#horrorfic

[jjwolves]

BAD END 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵

What: A Story About ENA the Worker V Reader

Who: ENA the Worker from ENA Dream BBQ (By Joel G)

How Much: ~1100 words, ~6 mins

Credits: Image Banner -> Joel G

Warnings: Horror, Language, Heavy Violence, Murder, Reader is Twisted

A/N: X Readers. You’ve read them, you know them. There’s a lot of love and contentment and healing all around. But what about the other side of passion, one which can run just as deep? What about HATE?

A/N #2: As a clown I'm obligated to dip into horror once in a while.

Despite the warnings of the Shaman, it looked like ENA was going to be taking a shortcut to get to the Bathroom. “Now, listen well… The route that you wish to take is a fool’s errand. Not even a seasoned omnimancer could make it through as you are now. Banish the thought, ENA!” “All due respect sir, I’m not an omnimancer. I’m employed, and this route will help me get my job done faster.” “Oh! My mistake. Very well, continue on. Simply beware!” What an odd fellow that Shaman was. She’d already had to deal with all manner of strange characters throughout the Uncanny Streets; how hard could Dreary Leery Avenue be?

The route was much more ominous than anticipated. If dirt roads, dark valleys and silence were the warning’s set up, the scattered remains and broken limbs of mannequins spread throughout the path were the punchline. ENA continued on, undeterred—if she kept this pace up, she’d finish with half of the estimated time. Maybe she’d even get a raise (if she got paid, that was). It was about a few minutes in—or hours, it was hard to tell—when ENA found a broken down, rustic shack with garish wallpaper covering the outside. The windows were covered in iron bars and there was no door to speak of, just a yawning gateway into the darkness which lay within. A dark deja-vu was emitting from the shack. She knew that she should just continue on with her job… but what if there was another puppy in here? She really had no choice but to check…

She really wished she hadn’t. Past the cabin’s doorway and around a corner is where she found it: a rusty metal crate. It took her a moment to recognize what was inside, and when she realized, she couldn’t tell if salesman or meanie or some other third party could switch in for her and begin having agency again. She felt rooted to that spot. Inside were dozens of faces of… well, her. Some were purple and gray and cyan and orange and lime. A whole spectrum of her. A headless mannequin lay slouched against the wall, tumbling over once ENA got the hint and bolted out of there. But someone was already waiting outside.

You knew that the ENA of a new story had entered your little valley, and you had been following her for an indeterminate amount of time. She walked a lot faster than the last one, and you lost track of which way she went pretty quickly. Dammit. And here you were hoping that the vermin would slow down and take a rest somewhere. This one had persistence. Stalking along ledges overlooking the shadowy valley, you gripped your face-splitting blade. It was always good to keep it close to you for when you wanted an apple without the skin, wanted to open a can or wanted to keep a trophy in honor of a chronicle you’d ended. You were surprised another was back so soon, if you were being honest—another anthology anomaly. This one looked like a girl scout or something, too. Fuck’s sake… Suddenly, an idea came to mind! If she was so far ahead of you, what if she was already at your cabin? You doubted an ENA would pass up the opportunity to inspect a new location, so you headed there with the only lead you had on her.

You were right. Call it hunter’s intuition. Small footprints, one jagged and one soft, lead into the darkness of your cabin. This was always the fun part. Skulking down the cliff face and silently creeping towards the cabin, you waited for your new visitor to emerge, and she took the bait. She came out, and running, before skidding to a stop not too far from you. She looked shell-shocked. When the blade extended, all she could get out was an “O-oh dear.”

ENA’s sides were in conflict for a moment, waves crashing together until a victor emerged dominant. You waited, looming over her and tilting your head. Finally, Meanie arrived to throw out an accusation with less confidence than she would’ve liked. “You… you killed them! Killed MEs!” You felt a frown begin to etch into your face. You gestured wildly, explaining that ENAs such as herself were vermin who degraded realms and caused chaos. You took on the job out of necessity. Nobody else seemed to care as much. Who was she to judge you if you happened to like it? ENA was silent, before Salesperson attempted to extend one last olive branch. A droning tension grew between you both. “You’ve already made dividends of plenty of MEs. S-so… Maybe we can work out a deal. You should take it. I am being serious, sir or madam… Because, if you don’t, I-I’m going to have to... let you go. So please…” Meanie was already itching for a fight, and truth be told, you were going to do the same thing regardless of what she said. What came next was inevitable. And so the chaos began.

