The scent of aged wood and forgotten memories filled Solene Ivy Almagro's lungs as she crossed the threshold of the house. The floorboards groaned beneath her, a protest lost to the heavy silence that enveloped the air. Sunlight, soft and diffused through lace curtains, spilled across the dusty furniture, remnants of a lifelong abandoned. The light seemed hesitant, reluctant to illuminate the space entirely, casting faint, eerie patterns on the surfaces. In the stillness, it was as if the house itself were waiting—holding its breath—for something that had yet to arrive.
Her fingers, delicate yet determined, brushed against the leather strap of her suitcase. It was worn, the fabric of its journey etched into its surface, a tangible connection to the path that had led her here. With a tug, she dragged the case behind her, the wheels scraping against the warped wooden floor, the noise echoing down the empty hallway. The house seemed vast, more like a forgotten castle than a family home—beautiful once, but now abandoned, exhaling a quiet sorrow for the lives that had once thrived within.
Solene's gaze wandered upward, resting on the grand staircase that spiraled upward. The banister, intricate in design, was swathed in a veil of dust, making her throat tighten with the impulse to cough. It felt as though time had frozen here, not merely by the passing of years, but by the way stillness had seeped into the very bones of the house—into the walls, the floors, the air she inhaled. Her parents had spoken of this "change of scenery" with well-meaning but misguided enthusiasm during the drive. They didn't understand. The oppressive city had strangled her breath, its demands draining her of something vital. They thought this summer in the quiet town with her grandmother would be a reprieve, a pause from the relentless march of time.
But as Solene stood in the shadow of the crumbling Victorian house, she couldn't decide whether it was a sanctuary or a ghost's lingering dream.
"Welcome home, dear." The voice, soft but commanding, seemed to wrap around her like a shawl. It was warm with the grace of an era that no longer existed, the kind of voice that comforted and made you feel small at the same time. Solene turned to see her grandmother descending the staircase, her every movement exuding the elegance of someone who had never forgotten how to carry herself. Estella Almagro-Beaumont, with her silver hair and gracefully aging features, looked like a relic of another time. She wore her years with quiet dignity, and her presence was unshakable—an unspoken testament to a life well-lived.
"I trust your journey was pleasant?" Estella's gaze was steady, her eyes searching Solene's face with the keen observation only a grandmother could possess. There was a flicker of something between them—a shared history, perhaps, that only they could understand.Solene offered a small, uncertain smile, still adjusting to the weight of the house. "It was fine. Long drive, though."
Her grandmother's lips curved into a knowing smile. "The road has a way of testing one's patience. But you're here now. That's all that matters." She stepped closer, her presence somehow commanding the space even with the quiet grace she exuded.
Solene looked around the dim hallway, the soft light barely reaching the corners. The house felt like it was holding secrets in its bones, whispering them between the cracks in the walls. The air was thick with them. "It's... different," Solene murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She wasn't sure if she meant the house or the unsettling stillness that seemed to cling to it.
Estella's gaze softened, a flash of something unreadable in her eyes. "Everything here is different now." There was a pause, a moment where the words hung between them. "The house remembers. It always does."
Solene frowned, a shiver crawling up her spine at her grandmother's cryptic words. "What do you mean?"Estella reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from Solene's forehead in a gesture that felt both tender and strangely distant. "This place... It has a way of pulling you in, of making you believe you belong here. But you mustn't forget, my dear, that some things are best left undisturbed.
"Solene couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Her grandmother's gaze, though warm, held a quiet intensity. She had never felt truly at ease in this house, not when she first stepped on the pathway. It was as if it had always been more than just a house—it was a keeper of memories, a silent witness to the passage of time. And now, as she stood within it again, those memories seemed to awaken around her, tugging at the edges of her mind.
