--
Billy Walker
Year 1947
The storm raged outside, wild and unrelenting. Thunder cracked like a whip against the sky, illuminating the world in brief, blinding flashes. The trees surrounding the Walker estate swayed violently, their twisted branches clawing at the heavens. Rain poured in torrents, battering the grand stone manor that had stood for over a century—an unshaken relic of wealth and power.
Inside, the house was still.
The long hallways, adorned with paintings of grim-faced ancestors, loomed in darkness. Candlelight flickered, casting eerie, shifting shadows on the walls. Every few moments, the glass windows rattled with the force of the wind, but the house itself remained silent.
Until a boy's eyes snapped open.
Billy Walker lay in his large bed, his breath shallow, his heart pounding against his ribs. The room was cold—colder than it should have been.
And then, he heard it.
"Come... I'm waiting for you."
A whisper. Soft. Beckoning.
Billy sat up slowly, his small hands clutching the blanket. He wasn't afraid—at least, not anymore. He had heard the voice before. He had seen things no one else could see.
The Walkers no longer cared for him. His father, Henry Walker, had spent a fortune trying to cure him. Doctors, specialists, priests—none of them could fix what was wrong with Billy. They called it a neurodegenerative brain disease. They called it hallucinations.
But Billy knew the truth.
He was not sick.
He was haunted.
Sliding off the bed, he placed his bare feet on the icy wooden floor. Without hesitation, he walked to the door, his movements mechanical, almost trance-like. The whisper guided him. It was always the same.
"Come... I'm waiting for you."
The hallway stretched before him, dimly lit by the dying embers of wall sconces. He passed by his parents' bedroom—silent. He passed by his sister's room—empty. They never checked on him anymore. They hardly noticed him at all.
Down the grand staircase he went, his small figure moving through the darkness like a ghost.
Then, he reached the door to the basement.
The air here was different—thicker, heavier.
The whisper was louder now.
Slowly, Billy placed a hand on the wooden door and pushed. It groaned as it swung open, revealing a long, winding staircase descending into pitch-blackness. He stepped forward, the darkness swallowing him whole.
At the bottom, the air smelled of damp stone and dust, of forgotten things.
Then—he heard it.
A sobbing sound.
It came from the far end of the basement, where a lone wooden cupboard stood, covered in cobwebs and shadows.
Billy did not hesitate.
He approached, his small fingers reaching for the handle.
The sobbing stopped.
Silence.
Then, he opened it.
Inside, nestled between rotting books and forgotten trinkets, was a painting.
Billy's breath caught in his throat.
It was old, its colors faded, yet strangely beautiful. The painting depicted a woman in a flowing white dress, standing in the midst of swirling mist. Her face was mostly obscured by long, dark hair, but through the strands, two haunting blue eyes stared out at him.
Eyes filled with sorrow.
Eyes that knew him.
Billy reached out, his small hands trembling as he touched the canvas.
Something deep within him shifted.
That night, Billy Walker brought something into his life that would change the future forever.
---
Year 2010
"It's coming. It will come for you. It will always come."
Raphael gasped, his lungs burning as he jolted awake.
The world was dark. Too dark. The echoes of that voice still rang in his ears, a whisper from the depths of his subconscious. Sweat clung to his skin, his shirt damp and clinging to his chest.
Then—he saw them.
The eyes.
Blue. Watching.
They stared at him from the void, unblinking, knowing.
Then—a hand. Gripping his shoulder.
Raphael twisted violently, as if trying to escape—
And then he was falling.
Falling endlessly into darkness.
His body jerked.
His eyes flew open.
He was in his bed. His room. His world.
Panting, he ran a hand through his damp hair, forcing himself to slow his breathing.
"Just a dream."
But it never felt like just a dream.
The nightmares had been coming more frequently lately, always the same—a voice, those eyes, that endless darkness.
Shaking the thoughts away, Raphael swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The wooden floor was warm beneath his feet—a stark contrast to the cold sweat clinging to his skin. The clock on the wall read 6:47 AM.
"Time to get moving."
Today was a big day. His family was moving.
A new house—a manor, to be precise. A house that had stood abandoned for years.
Pushing the dream to the back of his mind, Raphael got dressed and headed downstairs.
The house was chaotic. Boxes stacked high, people moving back and forth. His father, Albert, stood near the door, directing the movers. His mother, Bianca, was talking to his uncle Jordan, while his aunt Rebecca tried to get the younger kids in order.
"Morning," Raphael greeted as he stepped into the madness.
"Morning, boy," Uncle Jordan grunted. "Sleep well?"
Raphael hesitated before shrugging. "Had a weird dream."
Jordan smirked. "You and your dreams." He handed Raphael a box. "Take this to your mom."
Raphael nodded and moved toward his parents' room. He was about to knock when he heard his name.
"Bianca, he'll like it there," his father was saying.
"Will he?" His mother's voice was uncertain.
Albert sighed. "It's perfect. He'll have his own space. A fresh start."
A pause.
Then, Bianca sighed. "Fine. Let's get packing."
Raphael hesitated. Why do they sound so uncertain?
Pushing the thought away, he knocked and entered.
"Morning," he greeted.
Albert smiled warmly. "Morning, son. Excited for the move?"
Raphael forced a smile. "Yeah… new things are good."
His parents looked relieved.
He left before they could ask more questions.
---
By noon, the trucks were packed, and the family stood outside, ready to leave.
Raphael lingered a moment, staring back at their old home.
Then, something shifted.
A shadow, just at the corner of his vision.
His breath caught.
He turned sharply—
Nothing.
Just the wind.
Shrugging it off, he climbed into the car.
As the engines roared to life, an unseen force watched from the darkness.
And it was waiting.
---