The silence of the cold, moonlit night was shattered by the soft crackle of flames. Ralph, the exorcist, stood at the threshold of an uneasy house, its walls cloaked in soot and its windows staring into the dark like hollow eyes. The air carried the faint scent of smoke, mingling with the dampness of neglect. He tightened his grip on his black leather bag, filled with tools of his trade: holy water, talismans, ancient texts, and a sharp-edged dagger blessed by the clergy.

Inside, the house seemed alive, groaning under its own weight. Ralph felt the heat before he saw it—a flicker of flame dancing on the edge of a curtain, extinguishing itself as if mocking him. He clenched his jaw. This was no ordinary haunting.

The Firestarter was here.

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