The Cleansing: Revisited

Part 1: The Reset

The air stings cold.

Your breath fogs in the morning light.

Your head - pounding.

The house looms behind you, unchanged.

Silent.

Waiting.

Chris taps your shoulder.

You glance at him. 

He looks mortified as he points towards the house.

You turn, dazed.

The couple is there.

“Thank you for coming all this way,” the man says.

The woman’s eyes flick nervously toward the house.

“It’s been different today. Like it knows you’re here.”

Your stomach twists.

Every word is familiar.

You’ve heard this before.

A teammate whispers,

“We didn’t just black out.

We’re back at the start.”

You fight the rising panic.

This can’t be possible. 

Did you make the wrong choices the first time?

Was sealing the circle a mistake?

Is this all a dream?

The couple watches, waiting for you to respond.

Last time, you trusted them.

Took their story at face value.

But now…

You’ve seen the basement.

The circle.

The symbols.

The candles.

You’ve seen the wife watching from the window.

Was she the one feeding it?

Was this her ritual all along?

Another teammate whispers,

“If they’re hiding something,

maybe this time we can prove it.”

The weight of it settles in your chest.

This isn’t just about cleansing a house.

This is about breaking a cycle.

A loop you are now trapped inside of. 

***

Part 2: Pretend

(You chose: Play along.)

You force yourself to smile.

Your voice feels heavy in your throat.

“Thanks for meeting us out here,” you say.

The couple relaxes, if only slightly.

Your team shifts uneasily behind you.

They know the truth.

They know you’ve been here before.

But no one says a word.

You reassure the couple again.

That they are in good hands.

That you are here to help.

Last time you simply asked if they’d be available by phone.

But this time, something must change.

The husband offers the keys.

“We’re staying with friends tonight.”

You shake your head.

“Actually… if your wife wouldn’t mind staying, it could help the investigation.

It’s not uncommon. Sometimes the house responds better with a family member present.”

They exchange a look.

She touches his arm, steadying him.

Then they both nod.

He forces a smile.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then. She wasn’t up for the game anyway. This is more her thing.”

She looks at you. Still.

Too still.

Something inhuman in her calm.

“Shall we?” she says.

You hesitate at the threshold.

The same place where you saw the shadow figure dart last time.

The house seems to breathe.

Waiting.

One teammate whispers, barely audible.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? We could just go home.”

You ignore it.

Maybe this isn’t about the house at all.

Maybe it’s the person who needs cleansing.

***

Part 3: Descent

(You chose: Take Control.)

She guides you into the home.

Your voice steady.

“We’re going to start in the basement.”

The wife tilts her head.

Too calm.

That faint smile never leaving her lips.

“As you wish.”

Her demeanor unsettles you.

Almost like a different person this time around.

This time around…

You’re still trying to wrap your head around how any of this is possible.

It’s starting to feel like a bad dream.

She leads the way inside.

Your team follows close, breath shallow, gear in hand.

The house swallows you whole.

The floor creaks as you reach the stairs.

You remember the symbols.

The melted wax.

The circle that pulsed like it was alive.

The wife lingers at the top of the steps.

“You’ll find what you’re looking for down there,” she says softly.

Her tone too measured.

Almost rehearsed.

Chris leans close and whispers,

“She wanted us here. You know that, right?”

Ah, Chris.

You’ve seen a lot of strange hauntings together.

But this one might take the cake.

The air grows colder with each step.

Your gut twists.

But you keep going.

Each stair cracks beneath your boots.

Your heartbeat pulses in your chest… in your hands.

The basement waits.

But when you reach the bottom…

it’s gone.

The concrete floor stretches bare and cold.

No wax.

No scorch marks.

Not even a trace of ash.

Chris mutters, “This isn’t possible.”

Another teammate whispers, “We all saw it. We all saw it.”

Your chest tightens.

If the circle was real, someone erased it.

If it wasn’t…

then maybe the house is rewriting itself.

Just like it did with time.

***

Part 4: The Interrogation

(You chose: Question her.)

You turn back toward the stairs.

She’s still there.

The wife.

Hands folded.

Expression unreadable.

Your voice cuts through the cold air.

“What happened to the circle?”

Her eyes flicker. Just for a second.

You wonder if she is even human.

Then the faint smile returns.

“What circle?”

Chris shifts uneasily beside you.

“We all saw it,” he mutters.

“The wax. The symbols. Burned into the floor.”

She tilts her head. Calm as stone.

“You must be mistaken.”

The room feels tighter.

Like the walls are leaning in.

You step toward her.