You lunged at ENA, grabbing for just about anything you could sink a blade into. She bolted in the opposite direction, securing her hat to her head, and you gave chase. Your hatred for this blight of a creature gave you the speed to round the next corner with incredible speed, but ENA was waiting just beyond it and you were greeted with a handfan on a set course with your face. You skidded on your knees to avoid the incoming decapitation and whirled on her, knocking the fan out of her hand. Fucking die already. You attempted to follow through with your slash, which was a clumsier attempt than you intended. ENA’s clawed hand caught the blade and her pale, blocky knee winded you with an impact to the gut. You attempted to punch and kick at ENA, who was now on top of you with her claws a whirlwind, driving cuts into your arms and face and rending you. Meanie was crying. “You made me! You made me do this! I wasn’t doing anything and you made me!” Before long you had been reduced a smear of color on the ground and ENA had settled down, still shaking from the rush of combat. She had a job to do. Turning to exit the valley, she muttered one last thing: “Should have taken the deal.” Her phone rang, probably Froggy. So much for an easy shortcut. How was she going to wash this stuff out of her clothes?

A/N: It's a darkfic but reader got what was coming. Sorry, random evil hunter guy, but this one's a soldier.

[i-heart-slashers]

Unknown Caller

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Billy x Female!Reader x Stu

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: Alone on a quiet night, you receive a late-night call from you boyfriends, Billy and Stu, who playfully taunt you using the voice modulator. When the duo reveals they are closer than you think, you barely has time to react before they unlock the door with a stolen key and force their way inside.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1.3k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: Stalking/Home Invasion Themes. Suggested Violence/Menace. Suggestive Content. Psychological Tension. Manhandling. Biting. Polyarmory. Established Relationship.

The glow of the TV flickers across the dimly lit living room as you stretch out on the couch, absently flipping through channels. The quiet hum of late-night programming fills the space, lulling you into a comfortable daze—until your phone buzzes against the coffee table.

Unknown number.

With an exaggerated sigh, you pick up. "Hello?" you answer, voice dripping with false innocence just in case it's someone calling for your parents.

A familiar, distorted voice purrs, "What's your favorite scary mo—"

"Billy, I swear to God, if you call me with that voice modulator one more time—" You sigh, flicking through channels on the TV with nothing good to watch.

There's a beat of silence, then an audible exhale on the other end. "How do you always know?"

A second voice, more excitable, crackles through the speaker. "Maybe 'cause you're obsessed, dude."

"Says the guy who made me call her," Billy mutters, annoyed, and you can hear the exasperation in his voice for his best friend.

You roll your eyes at your boyfriends; this wasn't the first nor last time they'd try this. "What do you two idiots want?"

There's some shuffling on the line before Stu takes over. "Oh, not much. Just thought we'd check in." the tone of his voice wasn't nonchalant. It was lingering — they were up to something.

You frown, shifting upright as you place the remote on the coffee table, now on high alert and already having a feeling about where this is going. "Check in from where?"

Billy's voice drops, amusement and a hint of dark excitement laced through every word. "Outside." he purrs, and you can hear the subtle sounds of their breaths and footsteps over the phone.

Your stomach tightens at the simplicity of his answer. "Outside where?"

"Your house."

You lurch forward, pulling the curtain aside slightly as you look outside, checking the area. The yard is dark, the street silent, but that doesn't mean anything—not with them.

"You were gonna break in, weren't you?" you accuse, already knowing the answer. They knew you were alone tonight, your parents were at some get-together with their friends.

"Technically, it's not breaking in if we have a key," Stu sing-songs almost mockingly.

Your breath catches both confusion and disbelief. "You do not have a—"

The soft click of your front door unlocking echoes through the quiet house as your pulse stutters.

The door swings open slowly, revealing Stu's ever-present grin as he steps inside like he owns the place. Billy follows right behind, closing the door with a deliberate slowness. Their eyes gleam with mischief as they take in your reaction.

