Episode Five: What Happened That Night
484 Words
The scream beneath the house did not stop.
It echoed through the walls, rising and falling like someone trapped somewhere deep underground.
Maya covered her ears.
“Make it stop!”
Her mother stood completely still.
Ellie was crying.
Then the screaming suddenly stopped.
Silence.
Maya slowly lowered her hands.
“What happened to me?”
Her mother looked at her.
“You really don’t remember?”
“No.”
“You were eight years old.”
Maya waited.
Her mother took a step closer.
“You weren’t supposed to find the basement.”
Maya frowned.
“But I did.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Her mother looked toward Ellie.
“Because she showed you.”
Ellie shook her head.
“That isn’t true.”
Her mother ignored her.
“You and Ellie had been playing upstairs. You found an old key.”
Maya’s breathing slowed.
A memory appeared.
Two little girls.
A rusty key.
A locked door.
Laughter.
Then fear.
Maya whispered, “We opened it.”
Her mother nodded.
“You found the room.”
“What room?”
“The room where the house keeps its memories.”
Maya stared at her.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t have to.”
Her mother pointed toward the broken mirror.
“This house was built on something much older than the town. People lived here long before this house existed.”
Maya looked at Ellie.
“And Ellie?”
Her mother closed her eyes.
“Ellie was never supposed to be here.”
Maya felt a chill.
“What does that mean?”
Her mother whispered:
“She wasn’t your sister.”
Ellie suddenly looked up.
Maya turned toward her.
“Then who are you?”
Ellie smiled.
For the first time, there was something frightening about her expression.
“I was the first person the house remembered.”
The lights went out.
Maya screamed.
Something moved behind her.
She turned on her phone flashlight.
Her mother was gone.
Ellie was gone.
The bedroom was empty.
Only the music box remained.
It was playing again.
Maya approached it slowly.
Inside the music box was a tiny folded piece of paper.
She opened it.
There was one sentence written in her grandmother’s handwriting:
Maya, if you’re reading this, the house has already found you.
Maya’s hands trembled.
Below the sentence was another:
Never let it remember your face.
She stared at the words.
Then she heard breathing behind her.
Slow.
Heavy.
Close.
Maya didn’t turn around.
A voice whispered beside her ear.
“Too late.”
The phone flashlight flickered.
Maya finally turned.
Nothing was there.
But across the wall, written in fresh black letters, were five words:
YOUR MOTHER WAS NEVER HUMAN.
Maya stepped backward.
Then the basement door slammed shut.
And from the other side came her mother’s voice.
This time, it wasn’t crying.
It was laughing.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD