Chapter 2 - The Sinking Foundation
The silence inside the living room felt heavier than the storm battering the roof. Clara pulled Lily back from the glass, her hands trembling as she smoothed her daughter’s long light brown hair. Ethan remained frozen by the window, his gaze locked onto the dark outline of the abandoned dwelling across the swollen creek. The lightning had faded, leaving only the dull, gray glow of the porch light reflecting off the rain-slicked floorboards.
That is impossible, Ethan muttered, his voice dropping an octave as he tried to steady his breathing. No one has crossed that creek since the flood of two thousand six. The bridge washed out completely. You know that as well as I do.
Clara knelt beside Lily, checking the white knit sweater for any dampness, though the child had not stepped outside. She looked up at her husband, her eyes dark with a fear she refused to voice aloud. Ethan, I saw it too. It wasn't just a shadow. It was a child, standing right there in the crumbling room. And she was holding something white. Exactly like this.
Lily buried her face in Clara’s white shirt, her small shoulders shaking slightly. She wouldn't look back toward the window.
Maybe the wind played a trick on us, Ethan said, though the conviction in his voice was entirely gone. He ran a hand through his short brown hair, pacing the length of the hardwood floor. The county condemned that property after the tragedy. The family who lived there... they didn't make it out. It's just memories playing tricks in the dark.
Clara stood up slowly, keeping Lily close against her burgundy cardigan. She walked over to the desk near the bookshelf and picked up a heavy flashlight. The beam cut a sharp, yellow path through the dim room. Ethan, walk over there with me in the morning. We need to know if someone is squatting in that ruin. We can't pretend we didn't see what we just saw.
May you like
Ethan nodded slowly, though his eyes remained fixed on the rain-swept darkness outside. He reached out to pull the heavy velvet curtains shut, blocking out the sight of the waterlogged house. As the fabric slid into place, a sharp scratching sound echoed against the front door, followed by the distinct sound of a child's laughter carried over the wind.
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