Kay La Sonje
Her back arched with a soft gasp, the kind born from something deep heat curling low in her stomach, the air thick with salt, sweat, and silence. Fingers tangled in her hair. Lips brushed her ear. A name, her name, whispered like a secret too dangerous to speak aloud.
"Marinét.....wake....up"
Another gasp.
"Marinét...."
She opened her mouth-
And choked on sand.
Cold grit scraped her tongue, invading her nose and throat. She jerked to the side, coughing violently, spitting up saltwater and wet sand. A bitter tang filled her mouth. Her soaked clothes clung to her skin, her blue top sand-coated and sticking tight. Everything smelled fresh, but something sour lingered beneath like rot.
She blinked.
Sat up slowly.
Looked around.
She was alone.
The beach was nearly empty, greyish-blue skies hanging overhead. Light, idle clouds floated above, the kind that warned rain might come again. A sharp gust of wind made her shiver. In the distance, a bell chimed, low and echoing.
Marinét pushed herself up with a groan, head pounding, legs unsteady. She staggered slightly, then glanced at her arms, brown skin scratched and red. Her fingers trembled as she scanned the beach, eyes wide, searching.
"Where is it..."
She stumbled, catching her foot on something buried beneath the sand. Pain shot through her knees as she fell hard.
"Fuck."
She hissed through her teeth, touching her aching knees before glaring at the object that tripped her. Digging through the sand, she pulled up her black leather bag.
She tore it open, yanking out her phone.
13:06.
Three missed calls from the realtor.
Still wheezing, she grabbed her things and made her way to the road, wobbling with every step. The town was small, familiar in a way that made her teeth ache. People stared as she passed some curious, some judgmental.
She hailed a cab.
It rolled to a slow stop. The window rolled down.
"Hello, darling. Where do you want to go?" the cab driver asked with a friendly grin.
"Somerville, please."
He whistled. "Alrighty, that's quite the journey. But we'll get there in one piece!"
Marinét barely nodded, already dialling the realtor back. The phone rang once, twice-
"Hello, Miss Auguste. I'm calling from Shining Houses. It's been a year, and we wanted to check if you still intend to claim your late mother's house, as your name is still on the deed. Or... if you'd prefer to sell the property?"
"I..." Her voice cracked. She quickly put the call on hold, grabbed a half-full water bottle from the cab's seat, and guzzled it down. Her throat burned. She exhaled, then returned to the line.
"Miss Auguste?"
"Yes. I want the house. When can I collect the keys?"
There was a pause.
"You can collect them today if you can reach the property by... let me check... by 4:44 PM."
It never felt like her house. Not once. She was going back to a place stitched with ghosts, with trauma buried under floorboards.
"For what?" she muttered under her breath.
She turned to the driver. "If my driver can step on it for me, I'll be there in time."
The cabbie caught her eye in the rear-view mirror and grinned knowingly.
She ended the call quickly. Her head throbbed again.
"Welp," she said, clearing her throat. "There's been a slight change..."
The driver raised an eyebrow.
"Can you take me to Dover instead? It's west of Somerville. Not far."
He nodded. "Sure thing. Gonna cost you a bit more, though. That area's real nice now. Lotta changes. Good houses. Good people. 'Cept for the, uh... spirited ones."
"Spirited?" she echoed, all innocent.
He chuckled. "Let's just say... not everyone keeps their ghosts to themselves."
She forced a polite smile. "Good to know."
Then she looked out the window, hiding the fact that she had once dined with those ghosts, lit candles for them, knew some by name.
"Excuse me, miss. We're nearly there."
Marinét blinked awake. The town looked... different.
The houses had grown taller brick-faced with glossy windows, hedges trimmed into perfect shapes, front doors painted in trendy pastels.
The air, it was heavier now. Pressed down on her chest like wet cloth.
Thick with silence.
Odd.
As the cab turned the final corner, her breath caught.
The car rolled to a stop in front of it.
Her mother's house.
The purple door still stood, dull now and weather-beaten, the colour faded like an old bruise. The paint peeled around the edges in jagged lines, like something had clawed at it from the inside. Above the frame, a small talisman, woven twine, rusted nails, and a dead lizard's skull, swayed faintly in the breeze.
And behind the house, the ancient mapou tree towered. Its gnarled branches twisted skyward, leaves rustling though there was no wind. The trunk was carved with symbols.
Marinét froze.
Flashback
Children's laughter fluttered through the air like windchimes - bright, wild, and just out of reach.
She could almost feel the heat of the pavement beneath her bare feet, the rhythm of the skipping rope slapping concrete. A skipping rhyme hummed somewhere nearby. Small bodies darted past her in flashes of colour, giggles echoing in loops.
Behind it all.
Stillness.
A shadow in the doorway.
A woman stood there, arms folded, wrapped in a house dress that fluttered just slightly in the breeze. Eyes like obsidian glass sharp, unmoving.
Watching. Measuring.
Not a smile.
Never a smile.
Marinét's spine straightened.
She reached for the rope in her hands, mimicking the others, faking the bounce in her knees, the grin on her face. Playing pretend in a world that asked for joy but allowed none.
"Marinét."
Soft.
Not sweet. Calling her back, like always.
"Marinét."
It was just a whisper now rising like steam from the pavement.
Her jaw clenched. Shoulders stiffened.
The memory scattered as the wind shifted. A car horn in the distance. The smell of wet earth.
She blinked, breath catching in her throat. And just like that, it was gone.
Her shoulders tensed. She shook herself from the memory.
She paid, thanked the cab driver and stepped out.
The air felt colder now.
She stood facing the house.
Then, a voice.
"Hello, Miss Auguste."
She jumped, heart skipping. A man stood behind her.
"Jesus! You scared me."
"Sorry," the realtor said, handing her a set of keys. "Welcome back. I hope you enjoy your stay. The community's safe. Very welcoming."
A bike zipped past. A kid tossed something a rolled-up flyer against the gate.
The realtor bent, picked it up, and handed it to her.
"Have a good day," he said, walking off.
She nodded absently and unrolled the flyer.
"The Dover Wellness Collective invites you to our annual Mental Health & Ancestral Healing Fair. Healing Generations Together."
Something prickled at the back of her neck.
The letters seemed to shimmer for a heartbeat, rearranging themselves, whispering words she almost recognised but couldn't quite hear.
Her breath caught.
A shiver ran down her spine, sharp and sudden as the hairs on her arms rose.
Welcome home
.
