The rain tapped against the windshield as Mia Carter tightened her grip on the steering wheel. The wipers screeched, barely keeping up with the downpour that blurred the road ahead. Beside her, her younger brother Daniel stared silently out the window, his jaw tense, his fingers drumming nervously on his thigh. In the backseat, their sister Leah was curled up, headphones on, trying to shut out the world.
None of them wanted to return to this house. Yet here they were—summoned not by choice but by the weight of unfinished business. Their father's death had dragged them back to the home they had all carefully avoided for years.
Mia swallowed hard as the house came into view. It sat at the end of a lonely road, wrapped in mist, its dark silhouette pressing against the sky. It looked almost alive, watching them, waiting.
"We can't stay here long," Daniel muttered, his eyes locked on the front door. "We come in, clear Dad's things, and we're out. Quick."
Mia didn't answer. Deep down, she knew it wouldn't be that simple.
Inside, the house smelled of damp wood and something faintly sweet, like rotting flowers. Dust hung in the air, clinging to old furniture and faded pictures. Their footsteps echoed, unfamiliar in a place that was once home.
As Mia moved through the hallway, a cold draft brushed her skin. She paused in front of a photo on the wall—a picture of their family. There was Dad, smiling tightly, their mother beside him, and the three of them as kids.
But something was wrong.
Her breath caught. There was another child in the photo—a boy. He stood between her and Daniel, his face familiar yet unplaceable.
Her pulse quickened. She didn't remember him. She didn't remember another brother.
"Daniel," she called, her voice tight. "Come look at this."
He appeared at her side, frowning at the picture. Leah joined them, pulling off her headphones.
"Who is that?" Mia asked.
Daniel shook his head slowly. "I… I don't know. I don't remember him."
Leah's face went pale. "That's not funny. Why would Dad put someone else in our family photo?"
The air seemed to thicken around them. The house creaked, as if listening.
A distant sound echoed from upstairs—a slow, dragging thud, like something heavy being pulled across the floor.
They all froze.
"You heard that, right?" Daniel whispered.
Mia's throat tightened. "We're not alone here."
Leah clutched her arm. "We need to leave. Now."
But as they turned to the door, it slammed shut on its own. The lock clicked into place, trapping them inside.
The silence pressed in, broken only by the house's faint, rhythmic breathing.
Some debts never die.
Some weights never leave.