The House of Memories

Lena had spent months searching for the perfect getaway. City life drained her, and she longed for silence, for air that didn’t feel heavy with the weight of endless to-do lists. That’s why, when she found the cottage by the lake, it felt like destiny.

The house was small but charming—white shingles, a sloping roof, and a warm, inviting glow spilling from the windows. The real estate agent had given her a deal too good to pass up, though he seemed oddly eager to finalize the sale.

“They left in a hurry,” he had said when she asked about the previous owners. But he didn’t explain why.

Lena moved in on a crisp autumn afternoon. The house smelled of cedar and old books, as if it had been waiting for someone to breathe life back into it. Everything was perfectly arranged—the furniture, the décor, even a freshly made bed, despite no one having lived there for years. It was as if the house had been expecting her.

That night, she stood by the glass doors, looking out at the lake. The water was unnaturally still, mirroring the trees that surrounded it. A soft wind rustled the leaves, but something felt… off. A presence, like unseen eyes watching from the dark.

Then came the first sound.

A creaking on the wooden deck.

Lena turned, expecting to see an animal, but the porch was empty. Only the two Adirondack chairs, perfectly placed as if awaiting their occupants. She shook off the unease and went to bed, telling herself it was just the house settling.

The second night, the whispers began.

At first, they were faint—like distant murmurs carried by the wind. But as the night deepened, the voices grew clearer. They spoke in hushed tones, overlapping, as though a group of people were conversing just outside her window.

Lena’s pulse quickened. She grabbed a flashlight and stepped onto the deck. Nothing. Just the night, stretching endlessly. The lanterns by the doors flickered slightly, and for the first time, she noticed something unusual—the rocking chair beside the window was swaying.

Except there was no breeze.

By the third night, the house felt different.

Lena woke to an eerie stillness, the kind that made her skin prickle. The air inside was heavy, thick with something she couldn’t name. As she moved through the house, she noticed something strange—the furniture was subtly misplaced. The dining chairs were slightly pulled out. A book she had left closed on the table was now open.

And then she saw it.

A framed photograph on the kitchen counter.

She hadn’t placed it there.

Her breath hitched as she picked it up. It was an old photo of a family standing in front of the house—a man, a woman, and a little girl. Their faces were blurred, as if time had erased them.

All except one.

The woman.

She looked exactly like Lena.

Her mind raced. Was this a joke? Some elaborate prank? She grabbed her phone to take a picture, but the screen remained black. No signal.

That’s when the whispers returned.

Only this time, they weren’t outside.

They were inside.

Lena spun around. The lights flickered, and shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls. The air turned icy, her breath visible in the dim glow. Then, footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Coming from upstairs.

Her heart pounded. She wasn’t alone.

Summoning every ounce of courage, she took a shaky step forward. The stairs creaked under her weight as she ascended. The whispers grew louder. She reached the bedroom, the door slightly ajar.

Something was inside.

She pushed the door open, her hands trembling.

The room was empty.

But the window was open, curtains billowing softly.

And there, on the bed, was another photograph.

This time, it was just of her.

Taken from behind.

In the very room she was standing in.

A chill crawled up her spine. The air around her thickened, suffocating, as if unseen hands were closing in. Then, a breath—right against her ear.

“You finally came back.”

She turned.

And the last thing she saw was the woman from the photograph.

Smiling.