.
