The Return

This house was alive.

It seemed sentient. Breathing. Thinking. Feeling.

Plotting something dark.

Penny tried to remember this house from her childhood, when her Grandparents had filled it with warmth and the smell of just-baked cookies, when laughter echoed through the halls instead of the hollow silence that seemed to scream at her now. As a child, the soaring ceilings and paneled walls had seemed charming and magnificent, a wonderful place for her imagination to create fairy tales, a castle where she could pretend she was a princess in distress awaiting her prince.

She wondered if it was her imagination now that made the old Victorian seem threatening instead of welcoming.

The beam of her flashlight traveled the walls, catching glints of cobwebs and dust. The house had been vacant for nearly a decade. Her grandparents had willed it to her mother when they died, but for some reason, Penny’s mom swore she’d never step foot in this house after their deaths. Penny recalled how tense her mother would be whenever they visited, always glancing over her shoulder and hugging warm sweaters closer, even in the heat of summer.  Her mother refused to visit still, but had grudgingly allowed Penny permission to take over the house, given her passion for remodeling. It had seemed like a dream come true.

But as a chill swept through the house, Penny wasn't so sure.

There was no electricity, no wind blowing outside, but still the house had an eerie glow and a draft moved the sheets covering the furniture. Shadows seemed to dart about in the corner of her eye. Penny felt the icy sensation of being watched, not by something friendly, but rather a menacing presence. There was only silence, but the words appeared in her mind as if spoken aloud.

You again.