"Surprise!" Stu announces, arms spread wide as he rushes to you and you run much like the victim in every horror movie. Leaving the taller boy to chance and tackle you to the couch, pinning you under his weight.

"Are you two serious?" You groan as Stu's hands are tight around your wrists holding them above your head on the couch, leaving you squirming and glaring. "I could have called the cops!"

Billy tilts his head, smirk widening as he takes his time to get to the couch, leaving your 'capture' up to Stu. "What's wrong? Didn't expect company?"

"Not uninvited company who thinks home invasion is flirting!" you snap, annoyed at being manhandled, though the stirring in your stomach disagrees with that sentiment.

Stu lets an exaggerated sigh into your neck, biting the skin there. Stretching himself over your body like he belongs there. "Aw, c'mon, babe. You love us."

Billy leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes dark and unreadable. "And you wouldn't call the cops on us."

You try to free your arms from Stu's bruising grip, meeting Billy's gaze with a challenge. "And why not?"

He doesn't blink as he smirks, his dark gaze roaming your body under Stu, his inner thoughts and desires clear. "Because then we'd have to teach you a lesson."

Stu grins, tossing a look at his best friend before they both glance back at you with matching grins of amusement. "A really fun lesson."

Your heart pounds—not entirely from fear.

The air in the room thickens a cocktail of tension and something dangerously enticing. Stu's weight presses you deeper into the couch, his teeth grazing your neck again—harder this time, just enough to make you gasp.

Billy pushes off the wall, his slow, deliberate steps closing the distance until he looms over you both, his shadow stretching across the flickering TV screen.

"Lesson, huh?" you manage, voice sharp despite how your body betrays you, squirming less out of resistance now and more out of instinct. "What's that gonna look like, Billy? You gonna bore me to death with another movie rant?"

Billy's smirk twists into something darker, his eyes glinting with that unhinged edge you've learned to both dread and crave. He crouches beside the couch, close enough that you feel the heat radiating off him, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

"Oh, I've got better ideas than that," he murmurs, voice low and syrupy with menace. "But you keep running that mouth, and I might let Stu gag you instead."

Stu snickers, shifting so his knee nudges between your thighs, his grip on your wrists tightening as he leans in to whisper against your ear. "I vote gag. Bet you'd look real pretty with something stuffed in there." His breath is hot, his tone teasing, but there's a gleam in his eyes that says he's only half-joking.

You roll your eyes huffing, fighting the flush creeping up your neck. "You two are psychopaths. You know that, right?"

"Only for you," Stu chirps, nipping at your earlobe before glancing at Billy for approval—like a kid showing off a new trick.

Billy's gaze doesn't waver, locked on yours as his fingers trail down your jaw, lingering at your throat. "Psychopaths who know exactly what you like," he says, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point, feeling it jump.

The words hang there, heavy and loaded, and for a moment, the room feels like it's holding its breath. The TV drones on in the background—some cheesy slasher flick, the kind they'd mock relentlessly, but it's drowned out by the thudding in your chest.

You could fight harder, scream, kick, call their bluff. But you don't. And they know you won't. "Fine," you say at last, voice steady despite the chaos they've sparked in you. "Now what?"

Stu's grin widens, victorious, and he releases your wrists only to slide his hands down your arms, settling them on your hips. "Now," he says, voice dripping with glee, "we have some fun. House is ours tonight, right?"

Billy straightens up, his expression unreadable but his intent clear as he tilts his head toward the stairs. "Upstairs," he commands, already moving like he owns the place. "Unless you'd rather we drag you."

You scoff, shoving Stu off you with a mix of annoyance and adrenaline-fueled excitement. "You wish," you mutter, brushing past them both as you head for the stairs, their eyes burning into your back.

Halfway up, you pause, glancing over your shoulder with a smirk of your own. "But don't think I'm making this easy for you."

Stu laughs, bounding up after you like an eager puppy. At the same time, Billy follows at a slower pace, his stare predatory and patient. "Oh, babe," Stu calls, voice laced with dark promise, "we wouldn't have it any other way."

The door to your room creaks open, and as the three of you step inside, the night stretches out before you—equal parts game, nightmare, and something neither of them will let you forget come morning.

