Chapter 4: The House at the edge of Town (4)
The front door opened without a sound.
Evan had unlocked it out of habit, fingers moving on their own, muscle memory guiding the key into the lock with practiced ease. He’d been braced for the familiar resistance, the sticky latch that always caught for half a second, the soft groan of old hinges protesting movement. It was a routine so ingrained he barely thought about it anymore.
Instead, the door swung inward smoothly.
Too smoothly.
There was no hesitation, no drag, no complaint from the frame. It opened almost eagerly, as if it had been waiting for them to arrive, as if it recognized his touch and welcomed it. The motion was silent, uninterrupted, wrong in its effortlessness.
That alone sent a ripple of unease through him.
Evan paused on the threshold, key still in his hand, his body lagging behind his mind. A dozen explanations flickered through his thoughts, oil on the hinges, maybe; humidity changing the wood; someone fixing it without telling him. None of them settled the tightness in his chest.
Inside, the house was dark but not oppressive.
Not the kind of darkness that pressed in or swallowed sound, just an absence of light. Empty. Still. The air smelled faintly of dust and old wood, the dry, neutral scent of a place that had been closed up too long. It was the smell of forgotten rooms and furniture left exactly where it had last been used.
Nothing rotten.
Nothing overtly wrong.
That almost made it worse.
Evan stepped inside, the floorboards beneath his shoes quiet in a way they usually weren’t. He waited for the familiar creak, the slight complaint from the warped plank near the entryway.
It didn’t come.
The silence stretched, thin and attentive.
He flicked on the light switch by the door, half-expecting it not to work. There was a brief, breathless pause, long enough for his heart to jump, before the bulb hummed to life. Warm light spilled across the entryway, revealing peeling wallpaper, a narrow table, a coat hook standing empty.
Everything looked the same.
Exactly the same.
And yet Evan didn’t relax.
The light didn’t banish the unease; it sharpened it, outlining the space too clearly, leaving nowhere for shadows to hide. The house felt like it was holding itself very still, as if any sudden movement might break something fragile.
Behind him, the door remained open.
Evan glanced back at it, then deeper into the house, caught between the urge to close himself in and the instinctive fear of what might happen if he did.
The lights came on immediately.
Warm yellow bulbs filled the foyer, illuminating wallpaper patterned with faded flowers, a narrow staircase leading up, and a hallway branching deeper into the house. The effect was… disarming.
Mark frowned.
“Huh.”
It looked normal.
Too normal.
Evan stepped inside cautiously, every muscle taut.
His heartbeat slowed just enough for dread to creep in around the edges. This was how it did it. This was how the house played its games.
Behind him, Lena bounced in, eyes wide, taking everything in with obvious delight.
“Wow. Okay, I did not expect cozy.”
She spun slowly in place, boots thudding softly against the wooden floor.
“I mean, yeah, it’s old, but I’ve seen way worse. This is practically charming.”
Mark shut the door behind them. The click of the lock echoed louder than it should have.
He immediately regretted closing it.
“Do you usually keep all the lights on?” he asked.
Evan shook his head. “No. I stopped turning them off.”
Lena glanced at him.
“Why?”
“Because sometimes,” Evan said quietly, “they’re already off when I come back.”
She hummed thoughtfully.
“Interesting.”
They moved deeper into the house, their footsteps sounding too loud in the stillness. The living room opened up on the right, furniture arranged neatly but sparsely, a couch, a coffee table with faint ring stains, a bookshelf half-filled with Evan’s things. Everything was where it should be.
Nothing moved.
And yet.
Mark felt it crawling along his skin, that animal sense that whispered wrong, wrong, wrong without offering a reason.
His eyes kept drifting to corners, doorframes, the spaces just outside his direct line of sight.
‘This place feels like it’s winding up to pounce,’ he thought.
Lena, meanwhile, seemed perfectly at ease. She drifted from object to object, running her fingers lightly along surfaces, peering at framed photos Evan hadn’t bothered to take down when he moved in.
“You live alone?”
She asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes.”
“No pets?”
“No.”
“No roommates?”
“No.”
She smiled, satisfied, like she was checking items off a list only she could see.
“So,” she said brightly, clapping her hands once, “where did it start?”
Evan hesitated. Saying it out loud here felt dangerous, like drawing attention to something that already watched him too closely.
