Haunted House

The house is poorly constructed
It's filled with things that grow that are not quite human. Moss and old gods
Things that are rotting and things that will soon rot
The house was not made to have people in it
Am not made to have people in me

Something grows in the house, the constant sound of fingernails against wood and the Stretching of taffy makes sure any inhabitants know, but no one has ever grown up in This house
There are tally marks on the wood wall, graphite and soft, indicating a growing scale of Numbers
Three feet eight inches, four-foot one inch, four foot five inches. They stop on a muddled Tally mark with a number illegible. something grew up in this house, but it was not Human

Things grow in the house, inhospitable as it may be, the ghost grows in the house, but it Is not human

Do not delude yourself into thinking the Ghost was human

The Ghost will leave things around the house
Murals, depictions, self-portraits, renditions of things it sees.
Urchins made of flesh
Hundreds of human arms crammed onto a central point that you cannot see
Mobius strips made of featureless heads, each gaping mouth vomiting up the neck of The next skull in the link

Clean up the Ghost's gifts quickly
They were never human.
Do not delude yourself into thinking they were ever human

The Ghost cooks dinner sometimes
You will wish it didn't, yet you will show up to the supper all the same
It lays out the table, flush with tarnished silverware and overloaded plates
The bread has mold and the wine in the glasses has all gone bad
Orange peels and wild onions are stuffed under and around the plates, blossoming up in A mockery of greenery
The main course has billions of fingers all up and down its almost-human body
The nails are bitten down and the pads are calloused
The Ghost pants, it waits for you to take a bite
You lower your head, close your eyes, and open your mouth
Try not to think about how it feels, crunching through bones and shredding flesh
Pretend it doesn't feel like biting carrots nor that it tastes like iron and pork
The Ghost shrieks, pleased

You cannot leave the house, you cannot eat another meal other than the meat
There is an orange tree on the edge of the property, but the Ghost will make sure you Never reach it
It will eat you
You know it, and you are nothing but hate for the beast