"I'm sure I'll get used to it," Solene said, her voice steady despite the unease bubbling inside her. She dragged her suitcase further into the hallway, the weight of it dragging her down as much as the house itself seemed to.Estella watched her, a quiet sadness flickering in her eyes, but she said nothing more. "Dinner will be ready soon," she said instead. "Why don't you rest for a while?"
Solene nodded, though she wasn't sure if she would be able to rest. The house was too alive with the weight of the past, too full of things unsaid, things left behind. As she headed to the stairs, her gaze flicked over her grandmother's shoulder toward the shadowed hall that led deeper into the house. The silence there felt thick, almost suffocating. Something—someone—was waiting in the depths of the house, and it seemed as if it had always been waiting for her arrival.
Solene paused halfway up the staircase, her hand resting on the banister, a sudden wave of uncertainty washing over her. The house felt too still, too quiet, and the silence seemed to whisper at the edges of her thoughts, urging her to listen closer. She glanced down the hallway again, as though the shadows might reveal something, something in the dark. But all she saw was the deep, murky darkness stretching beyond the stairwell, hiding what could have been secrets, or perhaps nothing at all.
Shaking off the feeling, she continued up the stairs, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet that covered each step. The second floor was quieter still. It held an air of age, the kind that only accumulated over years of neglect. The wallpaper, once vibrant and patterned, was faded now, curling at the edges like the wings of a moth. The furniture in the hall was draped with sheets, giving the space the appearance of an uninhabited museum, frozen in time.
She reached the door at the end of the hallway—the room her grandmother told her to stay in. The door was slightly ajar, inviting her in with an unsettling stillness. Taking a slow breath, Solene pushed it open.The room was huge—yet old. The bed, a newly bought piece of furniture, stood neatly in the corner, the quilts folded precisely. The dresser was empty—it was destined to be there for her arrival. Her lola Estella bought new furniture for this new property of theirs. There was a heaviness in the air, something that made her hesitate as her gaze fell over the room. She had expected a certain strange feeling as if she were a stranger in a peculiar world.
She dropped her suitcase by the bed and slowly walked to the window. She pulled back the curtains, the light that filtered through, almost painfully bright, offering a harsh contrast to the dim interior of the room. Outside, the garden below was overgrown, wild in its beauty, like nature had taken over in a human's absence. The trees were full of life, their branches reaching out as though beckoning to her.
Turning away from the window, she noticed an old rocking chair in the corner—a relic of her lolo who passed away. That rocking chair had always been brought house to house whenever Estella moved out. Her grandmother had often sat there, telling her stories about the old days, about their family, about how she met Alejandro, Solene's grandfather. Those stories were meant to entertain, to lull her to sleep, and she longed for them.
"You're not ready for what this house holds," she remembered her grandmother's voice echoing in her mind. It sounded like a warning, but from what? What was there that Solene was not ready for?
A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts."Solene?" Her grandmother's voice, though gentle, was firm. "Dinner's ready. Come down when you're ready."Solene shook her head, pushing the unsettling thoughts aside. "I'll be right down," she replied, her voice steady despite the knot that had formed in her stomach.
She moved toward the door, her hand brushing against the doorframe, and for a brief moment, she felt the faintest sensation of being watched—just a fleeting sensation, like a shadow lingering in her periphery. She spun around quickly, but there was nothing. Only the empty rocking chair, creaked ever so slightly as if nudged by an unseen hand.
Her heart fluttered, but she forced a breath, exhaling slowly as if to rid herself of the lingering unease. Whatever it was, it didn't matter.The sound of her grandmother's voice below brought her back to reality. She was here for a reason.
Dinner would be a welcome distraction.
As Solene made her way down the stairs, the familiar smell of her grandmother's cooking drifted up to meet her, mixing with the slightly musty scent of the old house. The scent was warm and comforting, a small piece of home she didn't realize she would live in. The low murmur of her grandmother's voice grew louder as Solene descended, followed by the soft clink of utensils against china. She rounded the corner of the hallway and entered the dining room. It was dim, it reminded her of an old and musty vintage library. The house belonged to a well-known family in this town and her grandmother had bought it a month ago.
