I exhale and leave the bag on the floor. My fingers curl into fists as I try to steady myself, forcing my legs to move toward the door. I step past the bag and reach for it.
My hand grips the handle as I close it and turn the key twice.
But the feeling doesn’t go away.
Cold breath brushes my back, as if someone is standing right behind me. It skims past my hair, light, but enough to make my breath hitch. I want to turn around, but I can’t. I’m frozen.
I close my eyes, trying to imagine I’m somewhere else—somewhere I’m not this vulnerable. Just as I do, the phone rings. The sound cuts the silence so sharply it pulls a short scream from my throat.
I spin around.
In the house it’s just me, the wind, and the black phone stuck on the wall, ringing again and again.
I move toward it slowly, my toes clenching in my shoes as I reach the wall. My hand lifts, shaking, and I grab the receiver, my voice repeating the same words Margaret said the first time I called about the job.
“Rosewood Residence, how may I help you?”
No one answers. Just the silence on the other side.
“Hello?” I try again, louder this time.
At first there’s nothing, only slow breath, slipping against the shell of my ear.
My throat tightens.
“Hello?” I say.
The line goes dead.
I stare at the receiver for a moment before placing it back. As soon as it settles into its cradle, I turn and move too fast, grabbing the bag with clothes and rushing toward the stairs, skipping two at the time, almost tripping as I reach the top. I don’t stop until I’m inside the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me.
I press my back against it, holding the handle tight, like that alone can keep whatever is out there from getting in. My eyes squeeze shut.
If this house holds ghosts, then they’ve found me. And I’m scared.
This was supposed to be a new beginning. Instead, it feels like I’ve stepped into one of the seven circles of Hell.
The phone starts ringing again. This time, the sound is coming from inside the room.
I can’t move or open my eyes.
I don’t want to answer it again.
I squeeze them tighter until small sparks shine behind my eyelids like little stars. For a second, they almost look like light. But I know it’s just my mind trying to hold itself together. I’m too fragile to be sane right now.
I drop the bag of clothes with my eyes still closed. I reach for the doorknob, my fingers sliding down until they find the key. I turn it, hearing the lock click in place.
The phone finally stops ringing.
Slowly, I open my eyes.
My gaze moves to the window left open, and I don’t remember if it was like that before.
I step closer to close it. I notice something down below, near the cliffs, beneath the tree. There’s a man in a black suit. A cigarette burns between his fingers, smoke curling into the air as he stares straight up at the window, at me.
He’s watching me.
A scream tears out of my throat. I slam the window shut and pull the curtains together, my hands shaking as they tangle in the cotton fabric.