“You were at the window,” you press.

“You knew what we’d find.”

Silence.

Then she whispers, almost to herself,

“Some doors aren’t meant to close.”

The EMF shrieks.

Every battery drains at once.

The concrete under your feet feels… alive.

Vertigo hits you.

Chris grabs your arm.

“She’s not denying it,” he hisses.

“She’s part of it.”

The wife turns away.

Steps out of sight.

Leaving the basement door bare.

Fueling your uncertainty.

You look back at Chris.

“We have to find a way to work around her.”

Then to the rest of the team:

“We might not be able to fix things, but we have to try.”

Chris steadies his camera.

The others gather close, silent, waiting.

You glance back toward the stairs where the wife vanished.

Something in your chest twists - this all feels too familiar.

You’ve been here before.

You know what happens when this goes wrong.

And yet… this time feels different.

Not because the house changed…

but because she hasn’t.

You realize it now. She’s not the victim.

She’s the reason it’s still here.

***

Part 5: The Reckoning

(You chose: Perform the cleansing the right way this time.)

You stand outside the front door to the house.

Snow gathers on the steps.

Your breath fogs.

This is how it’s meant to start.

From the outside in.

From the threshold to the heart.

Chris hands you the holy water.

The team forms a quiet line behind you.

You begin.

Each room receives its prayer.

Each corner blessed, each doorway sealed.

Your voice steady now…

measured, sure, not driven by fear this time.

You move through the house methodically,

front to back, room to room.

The air feels lighter as you go,

like dust lifting from old light.

When you reach the basement door,

you pause.

Everyone knows what comes next.

Chris exhales, voice low.

“Save the best for last.”

You nod.

The others follow you down.

The basement waits, unchanged…

except for that faint outline burned into the floor.

The team circles the mark.

You begin the prayer again.

The final one.

The energy here feels thicker,

but not violent this time.

It listens.

The EMF hums steady.

Holy water hisses softly on the concrete.

You lift your voice higher.

Each word feels older than language itself.

Then, a flicker of warmth…

a single spark in the center of the circle.

Like an ember surrendering its last breath.

And then it’s gone.

Silence.

Stillness.

For the first time, the house feels empty.

Chris lowers his recorder.

“Is it… done?”

You don’t answer right away.

Your eyes fall to the workbench.

A faint ring of ash glows for just a heartbeat—

then fades into nothing.

You finally speak.

“Sometimes… that’s all you can do.”

As you climb the stairs,

snowlight spills across the floor.

The house exhales.

The team gathers their gear.

You start toward the front door,

relief mixing with exhaustion.

As you reach the hallway, something catches your eye.

At the far end. 

The kitchen.

The wife stands there.

She’s still.

Watching.

A faint smile on her face.

You freeze.

For a heartbeat, it’s like time stops.

Chris notices your expression.

“What is it?”

You swallow hard.

“I’m not sure,” you say softly.

You wonder to yourself…

Will I ever get answers?

You’re not sure.

But you know you won’t forget this place.

You won’t forget what happened here.

Snow drifts quietly across the porch as you step outside.

The cold air bites at your skin,

but it’s the kind of silence that feels earned.

Peaceful.

Final.

Headlights cut through the trees.

A truck pulls into the drive.

The husband steps out, waving.

“Did it go well?” he asks.

You nod.

“It feels calmer now. More at peace.”

He exhales, relieved.

“That’s a comfort. Before she passed, she always talked about something lurking here. Said she’d feel better if I had the place cleansed once she was gone. Honestly, I’ve never experienced anything here. Not once.”

You blink, unsure if you heard him right.

“I’m sorry,” you ask quietly.

“Before who passed?”

He frowns.

“My wife.”

Your breath catches.

“That can’t be right. She was here earlier… you mentioned she didn’t want to watch the game, and that this was more her thing.”

He gives a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, that. I was just joking. When you asked if she could stay, I figured you were just— I don’t know—getting into the Twilight Zone or ghost-hunting mindset, whatever you all do with those little beeping devices and flashy thingies, pretending she was still here wandering the grounds. So you know, I was just playing along.”

The air around you stills.

The team glances at each other in silence.

You want to be offended, but you’re over it. 

You turn toward the porch one last time.

She’s there.

Standing behind him.

Same faint smile.

Eyes fixed on you.

The morning light cuts across her face,

and for a moment, she looks heartbreakingly human.

You can’t move.

You can’t breathe.

And as the snow falls quietly between you…

you realize the cleansing may have worked…

just not the way you hoped.

End of Story 9.