The table was set, the deep, rich wood gleaming in the soft light of the hanging chandelier. Her grandmother was seated at the head of the table, a small smile on her weathered face as she folded her napkin. A plate of roasted chicken, golden brown and glistening with seasoning, sat at the center, surrounded by vegetables and freshly baked bread. The room, though somewhat dated with its antique chairs and patterned wallpaper, felt warm, alive in its own way, even with the years of neglect it had endured.
"Solene, come join me," her grandmother said, her voice a little more gentle than it had been earlier. "I made your favorite Chicken Curry."
Solene smiled faintly, walking to the chair opposite her grandmother and sitting down. The weight in her chest lifted slightly, but that nagging feeling—like something just out of reach, a whisper on the edge of her mind—remained."Thank you," she said quietly, as her grandmother began serving the food.
"I'm glad you're here." Her grandmother's eyes softened as she placed the food in front of her. "It's been too long since we've had a proper dinner together. Besides, it feels nice to have you while I adjust to this new home."Solene nodded but didn't speak right away. She focused on the plate before her, trying to ignore the undercurrent of discomfort running through her veins. Her grandmother was always kind, always welcoming, but Solene couldn't shake the sense that something was different about this visit. The house seemed to hum with a kind of energy that she couldn't explain.
As she took a bite, the food was just as she remembered—comforting, familiar. Yet, the quiet seemed heavier now, pressing in on her, suffocating her. Her grandmother watched her as she ate, her eyes sharp yet soft, as though she could see the questions running through Solene's mind.
"You've been quiet," her grandmother remarked, a hint of concern creeping into her voice. "Is everything all right?"
Solene hesitated, her fork hovering just above her plate. The question hung in the air, more loaded than her grandmother might realize.
"I—" Solene began, but the words caught in her throat. She swallowed, shaking her head slightly. "I don't know. I've just been thinking."
Her grandmother studied her for a moment, her lips pressing together in a thoughtful line. "About what, exactly?"
Solene glanced at the photographs lining the walls, the faces of old folks long gone. She swallowed, feeling the weight of her grandmother's gaze on her. "About the house," she said, the words slipping out before she could think better of them. "About... what happened here."
Her grandmother didn't react immediately, but there was a subtle shift in the air. The room seemed to grow colder, even though the fireplace crackled softly on the far side of the room. She cleared her throat and placed her fork down.
"I see," her grandmother said, her voice calm but with an edge that was unmistakable. "This house holds many memories of the old owners as they, Solene. Some of them are better left undisturbed."
Solene felt a chill crawl up her spine at the words. She looked up at her grandmother, her heart suddenly racing.
"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Her grandmother met her gaze, her expression unreadable. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them thickened, the silence almost suffocating.
Finally, her grandmother sighed, a long, weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of decades. "Some things aren't meant to be understood, Solene. You'll find that out for yourself soon enough."
Solene opened her mouth to say something, but her grandmother held up a hand, signaling for her to stop.
"Let's not talk about this now," she said, her voice gentle again. "Enjoy your dinner, and we'll talk later. It's a long story... and not one you're ready to hear."
Solene stared at her grandmother for a long moment, her mind racing, but something in the older woman's tone made her hesitate. There was something guarded in her eyes, something that wasn't quite right. Solene wanted to push, to demand answers, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.
Instead, she picked up her fork again and took another bite, the unease creeping back into her chest. As much as she tried to focus on the meal, the room around her seemed to pulse with a hidden rhythm, one that thrummed with secrets waiting to be uncovered.
The dinner stretched on, a quiet and uneventful affair, save for the occasional clink of silverware or the soft rustle of napkins being adjusted. Solene felt a strange distance between herself and her grandmother as if they were separated by more than just the years that had passed since their last shared meal. Her grandmother, for all her warmth, seemed to hold herself back, her words measured, deliberate.
