There was nowhere else to go but back to the old house. We had faith that it would be empty when we arrived but doubt was always in the back of my mind, warning me that we never had time to lock the basement before we fled the first time and something else might have come up... something far worse than our current tormentor.
Voicing this to the rest of my family was pointless - I was just a child and they were busy adults who were the only reason we'd survived for so long and definitely not the ones who started this all by digging up a dead god and calling it Hope. The only hope it gave was the hope that you'd die peacefully in your sleep and not end up another maw among the screaming chaos of flesh that surrounded it day and night.
By going back to the old house we thought we might be able to head into Hope's prison and find a way to send it back there for good. By going back we thought we might be able to break its grasp over everyone else's minds and let the screaming masses rest at long last. By going back we thought we'd find a way to move on from all this.
Hope has a funny way of seeping into your mind and telling you what to do with such subtlety that you don't even realise who you're working for until you find a way to imprison it for good and you destroy it before you can even take a breath in and inform the others of your discovery.
We are all working for Hope and now that Hope can never die, we can return to it for good.
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