Eleanor awoke with a start, the shadows receding like smoke, the cold touch of spectral hands lingering on her skin. Her chest heaved, lungs clawing for air as she lay sprawled on the wooden floor of her childhood bedroom. The room was dark, the cracked window casting pale light across the dust-swirled air. Silence pressed in, heavy and unnatural, as if the house itself was holding its breath.
She pushed herself up, her limbs trembling, the boards creaking beneath her weight. Her head spun, the remnants of her nightmare clinging to her mind, flashes of hollow faces and spectral whispers. She gripped the bedpost, her fingers digging into the wood, splinters biting into her skin. The shadows watched her from the corners, their shapes shifting, faces forming and fading.
Her mother's voice still echoed in her ears, warped and mournful, calling to her from somewhere beyond the walls. "Come home, Eleanor… come home…" The words coiled around her, cold and hollow, lingering long after the echo faded. Eleanor's chest tightened, a familiar ache rising in her throat. She was home. But this place was no longer hers. It belonged to the past, to the shadows that clung to its walls, to the secrets her mother had left behind.
She forced herself to move, her body stiff and cold, muscles protesting as she stumbled toward the door. Her reflection flickered in the cracked mirror above her old dresser, warped and distorted, a ghost of herself. Her face was pale, eyes hollow, hair tangled and wild. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her.
The hallway stretched before her, dark and narrow, its floorboards warped and splintered. The air was frigid, heavy with the scent of dust and decay. Eleanor shivered, the cold seeping into her bones, her breath fogging in the icy air. The shadows were deeper here, darker, writhing along the walls, shapes that twisted and curled.
She descended the stairs, each step creaking beneath her weight, the wood groaning as if in pain. Her fingers brushed the banister, the wood splintered and rough. The shadows followed her, pooling at her feet, whispering as she moved. She couldn't understand the words, their voices warped and distant, but their sorrow clung to her, heavy and suffocating.
The parlor lay before her, its furniture still draped in white sheets, ghostly figures frozen in place. Dust hung in the air, swirling in the pale light that seeped through the broken windows. The fireplace loomed cold and empty, ashes long forgotten. Her mother's photograph remained on the mantel, the woman's smiling face untouched by time, eyes bright and warm.
Eleanor's chest tightened, grief coiling in her heart, sharp and raw. Her mother's voice echoed in her mind, soft and gentle, whispering lullabies that chased away the nightmares. But the nightmares were back, clawing at her, pulling her into the shadows.
She turned away, her eyes burning, tears threatening to spill. She moved toward the kitchen, the floor creaking beneath her, shadows curling around her ankles. The air grew colder, the light dimmer, as if the house itself were sinking into darkness.
The kitchen was as she remembered, frozen in time. The old stove sat cold and rusted, its iron door hanging open. Cabinets lined the walls, their paint chipped and faded, doors hanging crooked on rusted hinges. A table stood at the center, its surface scarred and worn, a single chair pulled out as if waiting for someone to sit.
She crossed the room, her fingers trailing along the table's edge, the wood rough beneath her touch. Memories stirred—mornings spent here, sunlight streaming through the window, her mother humming as she cooked breakfast. But the sunlight was gone, replaced by fog that pressed against the glass, twisting into shapes that watched her with hollow eyes.
Eleanor's heart stuttered, her pulse quickening. She stepped back, her body trembling, cold sweat prickling her skin. The fog moved, swirling outside the window, faces forming and fading. Their mouths opened, whispers curling through the glass, cold and hollow.
"Eleanor…"
The voice drifted through the room, faint and brittle, a mournful echo that wrapped around her. Her body went rigid, fear coiling in her chest. She spun around, eyes wide, searching the shadows. But the room was empty, the fog pressing against the glass, whispering her name.
"Come home, Eleanor…"
Her mother's voice, low and sorrowful, drifting through the walls. Eleanor's knees weakened, her vision blurring. She stumbled back, her shoulder striking the wall, dust raining down. The shadows gathered around her, cold fingers brushing her skin.
She ran.
The floor groaned beneath her as she fled the kitchen, her boots pounding against the wood, shadows curling around her ankles. The house moaned, the walls trembling, whispers echoing through the halls. "Come home… come home…"
Eleanor's breath came in ragged gasps, her chest burning as she reached the front door. Her fingers fumbled with the knob, cold metal biting into her skin. She twisted it, the door groaning as it swung open, fog curling around her feet. She stumbled outside, the air cold and sharp, fog swallowing her whole.
The village lay silent, shrouded in mist, its houses dark and hollow. The trees loomed overhead, their branches twisting like skeletal hands, shadows slithering through the fog. Eleanor's pulse pounded, her body trembling, the cold seeping into her bones.
She looked back at the house, its windows black and empty, shadows writhing behind the glass. The fog curled around its walls, whispering her name, echoing through the hollow rooms. "Come home…"
Her vision blurred, tears freezing on her cheeks, her body shivering. She turned away, stumbling down the path, the fog closing in around her, cold and suffocating. The village watched her, dark and silent, shadows shifting behind every window.
The fog followed, whispering, calling her name.
"Come home, Eleanor… come home…"