The Dust House
Wills was not at all interested in going to the funeral.
He had planned to spend the day at home with his laptop and phone. A whole free day—no school, no homework, no one to disturb him. The thought of sitting quietly with his father's friends instead felt like punishment.
There was another reason too.
Sam.
His father's friend Sam was a police officer. Tall, serious, and always watching everything carefully. Whenever Sam looked at Wills, it felt as if he was investigating a crime.
Wills didn't like that look at all.
It made him nervous, especially because Sam had once caught him doing things he wasn't supposed to be doing online. Sam never said anything directly, but that knowing look was enough to scare Wills.
"I'm not coming," Wills said firmly, sitting on his bed.
His father, Justin, turned around. "What do you mean you're not coming?"
"I'll stay at home."
Justin crossed his arms. "If you don't come, I'll take away your devices."
Wills stayed silent.
"And," Justin added calmly, "I will change the Wi-Fi password."
That sentence hit harder than anything else.
Wills's eyes widened. "You wouldn't!"
"Try me."
Within seconds, Wills jumped up and began dressing at lightning speed.
Justin shook his head. "Five minutes ago you were dying of laziness."
From inside the room came noises of drawers opening, things falling, and Wills muttering to himself.
Justin called out, "Are you ready yet?"
"I'm coming!" Wills shouted, rushing out in such a hurry that he hadn't finished dressing properly.
Justin looked at him—and burst out laughing.
"You ran out like that again?"
Wills stopped, realized, groaned, and rushed back inside while Justin continued laughing.
Outside, the rest of the group had started gathering.
John was already there, talking loudly about someone he had met recently, as usual distracted by every person passing by.
Hany stood near the car, looking confused as he searched his pockets. "I brought my keys… I think. Or did I leave them inside? Wait… whose car is this?"
Sam leaned against the vehicle, observing everything quietly, like always.
Justin sighed. "This is going to be a long day."
Wills finally stepped out, now properly dressed, though clearly unhappy.
He preferred being alone—cycling secretly through the forest trails, exploring places his father didn't even know he visited. Freedom meant everything to him.
Since his parents had separated when he was still a baby, it had always just been him and his father. Justin could be strict, sometimes too strict, but in his own way he was trying.
"Get in," Justin said.
Wills slid into the seat without a word.
Sam glanced at him briefly.
Wills looked away immediately.
The journey had begun.
Justin started the engine and adjusted the mirror. He liked driving himself—he never trusted anyone else behind the wheel.
John took the front passenger seat, already talking before the car even moved.
"You know," John began, turning halfway around, "this reminds me of another trip we took—"
"Seat belt first, story later," Justin interrupted.
In the back seat sat Sam, Hany, and Wills.
Wills squeezed himself near the window, hoping no one would start a conversation with him. He pulled out his phone, but before he could unlock it, Justin's voice came from the front.
"No phone. At least pretend you're part of this family."
Wills sighed and shoved it back into his pocket.
Hany leaned forward suddenly. "Did anyone lock the house? I feel like we forgot. Or maybe I locked it. Wait… I don't even live there."
Sam gave him a slow look. "You don't."
"Oh," Hany said, sitting back. "Good. That saves us a trip."
John chuckled. "Hany forgetting things is the only thing he never forgets."
The car finally pulled onto the road.
Wills kept staring out of the window, watching the buildings disappear and trees slowly take their place. He didn't like being stuck like this. He would rather be cycling through these paths alone, feeling the wind instead of listening to endless conversations.
After a few minutes, he noticed Sam glancing at him.
Wills immediately looked away.
Sam said nothing—but that quiet, observing expression was still there.
Wills shifted uncomfortably.
Justin noticed the silence from the back. "Everything okay there?"
"Yes," Sam replied calmly.
"No," Wills muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" Justin asked.
"Nothing," Wills said quickly.
John turned again from the front seat. "This is going to be a long ride, isn't it?"
Justin smirked. "You have no idea."
The car continued down the highway, carrying five very different personalities—each one already wishing the day would go differently.
As the car moved deeper into the forest highway, the conversation slowly faded. The sound of the engine and the trees rushing past filled the silence.
John cleared his throat. "Hard to believe we're actually going… after all these years."
Justin gave a short laugh. "If someone told my younger self that we'd attend Chris's funeral one day, I wouldn't have believed it."
Wills glanced at them. He had heard the name before—but never the story.
Hany shook his head. "Secondary school was a battlefield because of that man."
