By the time Sophie stepped out of the library and back into the main hall, the sun had vanished behind the horizon, leaving the house bathed in the kind of soft golden dimness that came just before lamps were lit. Shadows had grown longer. The stillness was heavier, like the house had taken a deep breath and was waiting to exhale.
Mrs. Williams was already in the hallway when Sophie appeared, holding a folded throw blanket and a small tray of crackers and tea. Her brows lifted with gentle concern.
"It's late," she said. "James told me not to let you wander around too much. You still need to rest."
Sophie gave a sheepish smile. "I know. I just... the house has a way of pulling you in."
"It does that," Mrs. Williams agreed. "Too many memories in the walls."
There was a pause, then the older woman stepped forward and gently touched Sophie's arm.
"You'll stay the night," she said softly. "There's no sense in going out in the dark, and you've barely recovered."
"I don't want to be a burden."
"You're not. Besides, we've already made up the guest room."
Sophie hesitated only a moment before nodding.
"Let me call my aunt," she said.
---
A few minutes later, she was curled up in an armchair near the parlor's low-burning fire, the landline receiver tucked against her ear.
"Hello?" her aunt's voice came through, a little crackly.
"Hey, Aunty. Don't worry—I'm okay."
"Sophie? Where are you? It's late!"
"I'm at James's place. Mrs. Williams is here. I fainted earlier—she saw me and brought me inside."
Her aunt exhaled heavily. "You what? Are you sure you're alright?"
"I promise. Just tired. She's offered to let me stay the night. The house is beautiful. Quiet. I'll be back tomorrow morning."
Her aunt paused. Then, softly: "Okay, sweetheart. Just text me when you wake up. And if anything feels strange, leave. Do you hear me?"
Sophie smiled faintly. "I hear you."
---
The guest room Mrs. Williams prepared was tucked at the back of the second floor, beside a narrow window that overlooked the hedged garden. It was simple — pale curtains, an armoire that smelled like cedar, and a delicate iron-framed bed layered in cream blankets.
Sophie moved slowly, every muscle still heavy with the lingering exhaustion of the day. She pulled on the nightshirt Mrs. Williams left on the bed — soft cotton with sleeves that brushed her wrists — and sat down near the desk by the window.
There was a small notepad lying there.
No name. No message.
Just paper and a pen.
She picked it up and began to write.
---
I don't know what this house is exactly,
but it feels like time folds in on itself here.
It holds grief, yes, but also kindness. And stillness.
And now, maybe, a piece of me.
---
She tore the page gently and folded it under her pillow before slipping beneath the covers.
Sleep came fast — not from peace, but sheer exhaustion.
---
The Next Morning
The light was a gentle gray when Sophie opened her eyes.
It was early — the kind of quiet early that existed only before the rest of the world stirred. The house held that hush again, but it wasn't heavy this time. It was almost comforting.
She rose slowly, quietly dressed, and pushed the door open.
The hallway was still empty. No creak of floors. No rustle of Mrs. Williams's apron or James's deliberate footsteps.
Sophie moved barefoot down the hallway.
She turned a corner.
Another.
Each hallway she entered seemed to lead to another passage, and another — rooms connected like echoes. Some were closed, others cracked open slightly, revealing dim glimpses of what lay beyond: a sitting room with a piano covered in a dust cloth, a storage room filled with strange wooden crates, a sunroom sealed with glass.
How big is this place?
She passed a staircase she hadn't noticed before, winding upward like a secret.
And then—
A sound.
Soft at first. Barely there.
Rrrrnnnng. Rrrrnnnng.
Sophie paused.
A phone?
She turned sharply, trying to place the direction.
But the sound wasn't sharp or local — it echoed strangely, like it came from behind the walls or beneath the floor.
She moved toward it. Then left. Then back.
The ringing grew louder — not in volume exactly, but in her bones.
Rrrrnnnng. Rrrrnnnng.
She passed a closed study, a stairwell, a second parlor.
It still wasn't clearer.
She turned again. Her breathing was faster now, pulse unsteady.
Why does it sound like it's moving?
The ringing grew sharper. It started to pound like a headache, echoing behind her eyes.
She pressed her hands over her ears.
Stop. Please stop.
Eyes squeezed shut.
Breath shallow.
The ringing didn't stop.
It grew.
Rrrrnnnng. Rrrrnnnng.
And then—
A hand touched her shoulder.
She gasped and spun around.
It was James.
Fully dressed, worry written in every line of his face.
"Sophie."
She swallowed hard, pulling her hands away from her ears.
"I… I thought I was hearing a sound."
James's eyes softened.
"What kind of sound?"
"A phone. A telephone. It was ringing but… I couldn't find it."
James didn't respond at first. His gaze flicked briefly toward the wall, then back to her.
"I didn't hear anything."
She tried to smile, brushing her hair back.
"It was probably just my imagination. I'm fine."
He hesitated, then nodded slowly.
"Alright," he said gently. "Come. Let me take you home."
---
They didn't talk much on the ride.
Sophie sat with her hands folded in her lap, her forehead resting briefly against the cool glass of the window. The trees passed in soft blurs. The sky was still low and pale.
James didn't ask about the sound again.
And she didn't offer more.
But as the gate closed behind them and the car pulled away down the long drive, Sophie felt something quiet settle deep inside her.
Not fear.
Not quite.
But the beginning of a question.
One she was no longer sure she wanted answered.
---