She stood frozen in the middle of the living room, the notebook trembling in her hand. The last line she'd read was still echoing in her head.
You left her.She's still upstairs.
That voice , the scream ,it didn't belong outside anymore. It was in the house now. It had crossed the threshold, just like she had. And it had said her name.
Elia.
But not like a stranger would say it.
Like someone waiting would say it. Like someone who had been saying it over and over in their sleep.
The room seemed to tilt, just slightly. The corners of the ceiling didn't align right anymore. Something was… off. Like the air had been stretched too thin here, like it had been breathing her memories while she wasn't looking.
She looked toward the staircase.
Still intact.
Still old.
Still covered in the same red carpet that looked softer in her memory.
That staircase had no business looking so normal.
But it didn't feel normal.
She took a step toward it, and the floor groaned beneath her. Not loud. Just enough to remind her that the house was listening. Every breath, every movement, it swallowed into silence.
She reached the bottom stair.
Her foot hovered above it.She hesitated.
And in that hesitation, a flicker hit her chest like a cold wave. A feeling she hadn't let herself think about in years.
Guilt.
She blinked hard, shook her head, and took the first step.
Then the second.
Then the third.
Halfway up, her body started remembering what her mind had buried.
The upstairs hallway.
The locked door.
The muffled cries.
The "Stay here" she said without thinking. The one she never followed up on.The one that left someone behind.
She swallowed the rising sickness in her throat and kept climbing.
She reached the top.
It looked exactly like before.
But somehow… wrong. The hallway was longer than it used to be. Or maybe the shadows made it look stretched. The wallpaper was the same ugly floral pattern. But the flowers were facing the other way. That wasn't right.
At the end of the hallway was a door.
Her old room.
She walked toward it, but her feet stopped in front of the door before it. The one that had always stayed closed.
The one her mother used to tell her never to open. Not ever.
She stared at it.
No handle. No keyhole. Just wood.
She reached out and pressed her palm against it.
Cold. And it pulsed.
Not like electricity. Like a heartbeat.
She jerked her hand back, breath shallow, heart racing.
The door behind her creaked.The one she hadn't touched.
Her room.
It opened just a little.
Just like the one outside.
A quiet invitation.
A soft threat.
She turned slowly and walked into the room that used to belong to her. Dust floated in the air like fog, but there was no smell. No warmth. Like someone had pressed pause on time the moment she left.
Her bed was still made. The same stuffed bear sat at the corner, eyes dull. The desk was clean. Too clean.
Then she noticed the mirror.
It wasn't broken.
But the reflection wasn't her.
It looked like her but younger.
Twelve.
The girl in the mirror blinked.
Elia didn't.
The girl in the mirror looked scared.
Her lips moved.
But no sound came out.
Then, behind the girl, in the mirror's reflection—a figure.
Tall. Faceless. Almost like shadow in motion.
But there was nothing behind Elia when she turned around.
The scream came again.
This time, it came from the mirror.
She stumbled back, knocking over the chair. Her hands shook. She didn't want to look again. She didn't want to see what came next.
But she did.
The reflection was empty now.
Just her face, pale and sweating, And behind her?
That same door. The one with no handle.
And this time, it wasn't closed anymore.