Sam, who had also studied with them, looked out of the window. "Chris never liked us. Not even a little."
Years ago, Justin, Sam, John, and Hany had all studied in the same secondary school. Their fathers had been close friends, so the boys grew up together and became inseparable.
They were known as troublemakers—not dangerous, just energetic, mischievous, and always testing limits.
Their teacher, Chris, was the complete opposite.
Strict. Cold. Unforgiving.
Chris believed discipline meant punishment, and he watched the four boys constantly, waiting for mistakes. Detentions, extra assignments, complaints to parents—no one escaped him.
"To this day," John muttered, "I still hate the ticking sound of his wristwatch."
Hany nodded. "Every time that watch ticked, we knew someone was about to get punished."
Justin smirked faintly. "He made our lives miserable… but somehow kept us together."
Sam added quietly, "We didn't come today because we liked him. We came because he was part of our story."
Wills listened silently from the back seat.
For the first time, he understood that this journey wasn't just about a funeral.
It was about the past his father never talked about.
The memory faded, and the car returned to silence for a few moments. Only the sound of the tires rolling along the highway could be heard.
John turned around in his seat and looked at Wills, who was staring quietly out of the window.
"Why is he so silent?" John asked Justin with a small smile. "At his age, we were nothing like that. We didn't sit quietly—we were busy doing things we probably shouldn't have been doing."
Hany laughed. "That's true. If there was trouble somewhere, it was usually us."
John nodded. "Your son looks different. Calm. Disciplined. Almost… too perfect. He reminds me of the students we used to avoid."
Wills shifted slightly but didn't say anything.
Justin kept his eyes on the road. A faint smirk appeared on his face.
"You think he's disciplined?" Justin said. "You don't know him."
John raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Justin chuckled. "This one loves being alone. Always disappearing with his cycle. If I don't check, he'll ride off into the forest without telling anyone."
Wills quickly looked up. "I don't disappear."
"You do," Justin replied calmly. "And you think I don't know."
Sam glanced at Wills but said nothing.
Justin continued, "He's quiet, yes. But not innocent. Not even close."
John laughed. "Good. I was worried you had raised an angel."
"Definitely not," Justin said. "He just hides it better than we ever did."
Wills looked back out of the window, pretending not to care—but now he felt all of them watching him.
The car drove on, the mountains growing closer as the road curved deeper into the forested valley.
The car moved steadily along the long highway, the forest stretching endlessly on both sides. Inside, no one spoke for a while. Wills sat quietly near the window, watching the trees blur past.
After a long silence, John leaned forward and asked Justin,
"Why is Wills not saying anything? At his age we were doing everything crazy… even illegal sometimes. But your son… he's calm, disciplined. Nothing like us."
Justin gave a small smile, but didn't answer immediately.
He knew something about Wills that the others didn't — Wills observed more than he spoke.
A Stop Near the Forest
Midway through the journey, they stopped at a small roadside hotel near the forest to eat. It was one of those quiet European places — wooden walls, flower boxes on the windows, and a bell that rang softly when someone entered.
They ate simple food — bread, soup, cheese, and hot coffee.
John, as usual, tried to start a conversation with a woman standing near the counter, joking in broken German. The others ignored him, already used to his behaviour.
Soon they got back into the car and continued toward the funeral.
Arrival at the Funeral – Swiss Cultural Setting
They had now reached Switzerland, where everything looked orderly, calm, and painfully respectful.
The funeral was very different from what they were used to:
People wore dark, formal clothes — mostly black.
No loud crying. Grief was shown quietly.
Guests greeted the family with a firm handshake and soft words, not dramatic gestures.
Flowers were placed neatly beside the coffin, not thrown.
A church bell rang slowly, echoing through the mountains.
There was silence — the kind that forces people to think.
Chris, the teacher they once hated, was now just a still figure in a polished wooden coffin.
For the first time, none of them joked.
Even John didn't speak.
Wills stood there longer than the others. Justin noticed that.
After the ceremony, people gathered for a small reception with coffee and bread, sharing memories calmly — a common custom there, meant to honour life rather than mourn loudly.
The group left without saying much.
The Return Journey — The Mistake
On their way back, the fuel in the car started running low. They stopped at a remote station.
Justin asked John to go and bring fuel in a small emergency can.
John walked off casually.
On the way, he noticed a girl near the station and — completely distracted — started talking to her. Trying to act smart, he grabbed the wrong pump without paying attention.
