Chapter 1 - The Impossible Echo Across the Rain
The torrential rain hammered against the glass of the suburban living room, blurring the dark expanse of the valley outside. Six-year-old Lily clutched her worn white stuffed bunny toy against her chest, her big blue eyes fixed on the windowpane. She pointed a small finger toward the abandoned property in the distance.
Mommy, there's a little girl in that house.
Sarah stared down at her daughter, her heart skipping a beat as a cold dread settled in her stomach. She knelt beside the teal-sweatered girl, her fingers tightening instinctively over the soft fabric of her own dark maroon cardigan.
Lily, honey, nobody lives over there. You know that.
No, Mommy, she's right there, Lily insisted, her voice trembling slightly as she pressed her face closer to the cool glass. She's looking right at me.
Mark stepped heavily into the room from the hallway, his plaid shirt slightly rumpled under his dark green sweater. He cast a bewildered glance at his wife, then at the stormy darkness outside.
What's going on in here? Mark asked, his brow furrowing as he noticed Sarah’s pale, panicked expression.
Mark, she thinks she sees someone in the old Miller place, Sarah said, her voice rising in sudden frustration and disbelief. Tell her how ridiculous that is!
Mark walked over to the window, peering through the rain-streaked glass toward the skeletal silhouette of the distant house partially submerged by the swollen river. He let out a sharp, uneasy breath.
That house is empty, Mark said, his tone dropping into a flat, stunned register. It's been abandoned for eighteen years.
Lily looked down at her stuffed bunny with a heavy, sorrowful expression, tracing its stitched ear with a tiny finger. She looked up at her mother, holding the toy tighter against her chest, her lower lip quivering.
Mommy... she has my bunny?
Mark stared forward into the dark glass with wide, terrified eyes, the reflection showing a pale ghost of his own shock. Deep psychological tension filled the room, unbroken except for the pounding rain.
Mark, don't look at me like that, Sarah whispered, backing away from the glass. It's just a trick of the light and the storm. Kids see things in the dark.
May you like
No, Sarah, look closer at the second-floor window, Mark murmured, his voice barely audible over the thunder. There's a light moving inside a room that hasn't had electricity since nineteen-eighty-six.
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