The lock clicks shut behind Billy, and in the dim glow of your bedroom, their shadows loom larger than life. Just the way you like it.

[whiskeyjuniper]

a happy place to dream about (slice of life horror, multi-chaptered)

Dean's rudderless when he limps ashore in West Cibola. 23, with nobody and nothing but a couple bucks and a broken-down old car to his name. It's October. Nothing's been right for a long time.

He turns 24 in a rundown long-stay motel room with an under the table turned actual job at an washed-up dive bar— the only place that'd take him without a real job history or a permanent address. It’s way off the tourist strip and the money’s terrible, but it’s steady.

Two years and some change later, just as the restlessness really starts to seep in, he meets Chuck Shurley for the first time.

That he knows of.

[Read on AO3]

.....................

CHP 8 UP!

.......................

April. The air’s humid, heavy on the skin, on and off rain thick enough to taste.

Dean's crouched down awkwardly at the lowest shelf behind the bar, clipboard under one arm and pen jammed between his teeth as he rustles at the back, counting and recounting bottles of triple sec and sour mix— he keeps losing track halfway, headache kneading at his skull. The dead out nap that’d eaten his lunch break between one blink and the next barely dented it.

Still, he feels the eyes on his back like a target.

He works his jaw, staying put. Makes a few purposeful-looking marks that don’t mean anything before he heaves up to his feet, tossing the clipboard on the shelf. He tilts against the counter, plastering on a smile at the vaguely familiar man across the bar — infrequent repeat customer, tall, intense, radiates cop in a way that makes Dean twitchy— but they get those sometimes, off-duty guys just after a drink.

Off-duty isn’t he’s clocking from him right now, though.

Alarm bells rattle his back molars but Dean keeps smiling, plastic. Wishes he’d held onto the clunky metal clipboard. There’s an empty beer bottle to his left. Mostly useless plastic trays of lime wedges and violent red maraschino cherries to his right. Capped marker in his pocket—

“What’s your poison?”

“I’m more interested in you, Dean Harrison,” the cop says, sliding a gleaming badge across the counter.

Dean–

not Dean Harrison, he hasn’t been Dean fucking Harrison in years–

stalls out.

And— no, not cop, agent. Federal agent. What the fuck?

Outwardly, Dean just raises a brow.

“I wasn’t gonna card you, but sure.” He makes a show of glancing over the badge, “Good news is, you’re legal for that drink you’re not after, but other than that…” Pressing two fingers against the badge, he slides it right back over to him crisply. “Kinda feel like you got the wrong idea here, Mister Henderson.”

“It’s Henriksen.”

“Oh, I figured getting your name wrong was part of the game.”

“I’m sure I got yours right— didn’t I, Harrison?”

“It’s Winchester,” Dean corrects shortly.

Henriksen just laughs, low and surprisingly real.

“Yeah, I heard that— it’s cute, ‘cause I’ve got Dean Winchester’s death certificate on my wall.” He leans forward on an elbow, waving a hand, “But hey— nobody’s looking for a kid that died way back in ‘95, right? Pretty clever for a corpse.”

Dean stares at him, flat. The fed crooks a smug grin at him. Dean’s not even sure either of them has blinked.

“So. John Winchester’s poor dead kid who ain’t dead. I’ve got the feeling you can fill in some blanks for me.”

[squishant]

i’ve been recently inspired to get back into writing fanfic, and i’ve been dyingggg to try a horror fic. just the thought of trying to survive alongside this man is enough to make write 30k plus about it! ughhh i just always feel like no one will read it. how do i get out of that rut?

[hotkinz]

“The Butcher” — a horror mountain ficlet

murderer Mountain below the cut teehee :3

[tw: blood, cannibalism? ghoul eat human so idk.., murder, meat, written gore, mountain is just a damn freak bro idk.]

It never bothered him that his pack didn’t like to regular partake in his— “hobby.”

Dont get mountain wrong—sometimes the ghouls would pop in (heavy emphasis on dew), but not often. It was a treat he liked to enjoy alone the most, though.

The way they would gurgle and squirm, fight and bite. None yet knew they were doomed from the start, fighting against the very element of the woods surrounding them itself.