Instead of petrol, he filled the can with diesel.
He returned proudly, unaware of the mistake.
They poured it into the car and resumed driving.
For a few minutes, everything seemed fine.
Then—
The engine began to cough.
The car jerked.
A strange sound.
And suddenly…
The car stopped in the middle of the empty mountain road.
John looked confused.
Sam stared at him.Justin turned toward Wills, surprised that he had spoken at all.
"How did you understand that?" he asked.
"You didn't even come near the pump."
Wills looked at the dashboard calmly.
"I smelled it when you poured it," he said. "Diesel has a heavier smell than petrol. And when the car started moving, the engine sound changed. Petrol engines don't run like that when diesel is inside. It was struggling… like it couldn't breathe properly."
Sam raised his eyebrows.
Hany stared at Wills for a second, impressed.
But John suddenly widened his eyes dramatically and whispered,
"No… no… this is not normal."
Everyone looked at him.
Hany leaned back slowly, lowering his voice like he was telling a ghost story.
"This is Chris."
Justin frowned. "What?"
Hany nodded seriously.
"The ghost of Chris. He's still angry at us. Even after death, he's giving punishment. First the funeral… now the car. This is exactly the kind of trouble he used to create."
John immediately played along.
"Yes! Remember how he used to catch us even when we did nothing? This is the same! He changed the fuel!"
Sam groaned. "Oh please. Chris didn't come back as a fuel inspector."
But Hany continued, pointing at the silent road around them.
"Look at this place. Empty road. Forest. No signal. Car dead. If this is not revenge, what is?"
For a moment, there was complete silence.
The tension broke. The fear disappeared.
They were no longer men haunted by their past — just a group of people stuck on the roadside because John didn't pay attention.
Justin shook his head.
"Alright. Ghost or not, we need to fix this. Someone call for help."
Wills had already taken out his phone.
"I already did," he said. "Nearest service station is on the way."
Hany smiled.
"See? Not Chris. Just the next generation… cleaning our mistakes."
The phone showed "No Service."
Justin lifted it higher, walked a few steps, tried again… nothing.
"There's no range here," he said, frustration rising in his voice.
Sam turned sharply toward John.
"You filled the wrong fuel without even checking? What were you thinking?"
John snapped back, already irritated.
"I said I'll handle it! Stop shouting like I did it on purpose!"
"You never think! That's the problem!" Sam barked.
Justin, already stressed about the car and the situation, lost his patience too.
"Enough, John! Try to fix it if you can instead of arguing."
John opened the bonnet and pretended to inspect things, touching wires and parts he clearly didn't understand. After a few minutes, he stepped back
"…I can't repair this."
Hours passed.
The sky slowly changed colour. Orange faded into grey. Grey turned into deep blue. Soon, darkness began to settle over the forest road. The air grew colder, and strange rustling sounds came from inside the trees.
Wills sat quietly, shivering.
Justin noticed immediately. A father's instinct.
"Wills… are you okay?"
Wills nodded, but his hands were trembling. His blood sugar often dropped suddenly — something he had inherited from Justin, though Justin's condition was mild while Wills' was much more serious. Even with medicine, it sometimes became hard to manage.
Without saying anything more, Justin removed his coat and wrapped it around Wills.
"Wear this."
"I'm fine," Wills murmured.
Justin didn't argue. He simply sat beside him and pulled him closer, holding him to keep him warm.
Sam and Hany stopped arguing when they saw that. Even John went silent.
The forest suddenly didn't feel funny anymore.
A loud crack of a branch echoed somewhere.
Hany whispered, "Okay… now this is actually scary."
John suddenly looked up, remembering something.
"Wait… wait. I think I know a place nearby."
All three looked at him.
"When we were kids, I came here once… to my friend's house — Hungary's place. It should be somewhere inside this area. If I can find it, we can stay there tonight."
"Can you call them?" Sam asked.
John checked his phone.
"No signal."
Justin sighed. "Then we walk."
So the five of them left the silent car behind and stepped into the narrow path leading into the forest. The only light came from their phone torches. Dry leaves crunched under their feet. Every sound felt louder in the cold night air.
They walked.
And walked.
And walked.
At times John doubted himself.
"Are you sure this is the way?" Sam muttered.
"It was here… I swear it was here…"
Another ten minutes passed.
Then—
Through the trees, they saw it.
A faint yellow light.
A small house.
