Chapter 1 - The Echo Across the Lake
"You are not listening to me, Mark!" Clara’s voice cracked, sharp and breathless, cutting through the dense silence of the living room as she gripped the windowsill. "She is standing right there, and you are standing here acting like this is some kind of sick joke!"
"I am not joking, Clara, I am trying to be rational," Mark snapped back, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides as he took a hard step toward her. "That place across the water burned down to the foundation before we even met, and you know it as well as I do!"
"Daddy, stop fighting," six-year-old Lily whispered, her small fingers clutching the soft white fur of her stuffed rabbit so tightly her knuckles turned pale white. "Look at her face. She is crying because you guys are yelling at each other."
"Lily, sweetie, go to the kitchen right now," Clara urged, her eyes wide with a desperate panic as she knelt down to look at her daughter. "Do not look out that glass anymore. Just go."
"Why are you both so scared of her?" Lily asked, tilting her head with an innocent, haunting curiosity that sent a cold shudder straight down Clara’s spine. "She said you left her in the dark, Mommy. She said you forgot to bring her back when the smoke started."
Mark froze dead in his tracks, the color draining completely from his sun-kissed face until he looked like a ghost in the gray afternoon light. The rain outside drummed a frantic rhythm against the glass, blurring the distant silhouette of the decaying wooden structure across the dark, churning lake water.
"She didn't just have a bunny," Clara whispered, her voice dropping to a trembling, terrified rasp as she stared out at the upper window where the pale figure lingered in the shadows. "Mark... look at the window frame. That is not just paint peeling off the wood."
"What are you talking about?" Mark muttered, stepping up beside her and wiping the condensation away with the palm of his hand to get a clearer view of the desolate shore opposite their property.
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"The carvings," Clara breathed, her fingernails digging deep into the wooden sill. "Those are the exact same notches we carved into our bedroom door when we were children, before the fire took everything away."
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