It was never my plan to return to Ravenwood Street.
The place had a way of remembering you, even when you tried desperately to forget it.
Rain fell in thin needles, tapping against the windshield as my car slowed in front of House No. 17. The streetlights flickered, their yellow glow trembling like a dying heartbeat. Every other house looked alive—curtains drawn, televisions humming faintly—but this house stood apart, darker than the night itself.
The house waited.
I sat there for a full minute, my hands gripping the steering wheel, my breath fogging the glass. The air felt wrong. Heavy. As if the night itself was holding its breath.
"You're just tired," I whispered to myself.
But then I heard it.
A sound.
Not outside.
Inside my head.
Welcome home.
My blood ran cold.
I hadn't heard that voice in twelve years.
I stepped out of the car, my shoes sinking slightly into the wet gravel path. The gate creaked open by itself before I touched it. I froze.
The door was already unlocked.
That was impossible.
I hadn't been here since the night everything went wrong—the night screams filled these walls and the police lights painted the house in red and blue.
As I pushed the door open, the smell hit me first.
Old wood. Dust. And something else.
Something rotten.
The hallway stretched longer than it should have, shadows clinging to the corners like living things. My footsteps echoed, but a second set followed—half a second too late.
I stopped.
The footsteps stopped.
I turned around.
No one.
Yet the mirror at the end of the hall was fogged, as if someone had just breathed on it.
Slowly, painfully, letters began to appear.
Not written.
Carved from the inside.
> YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED GONE.
My heart pounded so loudly I was sure the house could hear it.
Then—
A soft laugh.
From upstairs.
A child's laugh.
And I remembered.
The room at the end of the corridor.
The locked door.
The night she disappeared.
Behind me, the front door slammed shut.
The lights went out.
And the house began to whisper my name.
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🩸 End of Chapter 1