Old. Quiet. But real.
They had found it.
Sam didn't trust John's memory at all, but the house, at least from the outside, didn't look dangerous. It was old, yes—but not abandoned. A faint yellow light still burned near the entrance, and smoke curled slowly from the chimney.
They stepped inside.
The wooden door creaked loudly, as if it hadn't been opened properly in years. The smell of old wood, dust, and something slightly sweet—maybe stored apples or dried herbs—filled the air.
"It's… not that bad," Hany said, already walking around like he owned the place.
It was only 6:30 in the evening, but the mountain darkness made it feel much later. Outside, the fog had already begun to thicken, swallowing the road they had walked through.
Just then, John's phone suddenly caught a signal.
"Oh! Finally!" he said, raising the phone like he had discovered treasure. He quickly called his uncle—the one who owned the property.
After a short conversation, John turned back to the group.
"He says we can stay," John announced. "But we have to pay. Two hundred Swiss francs."
Sam sighed.
"Of course there's money involved."
Justin didn't argue. "We'll split it," he said. Everyone nodded reluctantly and agreed to contribute.
At that same moment, Justin finally received a message from the mechanic team. He read it twice, hoping he misunderstood.
"They can't reach us for two days," he said quietly. "Fog is too heavy in this region."
"Two days?" Sam repeated, clearly unhappy.
Hany, however, clapped his hands once. "Perfect! Unexpected trip. That's what life should be—unplanned!"
Sam gave him a tired look. "We are stranded. That's not a vacation."
While they were talking, Sam noticed an old wooden board outside the window, half-hidden by fog. It advertised a fantasy forest hotel somewhere nearby, painted with bright colours and decorative lights.
"We could try going there," Sam suggested. "At least it would be comfortable."
But Wills, who had been sitting quietly on a chair near the wall, looked exhausted. The cold, the walk, and the stress had drained him completely.
"I don't want to move again," Wills said softly.
Justin looked at him for a moment. Then he nodded.
"We stay."
The house had four bedrooms and a small kitchen. Everything inside looked like it belonged to another century.
There was a large piano against one wall, its keys slightly yellowed with age. Old black-and-white photographs hung everywhere—serious-looking families, soldiers in uniform, weddings from long ago. A carved deer head was mounted above the fireplace, watching silently over the room.
Hany walked around with fascination.
"This is amazing. It's like living inside history!"
Sam checked the windows, the locks, the structure—still cautious.
John tried pressing a piano key.
It made a deep, echoing sound.
Everyone turned to look at him.
"…What?" John said. "Just testing if ghosts are listening."
No one laughed.
Justin unpacked slowly, keeping an eye on Wills without making it obvious. He wasn't good at showing concern. He spoke less, corrected more, and often seemed distant—but worry always appeared in small actions instead of words.
"Did you bring your medicine?" he asked without looking at Wills.
"Yes."
"Eat something."
"I'm not hungry."
"Eat anyway."
It didn't sound gentle. But he still placed food in front of him.
Wills didn't respond, yet he ate.
Their relationship wasn't easy. They didn't talk about feelings, didn't explain things, didn't apologize. But in quiet moments like this, both of them understood more than they said aloud.
Outside, the fog thickened.
Inside, the old house settled with soft cracking noises, as if adjusting to its unexpected guests.
Night in the mountains had begun.
And they were going to be there for two full days.
They were all hungry by then. The cold mountain air had made it worse.
Hany rubbed his stomach dramatically.
"Is there anything to eat? Even bread? Anything?"
John checked the kitchen shelves, opening and closing cupboards one by one. Each one was empty, except for dust and a few old utensils.
"Well," John announced, holding up a small bag, "we have… four beers… and one bottle of Duplais."
Hany stared at him. "We can't eat that!"
Sam crossed his arms. "That's not food. That's a bad decision."
For a moment, everyone stood there thinking.
Then Justin suddenly snapped his fingers.
"Wait. In the car."
They all looked at him.
"There are potatoes and eggs in the back," he said. "From my farm. I brought them to sell… and forgot about them."
John blinked. "You forgot an entire food supply?"
Justin gave a small grin. "Seems useful now, doesn't it?"
Hany clapped excitedly. "Tonight we feast!"
They carried the potatoes and eggs inside like treasure.
But there was another problem.
"No gas," Sam said after checking the stove.
This thing doesn't work."
They looked around.
Old house. No electricity in the kitchen. No modern cooking system.