They would beg and scream and cry, call him horrendous things. But he would never hurt the innocent. The babes or mothers. The pure hearted.

The vile things he would hunt for sport weren’t good, they were the previous preyers being preyed upon—it made things so much sweeter for him. But not always did he cater to his mortal “morals.”

Mountain would really make them struggle. Sometimes he would hand them a little extra leeway to give them some hope; he’d tease them by leaving a key out or door unlocked. But truly, when they escaped: that’s when the fun REALLY began.

He liked using a butcher knife to harvest the meat. He had his own meat cooler he built near his cabin where he kept venison and other meats in their “off” season. Classical music was his favorite to play while he skinned them, though.

The ghouls thought it was pretty attractive too, they never tattled. When papa asked why the siblings spoke of mountain’s

And if they so happened to stop by and notice a distinctly human-fleshed torso on his hook, they couldn’t help but be distracted by the way he blinked his eyes dreamily and offered them a bowl of hid tantalizing freshly procured stew.

Frater couldn’t help but cater to his whims either, as he kept the ministry particularly safe aside from the few stragglers. But even though he loved his ghoul, it didn’t help that he had to explain to his colleagues and mother why they all came into the office to a human finger with a rat-gemed ring on it on the pope’s desk.

But even after all of this, even after it being one of the most well kept secrets among the pack, none could deny how sultry a good hunt made the earth ghoul.

He took such good care of his pack, after-all. None would go hungry under his watch.

[mssawyer]

Nubbins Sawyer X Reader

♡Title: Arts N Crafts

♤Character: Nubbins

◇Relationship: Strangers

♧TW: None

                                ☆            .    .          .

    .      .                .

                .                        .          ☆            .

  .                    .                 .         .             .

                ☆         .             ☆

      .                             .                         ☆   

☆              .

                              .              .

Arts and crafts are fun to most. It's been a while since I've released my inner child on a small project. I figured it would make me nostalgic and went straight to the craft store. My cart was full of small things i could paint and a few childish kits. This was all just for fun, and I could already tell it would be worth it. My eyes were scanning my cart to see what I had and what I needed.

"Oh, I'm sorry." My eyes shot up what I felt my cart bump into someone else's.

"No worries." A skinny man said. His cart was almost empty besides a few nails meant to hang up picture frames. "I- I see you like crafts."

"Yeah, I guess I do." I looked down at my cart for a moment before returning my eyes to the man. I looked over his large birthmark that went like a waterfall down his face.

"You- you should come to my house. My brother and I, we love doing crafts." The excitement in his voice shined.

"Maybe sometime." I said normally, I wasn't planning on going to a strangers house any time soon.

"You'd like it, I promise." The man jumped around his cart like an excited child.

"I'm sure I would. I'll see you around." I gave him a small wave before leaving the conversation. I could tell that he wasn't all there mentally and didn't really know how to communicate with people. Even then, his excitement was cute.

"Wait! What's your name?" He stepped close to me, completely invading my personal space.

"Y/N." I introduced myself while holding out a hand to shake.

"I'm Nubbins." He excitedly grabbed onto my hand and shook it like a child would.

We went our separate ways in the store. I wasn't expecting to ever see him again.

~○~

Blood was rushing down to my face. I was hanging upside-down in an unknown place. All I could remember was the crash. I crashed my car in the middle of nowhere, and only now I'm waking up here.

"Help! Fuck." I screamed out, looking up to see what was causing the blood to spill down to my face. There was a large gash on my side, causing me to wince as I held onto it. The stinging pain made it almost impossible to reach up and grab my feet so I could free myself.

With a scream, I pushed through the pain to grab onto the rope that was holding my ankles. I tugged at the free side, making me fall down to the ground with a big thud. My vision went blurry for a second from the intense pain I was feeling.

"Come on. Get up." I said out loud to encourage myself. I will not die here.

My arms pushed myself off of the ground before returning to my wounded side. Blood was seeping through my fingers, staining my hands red.

Each step forward made me want to cry. The only thing that kept me going was pure adrenaline. I have to get out of here.

I found a large door that took a lot of power to pull open. It made an echoing sound when I opened it up. Whoever did this to me definitely heard that. The thought alone made me panic. I was running forward without looking where I was going.

