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The empty room was exactly as I had left it last time. Even the spider on the wall was still in the same place. As if it had never crawled away.
The memories of the last time caused panic to rise within me.
That woman... She had been here somewhere. And if the spider was still here...
I looked around again, searching for an exit.
As I held my breath and listened, I thought I heard the faint sound of a wind chime in the distance, which eased the anxiety the silence and the atmosphere tried to spread inside my chest.
Why had my mind sent me back to this place?
More cautiously than ever, I crept across the room toward the door.
Suddenly, the cheerful laughter of a child broke the silence.
I froze.
“Hello?” I called.
No answer.
Children's laughter in abandoned houses was dangerous. More dangerous than checking the basement in horror movies.
Hesitantly, I tried to remind myself that I was only dreaming, to make myself less susceptible to strange surprises, but here I was, completely overwhelmed by my own dream.
The laughter rang out again.
Suddenly, a little girl ran past me, and I flinched and clawed at the dusty dark-wood doorframe next to me.
The child's cheerful smile reflected carefreeness, and she held a stuffed animal in her hand.
I breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't a goddamn doll.
The little girl in the black-brown dress, with bronze-colored skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes, who appeared to be no more than six years old, ran toward the stairs.
“Hey!” I called, and the girl turned toward me.
She seemed surprised, looked me over, then quickly turned away again to continue running up the stairs.
“Wait,” I sighed, because the child had given me hope that this might not be a nightmare after all.
“Maria!” came the unfamiliar voice of another child, sparking my curiosity.
“I'm coming, Ana!” I heard the little girl from earlier call and decided to follow her up the stairs.
With every step, the wood creaked more under my feet.
I blamed this dream on all the horror movies I had watched with Larissa and continued up the stairs.
The elegant Victorian staircase turned a corner, and, through a huge, beautiful Victorian window, I could see a garden with countless wildflowers in bloom. The sun was shining here and, in the distance, beneath the blue sky, massive thundercloud towers – those typical of Blairville – crept closer, even though the depressive gray blanket of clouds that veiled the sky had been clearly visible from the other rooms downstairs.
My gaze drifted to the black butterfly that had settled on the ornately decorated window frame and was now gently fluttering its wings up and down, as if it were seeking refuge from the approaching storms, here in this deceptively peaceful villa, bathed in the sunlit dust streaming through the windows. Unaware of its fate. Of its transience.
The children's laughter rang out again, and I forced myself to move farther up the stairs.
Unlike downstairs, the hallway on the upper floor contained furniture. Fine wooden cabinets with detailed carved decorations, and… it smelled of freshly baked apple pie.
The smell clouded my mind a little and took away my last bit of fear.
