The silence wasn't peaceful. It was the kind of silence that wrapped itself around your throat and squeezed until you could barely breathe. Elia sat on the porch, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of her jacket. The cigarette rested between her fingers, unlit and forgotten. There was no way to light it here. No matches, no lighter, nothing but the endless quiet and the pale moon hanging overhead like a watchful eye.
Across the street stood the house. Not just any house. The house. The one that had haunted her dreams for as long as she could remember. It sat like a wound in the perfect stillness, refusing to heal or fade away. The curtains never fluttered, even when the wind howled through the empty streets. The windows were dark and unblinking. But every so often, when she let her gaze linger, she was certain she saw something. A shadow, a flicker, a small shape watching from the upstairs window.
Her watch ticked quietly, the numbers glowing softly in the dark. 3 32.
She tried to steady her breath. Tried to convince herself this was just another night. Another loop she had to survive.
3 33.
She closed her eyes.
She heard it before the scream even broke the silence. A tightening in her chest, a cold knot of dread curling in her stomach.
And then it came.
A child's scream.
Short. Sharp. Like glass breaking somewhere deep inside her.
It wasn't loud, not really. But it echoed around her, bouncing off the empty houses and the dark trees. It was a scream that carried pain and fear, but also something else. A desperate plea that made her stomach twist.
Elia told herself she wasn't afraid anymore. She'd told herself that every night. But the lie didn't feel as strong tonight.
The house, the scream, the silence. They were all parts of her. Pieces of a past she tried to forget but couldn't. Pieces of a guilt that whispered every time she closed her eyes.
She remembered the day ten years ago when everything changed. The way the light looked through the cracked window. The sound of her own name whispered in the wind. The last scream she had heard. The one that wasn't just a memory but a wound still bleeding inside her.
Her fingers tightened around the cigarette, the cold biting through her skin.
Tonight was different.
For the first time in all those nights, the front door of the house was open. Just a crack, but enough to let in a sliver of darkness. Enough to let in something she wasn't ready to face.
Her heart hammered in her chest. Not from fear, but from something else. Hope. Or maybe the weight of knowing that whatever came next, she couldn't run anymore.
The moon watched silently as Elia rose from the porch, the quiet town holding its breath with her.
She took a step toward the street. Toward the house. Toward the door that might finally open all the way.