The silence was eventually broken when her grandmother cleared her throat and placed her utensils down. She looked across the table at Solene with an unreadable expression.
"Solene, there are things in this house that have been... kept for a reason," her grandmother said, her tone more serious now. "Not everything is as it seems. And there are things you might not want to know."
Solene's heart skipped a beat. The air had grown heavier, thick with something unspoken, and the crackling of the fire seemed too loud in the tense quiet.
"What are you talking about?" Solene asked, her voice tight as a knot in her chest.
Her grandmother didn't answer right away. Instead, she slowly stood from the table, her movements deliberate, before walking over to a small cabinet near the far wall. Solene watched as her grandmother's fingers traced the edges of an old, dusty photo album before pulling it down from the shelf.
"This," her grandmother said, returning to the table and gently placing the album in front of Solene. "This is for you. You need to see it."Solene's breath hitched. She glanced up at her grandmother, uncertainty written across her face, but the older woman simply nodded toward the album, urging her to open it.
Reluctantly, Solene reached for the album, feeling the weight of it as her fingers brushed the leather cover. It was old, worn, the pages yellowing with age. As she opened it, her eyes fell on the first photo—a black-and-white image of a family, a smiling couple with a young boy sitting in front of them. The faces were ufamiliar, and there was something off about the image. The boy's face seemed too still, too perfect—eyes unnervingly vacant.
Solene turned the page, her heart pounding as more pictures filled the pages—a boy, black silky hair, and blue eyes. He seems familiar but at the same time, her heart felt heavily strange. As she flipped through the pages, the photos became more unsettling—faces blurred out, others half-faded, as if they had been erased from history. But it wasn't until she reached the last few pages that the real unease set in.
There, on the final page, was a photo of a young teen girl that seemed identical to her. She must have been about the same age in the picture, her hair in braids, smiling brightly as a young boy was beside her. Was it her mom? No. The boy's face was blurry, like someone who should have been impossible to see—someone whose face was hidden in shadow, yet the outline was unmistakable.Solene froze. Her breath caught in her throat.
"What... what is this?" she whispered, her fingers trembling as she held the page in place. She glanced up at her grandmother, who stood silently beside her.
"Do you recognize her?" her grandmother asked quietly as she pointed to the picture that looked like her.
Solene blinked, struggling to comprehend the photograph before her. "She looks like me. But one thing's for sure. She's not your mom, my mom, or even you," she whispered, a chill creeping up her spine. "Who is she?"
Her grandmother's face softened, her eyes filled with something that looked like mystery. She sat down beside Solene, her hands folded in her lap. "That," she said slowly, her voice quiet, "is someone you must find out." she paused, she seemed hesitant. "When I bought this house a month ago and visited this place, I saw this photo album. They said it was from the real owners of this house, 14 decades ago. The Valeirs. I wasn't that interested at first, but as I flipped through the pages, I saw...you. This man beside this girl that looks like you was the only son of the Valeirs."
Solene's heart slammed in her chest. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing in with a heavy weight she couldn't shake off.
"It can't be, right?" Solene repeated, her voice cracking. "This isn't... this isn't possible."Her grandmother sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping as she looked at the photo. "I never wanted you to know this. I thought you'd be better off not seeing this, or even staying here. But now... I just know that you had to know."
Solene felt her world tilt, her mind whirling with confusion. A photo of a girl that looked like her—who was she? It was right there, in front of her, a photo she had never seen. But why is she there? Who is that person? Who is Solene Ivy Almagro?
"Lola?" Solene asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't understand..."
Her grandmother looked away, her gaze far off, as if looking through the walls into something beyond them. "I do not know what the past held for you, Solene." she began, her voice thick with emotion, "But it sure was different. And because of that, maybe that's why you're here. For you to discover the past so that there will be a future. For you. Some things have a way of coming back, whether we're ready for them or not."
