The Beast has a name now.

Zervon, an ancient demon from Persian myth, worshipped in midwinter rituals that culminate

on December 24th.

The same day the Advent calendar's final door is meant to open, the same anniversary of the

fire that consumed Matthew Klein's family 30 years ago. Father

Olson's visit confirmed what Matt already feared. He is not merely haunted. He is a participant

in something far older and more deliberate than a simple haunting. The calendar was built, for

him, constructed from the cursed remains of the spirit board that started everything, shaped

by hands guided by demonic influence.

Every lion, every serpent, every detail carved with patient, malevolent purpose.

Fifteen doors have been opened.

Fifteen horrors have been unleashed.

A woman impaled by a falling

star. A young barista stabbed with a cross. A neighbor drowned at gulls rest. A fellow officer

killed when his patrol car wrapped around a tree. His teeth shattered like glass on the steering

wheel. Glass. The shards that spilled from door 15 now sit in Matthew's palm, tiny and razor

sharp, drawing blood with the slightest touch. Somewhere in Marshport, or perhaps somewhere

closer, their meaning waits to reveal itself. The calendar has never been subtle. Every

trinket has found its echo in tragedy. The crucifix

Father Olson left hangs near the fireplace, a holy sentinel watching over the cursed object.

But Matt knows better than to trust in simple protections now. The nativity scene was found scattered

across the floor, knocked from its place by unseen

...