The mist clung to Ebonvale like a second skin as Chizzy stepped off the old, groaning bus. It coughed black smoke and wheezed back down the gravel road, leaving her alone in the hush of the village. Her boots sank slightly into the wet earth, the familiar chill creeping beneath her coat. Everything looked smaller than she remembered—more tired, more haunted.
Ten years was a long time to stay away.
The village hadn't changed much. Crumbling cottages leaned together as though whispering secrets, their shutters drawn tight against the world. Ivy strangled stone walls, and crooked fences marked plots of land left to rot. A few wary eyes peeked from behind lace curtains, watching the stranger return. But Chizzy wasn't a stranger—not really. She was the girl who vanished the night the fire took her family.
Now, she was back to claim the ashes.
She walked down Hollow Lane, each step echoing between the empty houses. The wind carried the faint scent of smoke and soil, mingled with something sour—like old regrets. At the end of the lane stood Foxgrove Cottage, her aunt's former home, now hers. The nameplate was still nailed above the door, half-buried under vines. Her fingers brushed it as she passed.
The iron key fit perfectly in the lock. She hesitated, the weight of her return pressing heavy on her shoulders, then turned it. The door groaned open, exhaling years of stale air and memories. Dust motes swirled in the weak light spilling through cracked curtains. Inside, the furniture lay under white sheets, like ghosts sleeping in a forgotten tomb.
She stepped in slowly, her boots creaking on the warped floorboards. The silence inside was heavier than outside, like the house had been holding its breath for her. Chizzy ran her fingers over the wall, tracing faded wallpaper roses with trembling hands.
And then—three knocks.
Soft. Deliberate. Not from the front door she had just entered, but from upstairs.
She froze. Her breath caught. No one should be here. No one even knew she had arrived yet.
For a moment, all she could hear was her own heartbeat thudding in her ears. Then, a whisper—so faint it might have been the wind.
"Chizzy..."
She turned toward the staircase, the air growing colder with each step of her breath.