Solene stared at the photo, her mind racing, a thousand questions flooding her thoughts. None of them made sense, not together, not with the house, with the secrets, with the strange feeling of being watched that she couldn't shake off.
She opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could say another word, the lights flickered. A sudden draft swept through the room, and for a brief moment, the entire house seemed to hold its breath.
Her grandmother's face paled, and she stood quickly, pushing the album toward Solene. "You need to be careful now," she said, her voice urgent. "You've opened the door, Solene. And once it's opened, it's hard to close again."The air in the room seemed to shift, heavy and thick with something unseen. Solene's pulse raced as her grandmother moved quickly to the window, peering out into the night."What's going on?" Solene asked, a cold sweat beginning to form at the back of her neck.
Her grandmother turned toward her, her expression grave. "Get some rest," she said, her voice sharp. "And stay out of the attic. Don't go up there. Not yet."
--
Solene lay in bed, the eerie quiet of the house wrapping around her like a thick fog. Her grandmother's warning echoed in her mind: Stay out of the attic. But the temptation gnawed at her. The answers, the mysteries—everything felt so close, so just within reach. How could she resist?
She glanced at her nightstand, it was 12 am. Her grandmother was in the other room of the house, deep in sleep. Solene couldn't shake the feeling that something was waiting for her—something she had to discover on her own.
The house was dark, save for the soft glow of moonlight that streamed through the curtains. She waited, listening carefully for any sign that her grandmother might wake, but there was only the sound of silence—heavy, suffocating silence. With her heart pounding, Solene quietly slipped out of bed, making her way to the door. She paused, glancing back one last time over her shoulder before stepping into the hall.
The stairs creaked beneath her feet as she moved toward the attic door, her breath shallow and fast. She couldn't explain it—why she felt so compelled, why it felt so right, but everything inside her told her this was what she needed to do. She reached the attic door, cold to the touch, the metal handle slick with the faint sheen of age.
With a quiet exhale, she turned the handle.
The door opened with a reluctant groan, and she stepped inside, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. The attic was just as she had imagined it—dusty, cramped, filled with old boxes and forgotten things. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and paper. Solene moved deeper into the room, her footsteps light but purposeful as if drawn by some invisible force.
There, in the corner of the room, was a box. You may think that it was an ordinary box, but it was one that caught her attention. It looked out of place among the forgotten relics of the past, a black wooden chest with brass hinges. It sat on a table covered in cobwebs, untouched for years—or so it seemed.
Her hands trembled as she reached for it, the weight of its presence more than just physical. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach, a quiet warning of something she might not want to know, but curiosity had long since taken over.
The lid creaked open, and there, inside the box, were two letters. The paper was yellowed, brittle with age, and yet they were neatly folded, as if placed there with care, as if they had been waiting for her.
The attic was silent, save for the soft rustling of old papers and the creak of the wooden floorboards beneath her feet. Solene's hands shook as she gently lifted the letters.
My Dearest Sol, March 13, 1878
Another quiet day has come and gone, and yet the world feels still, as if it's holding its breath. The sun set just as it always does, with a steady grace, but this time, it seemed to fade more softly, like something was slipping away with it. Perhaps it's just the distance between us, or maybe it's the shifting of seasons, but I find myself thinking of you more and more, as though you've become a part of the air itself.
I passed by the old willow tree today. Do you remember how you'd rush to it, laughing like the world was made just for that moment, just for you? It seems to stand there unchanged, its branches stretching high, though I imagine you'd say they've grown taller in the years since. As if that could somehow mean something, could make a difference. The memory makes my heart ache, yet it is a quiet sort of joy—a kind of warmth that lingers long after the moment is gone.