But Lena’s gaze was fixed on him now, focused, intent in a way that made it hard to look away.
“Upstairs,” he said finally.
“The footsteps.”
“Let’s go,” she said immediately.
Mark shot him a look. We don’t have to do this.
But Evan was already moving toward the stairs.
Each step creaked under their weight, the sound sharp in the quiet house. Evan’s chest tightened with every one. This was where it always began. This was where the pacing started.
Halfway up, his head throbbed suddenly, a spike of pressure that made him grab the railing.
“You okay?” Mark asked.
“Yeah,” Evan lied. “Just… keep going.”
At the top of the stairs, the hallway stretched out before them, doors lining either side. Evan’s bedroom was the third door on the left. He avoided looking at it.
“This hallway,” he said. “At night, I hear someone walking back and forth. Always the same pattern. From that door to the end and back.”
Lena closed her eyes, tilting her head slightly, like she was listening to music only she could hear. “And the time?”
“2:17.”
Her lips curved. “Consistent manifestations are rare.”
Mark frowned. “You say that like-”
Lena opened her eyes.
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve seen them before.”
She shrugged.
“People talk.”
They moved into the bathroom next. Evan stopped short, his stomach dropping.
The mirror was uncovered.
He was certain, absolutely certain, that he’d left a sheet draped over it before they went to the diner.
His pulse spiked. “I- I covered that.”
Lena glanced at the mirror, then back at him. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
She stepped closer, peering at their reflections. “Mirrors are tricky. They don’t like being ignored.”
Evan’s reflection looked wrong. Not distorted, just… delayed.
He raised his hand, and for a split second, his reflection didn’t.
He lowered it quickly, heart racing. Mark didn’t seem to notice.
“This is where the handprints were,” Evan said, voice barely steady. “On the inside.”
Lena leaned in, breath fogging the glass for just a moment. Her eyes tracked something Evan couldn’t see.
“Fascinating,” she murmured.
They moved on.
The kitchen. Cabinets closed now, obedient and silent. Evan opened one at random, half-expecting it to slam shut on his fingers.
It didn’t.
“The smells started here,” he said. “Like something rotting. It would move around. Never stayed in one place.”
Lena nodded thoughtfully. “Migration without physical source.”
Mark rubbed his arms. “You hear how that sounds, right?”
She smiled at him. “Oh, completely.”
They passed through the dining area, then into the spare room Evan barely used. He told her about the scratching in the walls. The breathing. The voice that said his name.
With every story, Lena’s attention sharpened. She asked precise questions, ‘Was the voice emotional or flat?’
‘Did it echo?’
‘Did it ever speak more than one syllable?’
Questions that made Evan feel exposed in ways he couldn’t articulate.
And through it all, the house remained… quiet.
No footsteps. No whispers. No sudden cold.
Just light and stillness.
That, more than anything, unsettled Mark.
‘It’s like it’s behaving,’ he thought.
‘Like it knows we’re here.’
Finally, they stood outside Evan’s bedroom.
He hesitated. This was where the mattress dipped. Where the breathing pressed against his ear. Where sleep became impossible.
Lena reached for the doorknob without asking.
Evan caught her wrist. “Wait.”
She looked at him, really looked at him now.
For a second, the bubbly enthusiasm slipped again, replaced by something intense, appraising.
“Scared?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” he said honestly.
She smiled, but this time, it didn’t reach her eyes. “Good.”
She gently removed his hand and opened the door.
The room was exactly as he’d left it. Bed made. Desk tidy. Curtains drawn.
Nothing moved.
Lena stepped inside, inhaling deeply. “It’s here,” she said.
Evan’s heart lurched. “What?”
She turned slowly, eyes gleaming. “It’s been watching us since we came in.”
Mark’s blood ran cold. “You said you’d tell us if-”
“I am telling you,” she said lightly.
“Just not in the way you expected.”
The light flickered.
Once.
Then again.
The house creaked, a long, low sound that came not from the walls but from deep beneath the floorboards, like something shifting its weight.
Lena laughed softly, delighted.
“Oh,” she said. “You weren’t exaggerating at all.”
Evan realized, too late, that her interest had never been about curiosity.
It had been about recognition.
And whatever lived in the house had just recognized her too.
