Chapter One: The House of Forgotten Whispers
The house stood on the edge of the city, crouched beneath towering oaks that bent their branches like guardians who had long grown weary of their vigil. Its bricks were a faded red, its roof sagged, and its windows stared hollow into the night as if they had not reflected a living soul in years. Dust and cobwebs ruled its corners, the wooden stairs groaned like an old man with every step, and the air smelled of things long forgotten.
It was in this house that she opened her eyes.
Her lashes fluttered, and when she sat up, the room greeted her with silence. She blinked, her fingers clutching the edge of the cold, splintered floor, her gaze darting about with confusion. The strange part was not waking up in the unfamiliar room it was the fact that she could not remember ever falling asleep.
Her name slipped from her mind like water through cupped hands. The memories of how she had come here were lost, buried in mist. What she knew was only this: she existed. She breathed or thought she did. She moved, though her steps made no sound. And when she reached for the knob of the door, her hand passed through it as if she were made of air.
The girl laughed nervously.
"Oh, how *funny*. Very funny. Either I'm dreaming, or the universe thinks I'm some kind of… what, prank victim?"
Her voice echoed softly in the empty hallway, too loud for the silence, too small to chase away the dread rising inside her. She padded barefoot down the corridor, her fingers trailing against the peeling wallpaper. The walls did not push her away, nor did they let her feel their texture. The sensation was somewhere between touching and not touching, like the memory of touch rather than the act itself.
Days passed if days could even be counted here. She tried stepping outside, but when she crossed the threshold of the front door, the world beyond blurred into nothing. The trees dissolved into smoke. The city skyline was absent. It was only the house, forever the house.
Loneliness became her companion, but she wore it with resilience.
She sang to the empty halls, her voice bouncing back at her like a stubborn friend. She tried balancing on the rails of the staircase, attempted cartwheels in the parlor, and once she even sat cross-legged in front of the cracked mirror, making silly faces until her own reflection seemed like a stranger she could gossip with.
And yet, every night, when the house grew cold and shadows lengthened across the walls, she whispered to herself:
"Why am I here?"
No answer came.
—
When the moving trucks pulled into the driveway, she nearly toppled off the banister where she had been lounging. Head tilted, her ghostly eyes widened as the sound of engines cut through the silence that had been her cage. For the first time, the stillness of the house was broken not by her laughter, not by her songs, but by something alive.
A family stepped out.
Two parents, their expressions weary but hopeful, spoke to one another about the new beginning this house represented. The father carried a box of books; the mother held a vase swaddled in bubble wrap. They moved with the bustle of people too preoccupied to notice the whispers clinging to the walls.
And then came the boy.
He was taller than she expected, his dark hair tousled as though he had fought with the wind itself. His eyes serious, thoughtful scanned the house like he was reading it, like every beam and broken tile was a line of text in a language only he could understand. He carried no box, no burden, only his silence.
Her heart leapt.
She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. "Well, aren't you the broody one," she muttered, watching him step inside.
Her laughter cut short when it happened.
His gaze lifted.
And in that single heartbeat, his eyes locked with hers.
The air tightened, heavy, electric. She froze, certain she must be mistaken. No one had ever looked at her. Not once. Not in all the days or years? she had haunted these rooms. People moved through her as though she was smoke. Yet this boy, this stranger, stared straight at her.
The parents bustled past, their shoulders slicing through her form without flinch or pause. But he didn't move. He didn't blink.
"Ohhh…" she gasped dramatically, teleporting across the room until she hovered right in front of him. She waved both hands in front of his face, her grin wide. "Testing, testing! One, two, three hello? Can you actually see me, Mr. Silent and Handsome?"
For the first time, his lips parted.
"Who are you?"
Her jaw dropped.
"You can hear me too?" she squeaked, stepping back, her voice tripping over itself in disbelief. "You...you can actually see me?"
He didn't answer. His silence pressed heavier than all the years she had spent alone.
But in his eyes, she saw something no one else had ever given her.
Recognition.
And with that, the world she thought she knew cracked wide open.
*To be continued…*