‘The night was still, almost too still. The air felt thick, as if it held secrets too heavy to release. James sat by the flickering fireplace, the light casting uneasy shadows against the walls of his living room. His fingers traced the worn edges of the photograph in his hand—Elizabeth, his daughter, with her radiant smile that once brightened every corner of the house. She vanished eight years ago, and every second since had gnawed at his soul.
“I can’t keep doing this, James,” Rachel’s voice trembled from the kitchen doorway. She stood there, her silhouette faint in the dim light. “Eight years… It’s been eight long years.”
James clenched his jaw. “I know,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving the photograph. “But she’s out there, Rachel. I feel it. I hear her…”
“James!” Rachel snapped, stepping closer, her frustration palpable. “Hearing things? Feeling things? This… this isn’t healthy.”
Suddenly, the wind outside began to howl, the windows rattling in their frames. Both of them froze, their eyes darting towards the front door. There was a soft, rhythmic tapping, almost like a knock, but too quiet to be from anyone human.
“Did you…?” Rachel whispered, her voice trailing off.
James stood slowly, setting the photograph down. His heart pounded in his chest. “Stay here,” he commanded, though his voice was far from confident.
As he approached the door, the tapping stopped. Silence. The kind that buzzed in your ears. His hand hovered over the doorknob. He could hear his own breath, shallow and uneven. His grip tightened, and with a swift motion, he yanked the door open.
Nothing. Just the night, vast and empty. The wind had died down, leaving behind an unsettling stillness. James peered into the darkness, but there was no sign of anything—or anyone.
“James?” Rachel called from behind him, her voice trembling.
He turned back, about to reassure her, when he noticed something strange on the doorstep. A small, tattered doll. It was old, worn from time, but it was unmistakably Elizabeth’s. She had loved that doll, carried it with her everywhere. But how was it here? After all these years?
His mind raced. Questions filled the air around him, pressing in. “Rachel… it’s her doll,” he breathed, picking it up carefully.
Rachel’s eyes widened, and she stepped back. “That’s impossible, James. That doll disappeared with her. How…?” Her words hung in the air, unfinished, leaving a weight of dread between them.
James examined the doll more closely, his fingers brushing over a strange symbol etched into its fabric—something that wasn’t there before. “This… this wasn’t on it,” he muttered, turning the doll over in his hands. A cold shiver ran down his spine.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from upstairs. Both James and Rachel jolted, their eyes locking in silent fear. Without a word, James bolted towards the stairs, Rachel close behind. His footsteps were heavy on the creaking wood, each one louder than the last.
At the top of the stairs, the hallway stretched before them, darker than it had ever seemed. The door to Elizabeth’s old room was ajar, and from inside, they could hear faint whispers—soft, indistinct, but undeniably real.
James’s breath hitched. “Elizabeth?” His voice cracked, barely audible.
He reached for the doorknob, pushing the door open slowly. The room was just as they had left it—untouched for eight years. But something was wrong. The air felt thick, almost electric. And there, sitting in the center of the room, was a shadow—a figure, small and hunched.
“Elizabeth?” James called again, his voice trembling. But the figure didn’t move.
Rachel stepped beside him, clutching his arm tightly. “James… this is getting wild…”
Before he could respond, the figure shifted, turning slightly towards them. And then, they saw it—a pair of eyes, glowing faintly in the dark, staring back at them.