Life here is still, like the tree, unmoving in its own way. Nothing new to speak of, nothing worth remarking. I wonder if anyone ever speaks your name, if anyone feels the absence of your laughter in the same way I do. But I suppose that's the way of things, isn't it? You've always had a way of slipping through time, of floating beyond the reach of those who try to hold on. Like a whisper on the wind, you've been both here and gone all at once.
You've always been like a star, Sol—present in the sky, but forever just out of reach, a light that burns brightly, yet feels so distant. I tell myself it's only the space between us, the miles and years that keep you away. And yet, there's a part of me that believes this story isn't finished yet. Perhaps one day, you'll return. Not because I expect it, but because I've convinced myself it's how it should be. As if the world is waiting for that final chapter, the one where you come back and everything falls into place. Until then, I'll wait, and I'll write. These words are for you, my dear Sol, for when the time comes, and perhaps for when you've forgotten that I've been waiting all this time. I miss you, my love. Come back soon.
Yours, forever,
Theo
Sol paused, her breath hitching. Theo's words felt like a delicate thread pulling her into a past she had never been part of, a past she could almost touch but never fully grasp. She set the letter aside and reached for the next one, eager yet apprehensive.
My dearest, Sol, March 14, 1878
The days stretch on, growing longer with each passing hour. The sky feels vast, as though it has no end, and it carries with it the weight of all those mornings we spent together, quietly watching the world wake up beside the lake. I wonder, Sol, do you ever think of that place? I haven't sat there since... well, since that day. But the memory lingers, as fresh as the breeze that would sweep through the willow branches, and I'll never forget how we'd sit beneath that old tree, caught in the quiet ebb and flow of time. We spoke of everything and nothing, as if the silence around us had its own story to tell—one that didn't need words to be understood.
I'm still here, in the same place, surrounded by familiar faces, though they never seem to notice the stillness that holds me. Life moves for them, but for me, it's as though time has paused. I hear their voices, but it's the sound of your laughter that echoes the loudest in my mind. It's strange, isn't it? How one sound, one moment, can carry through the years like a song that never fades. Five years, my dear, and yet it feels like I've been waiting for an eternity. The days blur together, and I find myself still waiting for something, though I don't know what.
Tomorrow, I'll write to you again, as I always do. Perhaps, someday, I'll tell you all the things I never had the chance to say, all the words left unspoken. But for now, these letters will remain here, waiting for you. For when you return, whenever that may be. I wish to see you in five years, my dearest.
- Yours always,
Theo
Sol felt a lump form in her throat as she placed the letter back in the box. She could almost feel the weight of Theo's unspoken thoughts, the quiet ache in his heart that he had poured into these letters, day by day. His love was never bold or loud—it was in the small moments, in the daily updates, in the way he had kept his feelings tucked away, waiting for Sol to return.
She closed the box slowly, her mind spinning with questions, and emotions she hadn't expected to feel. What had happened to Theo? Why hadn't he ever shared these letters with her? Why had Lola never mentioned them, never mentioned him?
As she turned to leave the attic, the box and its secrets hidden once more, a chill swept over her, leaving behind a lingering sense of unease. Her Lola's warnings about the attic, about the things that remained buried, felt different now. Sol wasn't sure if it was the letters, or the weight of the past that they carried, but something deep inside her told her that this was just the beginning.
She left the attic without a sound, careful not to disturb the stillness. Her Lola would never know she had been up there, never know about the letters, or the small, quiet love that had been hidden away in this forgotten corner of the house. But for Sol, the discovery was a secret she would carry with her—one that would change everything.
Just as she was about to close the door, a chill brushed the back of her neck. The faintest sound—a creak, a whisper of movement—made her freeze. Her heart skipped a beat. Her eyes darted toward the dim corner of the attic, where the shadows gathered like secrets, thick and unsettling.
And there, barely discernible in the gloom, something shifted. A silhouette, tall and shifting, as if it too were unsure of its place in the world. The air thickened, pressing in around her, and she could feel the weight of the darkness pulling her in.
A shadow.