The Haunting of a Hollow Heart

When I inherited Hollow Heart House from a great-aunt I never knew, I thought it was my ticket to a new life. The house is a beautiful, crumbling gothic mansion, but it's not empty. It's alive. It breathes. And it wants me. It started with whispers in the walls and doors that locked on their own. Now, it touches me. Unseen hands roam my body in the night, the cold spots in the hallway press against me like a lover's embrace. The house is possessing me, using my own hands, my own body, to bring itself pleasure. I am becoming a living vessel for the house's century-old loneliness and insatiable lust. I should run, but the truth is, I've never felt so wanted in my life.