Chapter 2: The Pregnant Host

To create a demon child, besides sacrificing a hundred infants, you have to set up the right environment. The chosen pregnant woman has to live in a place soaked in dark, haunted energy. The McKay’s building is all big single-family apartments. If you set things up upstairs and downstairs, you can create that atmosphere! Dripping Water Traps pull in dark energy fast. The McKays have four, so the other apartment must have the same! If the traps are set in a formation, the evil energy builds even quicker.

I sketched the pattern on my palm, realizing how the traps worked together. It was like a supernatural battery, charging up something truly evil. The building itself was a vessel, primed and ready.

Once we figured out the location, we didn’t waste a second—we headed straight for the elevator.

We stood side by side, pressed up against the mirrored walls. Mariah fidgeted with her phone, the screen glowing with worried chat messages. I steadied my breath, listening for any sign of movement beyond the dull hum of the machinery.

“Ding!”

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Mariah, who’d been standing next to me, immediately ducked behind me. Seeing her so spooked, I rolled my eyes. "Why are you such a wimp, Mariah? Didn’t your psychic master teach you to handle this stuff?"

She peeked out from behind me, her eyes wide. “Girl, you have no idea how heavy the vibe is here. Seriously, the second those doors opened, I felt like I’d walked into a haunted house.”

It was like the air itself was pressing down—way worse than anything upstairs.

It felt like wading through molasses, every step a struggle. The lights overhead flickered, and somewhere in the distance, a dog howled. I clenched my fists, bracing myself. Was something watching us right now?

"Hold your phone and keep it together, okay? No sudden moves—we don’t want to tip off the enemy." Once she’d steadied herself, I rang the doorbell.

I gave her a look—chin up, phone steady, deep breaths. No matter what, we had to look like we belonged here. I pressed the doorbell, the chime echoing in the tense silence. A nervous joke popped into my head: Please let this be a regular haunting for once.

Soon, a woman answered. Seeing two strangers, she looked us up and down, totally suspicious. "Who are you?"

She wore a loose T-shirt over maternity leggings, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. Her eyes flicked between us, sizing us up.

"Ms. Franklin, right? I’m Savannah, a paranormal investigator."

I kept my tone gentle, flashing my best reassuring smile. I pulled out my business card—Savannah Brooks, Paranormal Consultant—and handed it over. The logo was a little cheesy, but it usually broke the ice.

I introduced myself and explained, "The property manager asked me to handle some supernatural stuff. You’ve probably heard about the haunting upstairs at the McKay’s, right?"

I nodded toward the ceiling, as if that explained everything. The faint hum of a baby monitor drifted from inside, and the place smelled faintly of lavender and baby powder.

"I saw folks talking about it in the Facebook group. Heard it was wild last night," the pregnant woman said.

She shifted her weight, one hand resting protectively on her belly. She kept glancing over her shoulder, like she was waiting for someone else to show up.

Mariah sensed something off. "You live right downstairs and didn’t hear a thing?" She tried to sound casual, but I could hear the edge in her voice.

I felt it too. Never mind the chaos last night—even just now, when I handled it, the commotion was huge.

There’s no way she didn’t hear!

I replayed the night in my head—the yelling, the banging. The walls practically shook with supernatural energy.

Seeing our confusion, Ms. Franklin touched her seven- or eight-month pregnant belly. "My health’s not great, and since getting pregnant, I’ve gotten even weaker. I sleep most of the time. Plus, our soundproofing’s pretty good—I usually can’t hear what’s happening outside."

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The way her hand lingered on her belly, almost as if shielding it, made me uneasy.

"So, what do you need from me?" she asked, her tone polite but guarded.

I caught a whiff of something sharp, like disinfectant or hospital soap. The apartment behind her was neat, almost sterile, like she was getting ready for something huge.

At this point, the camera was pointed at her belly, and the chat was full of messages. I caught a few:

[Oh my god! Is it just me, or does it look like something’s about to burst out of her belly?]

[The person above—I saw it too!]

[Scared me to death! The second I tuned in, the pregnant woman’s belly bulged up, like a face!]

[Isn’t baby movement supposed to be cute? Why do I find this so creepy!?]

The comments came fast, a mix of horror and disbelief. Some viewers typed in all caps, others posted crying emojis, skulls, or horror-movie gifs. The energy in the chat was electric, and I had to fight the urge to check my own reflection for signs of possession. My stomach twisted—this was getting real.

Mariah saw it too. Even though she works in this field, she’s a total wimp! Just reading the chat on her phone, she nearly dropped her phone, she was so freaked out.

She clutched her phone with both hands, knuckles white. Her eyes darted from the screen to Ms. Franklin’s belly, then back again. I could almost hear her heart pounding.

I stepped between Ms. Franklin and Mariah, blocking her view. "There’s something not right in your house too." I looked past her into the apartment. "The property manager asked me to handle it."

I stepped forward, lowering my voice. “It’s probably nothing, but better safe than sorry. Mind if we take a quick look around?”

I flashed what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

"What!?" Ms. Franklin looked shocked and scared. "I have nothing to do with the people upstairs—how could there be something weird in my place!?"

Her voice trembled, and she wrapped her arms around her belly as if bracing for impact. I caught a flicker of fear in her eyes—a fear that went way deeper than just being annoyed at her neighbors.

Seeing her panic, Mariah said, "Don’t worry, let us take a look—we’ll handle it."

She tried to smile, but it came out crooked. “We’re here to help, promise. No charge.” She winked, trying to lighten the mood, but her voice shook just a little.

Ms. Franklin quickly let us in.

She stepped aside, ushering us into a living room that smelled faintly of chamomile tea and baby powder. The furniture was plush, the walls lined with family photos. But beneath the surface, something felt… off.

The dark energy outside was already thick, but inside it was suffocating. As soon as we stepped in, Mariah started shivering. She always did this at haunted spots, clutching my hand like she thought a ghost was about to jump out and grab her.

Her grip was ice-cold, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts. I squeezed her hand, grounding us both. The air pressed in, thick and heavy.

I glanced around, finally focusing on a room in the corner. Noticing my gaze, Ms. Franklin said, "That’s just a storage room. Nobody stays there. Is something wrong with it?"

The door was slightly ajar, a faint chill seeping out. Boxes were stacked haphazardly inside, and a nightlight glowed weakly in the corner. I felt a pull—an instinct that screamed danger.

That room had the weakest evil vibe. That’s where I’d lure out the demon child in her belly—and destroy it!

My plan was coming together.

"Ms. Franklin, do you usually get really sleepy before nine at night? Just curious."

I watched her face closely, looking for any flicker of recognition or fear.