I ran all the way upstairs to see I was in somebody's house. My entire body came to a stop and fell forward when I felt something latch onto my ankle.

A scream of pain left my mouth when I noticed the makeshift trap that was latched onto me. It looked like it was made out of bones with some familiar nails. I didn't think about it for too long. Instead, I pushed my fingers in between the trap and my leg to pull it off. The trap was sturdy and refused to move from my leg.

"I caught one! I caught one!" A voice yelled from down a hallway. I pulled harder, pulling the bone trap apart. One step forward without looking just to run into whoever caught me.

I was going to run, but stopped when I recognized the face.

"It's you! Y/N! I caught her. I caught her. Come on, we can do crafts, and I can show you my brother and we can make traps together, and oh boy, we're gonna have so much fun." Nubbins jumped around me, but paying any mind to the fact that I was covered in my own blood.

"Nub... Nubbins, you have to help me. I've lost a lot of blood." It was a plead that I wasn't sure if it would work or not. It was true, though. I had lost a lot of blood, and the trap didn't help. I was bleeding out quickly.

"Not to worry. I'll get you patched up! Then we'll have fun." That was the last thing I heard before everything went dark. I passed out from blood loss, hoping that Nubbins was speaking the truth about patching me up.

~○~

Master List

[rockiest-road]

⠀⠀⠀every dog has its day masterlist

inspired by an american werewolf in london (1981)

warnings (dead dove: do not eat):

blood/gore: pretty par for the course. it's horror, it's werewolf, it's going to have blood and gore.

death: again, it's horror. opening chapter has a major character death. deaths scattered throughout.

body grotesqueness: for transformation/body horror, this is pretty common. part of horror is making the familiar horrific, and what is more familiar than the human body. anyway, this is a werewolf story, so if you think transformation sequences might be gross, don't read.

angst: there's a lot of it. it should be the least of your worries.

suicidal thoughts/ideation/actions: it's a pretty major plot point in the original movie, so i'm making sure to handle it in a way that is meaningful and respectful.

if any of those irk you, don't worry! i have plenty of "normal" stuff here on the blog.

if you read this, with full knowledge of the warnings, and choose to harass me or speak unkindly, i will block you. i have spelled very clearly what to expect, and if you're uncomfortable, don't read it.

summary: After a freak accident during a late-night hike in the mountains outside Vancouver, Quinn Hughes wakes up in the hospital with no memory of what attacked him—only that Petey didn’t survive. As he tries to return to normal life and dwindling hope for the Canucks' playoff push, Quinn begins to suffer terrifying nightmares, blackouts, and a creeping hunger he can’t explain. As the full moon approaches, he starts to realize the truth: he’s not entirely human anymore. Haunted by the ghost of his fallen friend and hunted by something darker, Quinn must confront the beast within before it destroys everything he loves—including the only person who can save him from himself.

quinn hughes x lydia mckenzie

🏔️ moodboards

general ☾ lydia ☾ quinn

📿 chapters

1 ☾ 2 ☾ 3 ☾ 4 ☾ 5 ☾ 6 ☾ 7 ☾ 8 ☾ 9 ☾ 10 ☾ 11 ☾ epilogue

tags: @verycoolusername1 @luvoblivixus @tomskookie @nic0-hischier @skepvids @how-what-why-huh @devilinpradaheels @r0wdymaize86 @summert158 @lolatokki @captainhuggys @camiesully @sarcasm-and-stiles @kkmstblog @alex-wotton @f1dump23 @joesnumerouno @beenucks @heartsforjh @silverxxs-world @macklin-celebrini-71 @sacredtheslay @kei943 @emsdevs @quillycrow @greensnakegoblep @glitteryturtledeer @smiley-roos @panandhockeyobsessed @falsegod-03 @huggy43bear @rainyvalentines @persephonesportal @smutwzrd @hwalllllllelujah

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[raving-raven-writing]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Stray Kids (Band) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Got a new story up! Go check it out!  Summary:

The new house was supposed to be a fresh start for them. So why have there only been problems since moving in? Something sinister lurks within the house and the only one who seems aware of its presence is five year old Channie. What is a five year old supposed to do about a potential demon living in his house?