John found an old iron stand near the fireplace along with some traditional fire-starting tools.
"Well," he said, holding it up, "looks like we're cooking the ancient way."
They gathered wood—some from outside, some stacked inside the house—and managed to start a fire using the old tool. It took time, patience, and a lot of blowing on sparks, but eventually flames began to rise.
Hany watched proudly.
"This is real life. Not phones. Not Wi-Fi. Fire and food."
Sam muttered, "We're stranded, not camping."
Soon the potatoes were roasting, and the eggs were being cooked in an old metal pan over the flames. The smell slowly filled the room, warm and comforting.
After some time, the fire began to weaken.
"We need more wood," Justin said.
Hany stood up. "I'll get it."
He grabbed a small flashlight and stepped outside into the fog.
The cold hit him immediately.
The fog was thicker now, wrapping around the trees like smoke. The light from the house barely reached beyond a few meters. Everything else was grey and silent.
Hany walked toward the woodpile.
That's when he saw it.
At first, he thought it was just a shadow.
Then it moved.
A boy.
Standing a short distance away.
The boy wasn't wearing proper clothes—just barely covered, as if he had run out in a hurry. His body looked weak and dirty, like he had been wandering for a long time. Even in the dim light, Hany could tell the boy had been through something rough.
Hany froze.
"Hey!" he called out, trying to sound calm. "What are you doing here? Are you lost?"
The boy didn't answer.
He just stared.
The fog swirled between them.
Hany took one small step forward.
"It's okay," he said gently. "We're not going to hurt you."
For a second, it seemed like the boy might speak.
Instead—
He suddenly turned and ran.
Straight into the bushes.
"Wait!" Hany shouted, instinctively following a few steps—but the fog swallowed the figure almost immediately. There was only the sound of leaves… then nothing.
Complete silence.
Hany stood there, breathing fast, heart pounding.
He was sure of one thing.
That was not imagination.
There really was someone out there.
When Hany returned to the house, his face had completely changed.
Sam noticed first.
"What happened?"
Hany looked at all of them and said quietly,
"There's a boy outside."
Sam and the others didn't really believe Hany.
Hany sometimes forgot even simple things, so they assumed he had imagined whatever he saw outside.
John laughed and nudged him.
"Did you secretly drink that Duplais? You're seeing people in the fog now?"
"I'm telling you, there was someone," Hany insisted.
But no one took him seriously.
The house had only four rooms, and there were five of them.
Justin first said, "I'll share with Sam or John."
Hany immediately interrupted.
"No… you can sleep with me. I don't want to stay alone. This place already feels strange."
Sam shook his head. "I'll take my own room. I need quiet."
John also chose a separate room, already half-asleep from the long journey.
That left Wills with a room to himself.
Before everyone settled in, the food was finally ready.
Justin called out firmly,
"Wills, come eat now. After that, go straight to your room and rest. No wandering around, okay?"
Wills nodded. "Okay."
He ate quietly, not talking much. The warmth of the fire and the simple food helped him feel a little better, but he still looked tired.
After Wills finished, he went to his room as told.
Then Justin and his friends sat down to eat. They talked, joked, and slowly relaxed, even opening the drinks John had found earlier.
While they were sitting there, something unusual happened.
The house gave a very slight movement.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just a soft vibration… like old wood adjusting.
Only Hany noticed.
He looked up immediately.
"Did you feel that?"
No one else reacted.
"Feel what?" John asked.
"The house… it just shook."
Sam sighed. "Old houses make sounds. That's normal."
Hany tried again. "I'm serious! And that boy I saw—"
John waved his hand dismissively.
"You saw fog. That's what you saw."
They teased him so much that Hany finally gave up arguing.
"Fine," he muttered. "I'll sleep alone tonight. You all laugh now, but don't come to my room later."
Justin exchanged a glance with Sam.
"Alright then. I'll stay in Sam's room."
Sam nodded. "That's better."
Meanwhile, inside his room, Wills lay awake.
He wasn't sleepy.
His mind was somewhere else.
On the piano.
The old one in the living room.
He hadn't played in a long time. He used to love playing—so much that it felt like the only thing that truly belonged to him. But after a big argument at home, his own piano had been damaged, and since then he never touched one again.
Now, hearing that instrument earlier… seeing it standing there quietly…
He couldn't stop thinking about it.
Wills stared at the ceiling.
Maybe after everyone sleeps, he thought.
Just for a minute.