The awakening
1327 Words
The light had gone by the time she stirred. Shadows stretched across the chamber, the last trace of twilight bleeding silver over the drapes.
Her lashes fluttered. She shifted beneath the quilt, a soft sound escaping her throat. And then, her eyes opened—clear, startled, fixed on me.
I let the silence linger a moment, then spoke.
“Hi.”
She jolted upright, clutching the velvet quilt to her chest as though it might shield her from me. Fear sharpened her features, but defiance lingered in the line of her mouth.
“Relax,” I said evenly, hands open at my sides. “I won’t hurt you.”
Her gaze narrowed. “And how exactly am I supposed to believe that?”
A corner of my mouth curved—not quite a smile, more like resignation. “Because I can’t. I’m a ghost, remember?”
Her brow furrowed. She glanced at the room, at me, back again. “If that’s true… how did you catch me? I fainted. I should’ve hit the floor.”
I paused. The truth tasted strange on my tongue.
“I don’t know.”
That admission hung between us, heavy as the dusk. I studied her face, the way her breath quickened, the distrust sparking in her eyes. And beneath it all, the dangerous truth: I was still trying to understand it too.
“I shouldn’t have been able to touch you,” I said at last, voice low. “But somehow, I did. That… shouldn’t be possible.”
The shadows breathed with her silence. She clutched the quilt higher, as if velvet and thread could shield her from things older than her bloodline.
Her eyes flicked to me, suspicious. “You keep saying you can’t touch. But you caught me.”
“I told you,” I said slowly, still unsettled by the memory. “I don’t know how.”
“Great.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “So you’re a ghost who breaks his own rules. Comforting.”
I let the jab pass. Centuries taught me that mortals wielded sarcasm the way they wielded weapons—sharp because they were fragile.
Her gaze darted to the empty night beyond the window. Then back to me. “So… how does this work? You float around, rattle chains? Wait for clueless girls to faint in hallways?”
My mouth curved faintly, though not in humor. “I rattle nothing. I exist. Day after day. Year after year. Waiting.”
Her brow furrowed. “For what?”
For you.
I did not say it.
Instead: “For release.”
Her fingers worried the edge of the quilt. She studied me with cautious curiosity, her fear softening into something sharper. “You said this is a curse. Who cursed you?”
The old bitterness stirred, black and acrid. “That story is long. And it is not yours tonight.”
The old bitterness stirred, black and acrid. “That story is long. And it is not yours tonight.”
"Well I'm going home" she said dropping the quilt
"It's too late" I responded
"Doesn't matter" she continued, tying her shoe lace
"This mansion is deep in the woods There are wild animals outsi.." as if on cue a howl was heard and it didn't sound far
Slowly Her wide eyes turned to him and she laid back as if in a trance carefully against the pillows. “So basically" she said more to herself " I’m stuck in a horror movie with a cryptic ghost-man who answers questions with riddles.”
“You are not stuck,” I corrected. “You chose to enter this house.”
“Correction.” Her glare caught the faint moonlight. “I inherited it. I was planning to sell it. Flip the Addams Family mansion, make some money, maybe finally move out of my best friend’s couch. Not—” She flung a hand toward me. “This.”
The beams groaned above us, the air tightening as though the house itself bristled.
She froze. Wide-eyed. “Okay… did the house just growl at me?”
I stayed silent. Let her draw her own conclusions.
Her gaze slid back to me. “You’re enjoying this.”
I arched a brow. “Enjoy is… not the word.”
She stared at me a long moment, then sighed, burying her face in her hands. “I cannot believe I’m even considering this.”
“Considering what?”
Her fingers spread just enough for her eyes to peek at me. “Staying. Here. In a haunted mansion. With you.”
A dangerous warmth unfurled low in my chest. I kept my expression carefully still.
At last she dropped her hands, muttering, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Her eyes closed briefly, then opened again with exasperation. “Fine. One night. I’ll stay. But if some creepy poltergeist nonsense starts happening, I’m gone.”
“Wise,” I murmured.
Her gaze narrowed. “You keep saying that. It’s annoying.”
I let the corner of my mouth twitch. Just slightly. “Then don’t test me.”
She rolled her eyes, tugging the quilt tighter around her. “You sound like a moody vampire from one of my books.”
My laugh came out low, almost unwilling. “Better a vampire than a clown.”
That startled a quick, surprised sound out of her—a half-laugh she smothered almost instantly. She shot me a glare as though daring me to comment. I did not.
Silence stretched between us, broken only by the creak of the mansion settling. The air thickened, shadows shifting against the walls.
“The house… reacts. To me. To you.”
“Fantastic,” she muttered, curling tighter beneath the quilt. “Sentient mansion. Definitely not nightmare fuel.”
I inclined my head slightly, weighing her. “Do you want me to show you more?”
Her eyes darted back to mine. “Show me more?”
“A tour,” I clarified. “Of the house. There are things you should see. Things that may help explain… why you can see me.”
She hesitated. Her gaze flicked toward the lamp, toward the deep shadows still pooling in the corners of the chamber. A shiver rippled across her shoulders.
“No,” she said finally, firm. “Not tonight. Tonight I need… sleep. And maybe to convince myself this isn’t the strangest fever dream ever.”
I inclined my head. “As you wish.”
She settled back against the pillows, though her eyes lingered on me a long while, skeptical but softening. Finally, she whispered, almost to herself, “This feels like one of my fantasy novels.”
I said nothing.
But even as she said it, her skin prickled. The room felt warmer, yes—but also heavier. Like the shadows had grown substance. Like the house itself was listening.
The thought needled at her until she couldn’t take it anymore. “You know what? Forget this.” She threw the quilt aside and stormed toward the door. “I don’t care if you’re a ghost or a cursed vampire or whatever. I’m leaving.”
The knob turned under her hand—but when she pulled, the door wouldn’t budge. She shoved harder. Nothing. It felt like trying to drag a mountain by the handle.
Panic flared. She pounded her fist against the wood, then spun toward the window. Curtains yanked wide, she braced herself for fresh air—for freedom—only to find the glass staring back at her with her own reflection. Beyond it, nothing but thick black. Not sky. Not trees. Just endless dark, pressing right up to the pane like ink waiting to spill.
Her throat went dry. “What the hell…”
From behind her, his voice—calm, resigned—broke the silence.
“It keeps what it chooses. And right now, it chooses you.”
- Writer
