Eric Ross: Blog

The ghosts are getting bolder. The house, hungrier. And our dear explorers? Just slightly more unhinged.

Part 4 begins with a séance—because obviously, if the walls are whispering and the frescoes are pornographic, the most reasonable next step is to break out a Ouija board. Spirits of Lantern Hill, are you around? The answer is yes. And they don’t like being ignored.

Naomi gets touched by something that isn’t there (or isn’t supposed to be), and suddenly she’s not just the skeptic—she’s the bait.

From there, we split again. Clara and Dylan head down a hallway where the wallpaper peels back like skin to reveal fevered erotic frescoes. Their restraint holds—for now—but the silence between them is charged enough to start a fire. He calls it art. She tries to breathe. Both are lying to themselves.

Meanwhile, Marcus and Jade play their usual game: flirtation as weapon, sarcasm as shield, tension rising like smoke off a dying cigarette. But even Jade, queen of deflection, is starting to feel the pressure. The mirrors reflect too much. The house leans in. And Marcus—well, Marcus is doing his best not to combust.

And Naomi? She’s left behind. Alone with the murals. And then... they touch back.

The Harrow Testament is picking up steam. This is the point where desire starts to blur with dread, and the house itself becomes more than a setting. It’s a character. A participant. A seducer. A voyeur. And possibly something far worse.

If you’re new, start at the beginning. If you’ve been following along, you already know:

This isn’t just a haunted house story.

It’s temptation.

It’s revelation.

It’s rot.

And the house is keeping score.

— Eric

The house starts whispering in Part 3 of The Harrow Testament. Not creaking, not groaning—whispering. And not just to one of them. Each character feels it: breath at the nape, voices behind the plaster, a hum that isn’t quite air and definitely isn’t friendly.

Naturally, their response is to split up. After all, in every haunted house story nothing says “survival instinct” like dividing your party. Right?

So off they go—Clara and Dylan down one hallway, fingers brushing wallpaper that peels away to reveal frescoes of masked, orgiastic debauchery. Apparently, Harrow House has an art collection curated by horny ghosts. The tension between the two builds: arousal wrapped in restraint, silence thick as wet paint.

Meanwhile, Jade, Marcus, and Naomi head in the other direction, where flirtation becomes a game of smoke and deflection, pianos play themselves, and the walls press closer with every breath. Marcus and Jade trade barbs and body heat while Naomi tries not to believe in anything she can’t touch. Sharp banter. Mounting tension.

And just when they think it can’t get weirder, someone digs out a Ouija board.

Because yes—when the walls start whispering and the frescoes start moaning, the only logical next step is to host a summoning.

If you’re just joining, start at the Prologue and Part 1. If you’ve made it this far, you already know: this isn’t just a haunted house story.

It’s an invitation.

It’s a seduction.

It’s a confession.

And the house is still listening.

— Eric

In Part 2 of The Harrow Testament, the house begins to show its teeth—though not with screams or blood. This is the kind of haunting that slides beneath your skin: a glance that lingers too long, a mural that pulses when no one’s watching, the sudden thud of your own heart when nothing should feel erotic at all.

We stay with Clara in this chapter. Quiet, observant Clara—forever taking notes while others speak more loudly. But the house doesn’t care how softly you move. The house sees what’s beneath.

Fear becomes desire in a place like this. Not because the fear is pleasant, but because it strips away everything that keeps us safe: pretense, politeness, restraint. Clara doesn’t want to want Dylan. But once the frescoes begin to shift—bodies tangled, painted lips parted in impossible pleasure—she can’t pretend she doesn’t feel it. The house knows. It remembers everything.

And the frescoes? They’re more than decoration. They are mirrors of the soul, of longing, of shame turned inside out. They change depending on who’s looking. They tempt. They accuse. They invite.

This chapter is quiet, intimate, charged with tension. Nothing explodes. But something unlocks. A door opens. A body leans too close. A hand lingers.

The haunting has begun.

If you’re just joining, start at the Prologue and Part 1.

If you’ve made it this far, you already know:

It’s not just a haunted house story.

It’s a confession.

And the house remembers everything.

—Eric

Every ghost story starts with a bad idea.

In The Harrow Testament, five friends dare each other to spend Halloween night in an abandoned mansion. Not just any mansion—Harrow House, the kind of place that clings to the edges of local legend and lingers in the childhood part of your brain that still believes doors can whisper. They bring flashlights, bravado, and more emotional baggage than anyone’s willing to admit.

What they don’t expect is the house to want something back.

So here it is:
* A haunted house with a mind of its own
* Friends with secrets they’d rather not face
* Paintings that breathe, mirrors that remember
* And a slow descent into something they might not come back from

The prologue and the first chapter are live.

Enter if you dare. And if you enjoy it, let me know—ghosts aren’t the only ones who feed on attention.

—Eric

I’ve been a StoriesOnline member since June 2013, but I didn’t start writing until April of this year. I’d wanted to write since I was a teenager, but a busy career kept pushing it aside. Now that I’m retired — nearly fifty years later — I’m finally getting the chance to "dip my quill into the ink".

For the past seven months, I’ve been writing stories with the help of AI and publishing them here. Yes, the AI is a shortcut, but it's also as a tool that helps me think differently and write more. Somewhere in that process, I’ve found a voice that feels like mine.

The stories vary. Some are funny, some are dark. I love absurdity, but I also write in a gothic vein. I’m especially interested in the intersection of religious language, thought, and prejudice with modern ideas about sexuality — how those old frameworks still shape desire, guilt, and transformation.

And truthfully, some of those early stories were awful. I didn't understand so many elements of writing. I just wanted to do it. So, it has taken time to find a rhythm — to learn what works and what doesn’t.

The story I’m about to post tomorrow — The Harrow Testament — is one I’ve been working on since early August. I originally wrote it for the SOL Halloween contest but later realized the rules excluded AI-assisted writing. Fair enough. I’m still proud of this one, and I’ll be posting it to the main stream rather than the contest.

I hope you’ll read it for what it is — a story. Not a debate about tools or technology, just something I’ve worked hard at to make it worth your time.

My best,

Eric