Prologue
"The knocking started at three. I think it was the pipes in the wall. When I bought this old, falling-apart house, I knew it needed work. My intention was to flip it for profit. The house was in my budget and close to town, which made it ideal."
She held the camera close as she walked through the empty house. The floors creaked beneath her, as if the place were wailing with every step. She flipped the camera toward her face and sighed.
“I’ll make sure to update you. I’ve got the repairman coming to check it out tomorrow morning. I’m really hoping there aren’t any plumbing issues I have to pay for. So please cross your fingers for me! Thanks for watching. And make sure you like this video; it helps small creators like me a lot! Bye!”
The echo of the camera shutting off carried through the rooms. Without her voice filling the air, the silence felt heavier. Outside, the trees swayed in the dusk light. Leaves tapped the windows as they blew by. The house creaked as it moved with the wind.
Penny stood still and listened to the symphony. The fireplace howled like a train, swirling leaves in its grasp. The hair on the back of her neck stood as she tried to swallow the discomfort of being alone.
I’d better go home before the storm blows in more.
She walked to the front door when—
BANG.
A door upstairs slammed shut. Penny jumped as the sudden sound rang in her ears. She sighed.
A window must be open upstairs. I have to close it before it rains.
She walked to the staircase, pausing as she looked up. Some of the steps were crooked and warped. She started up, guiding her hand along the railing. Paint chipped off beneath her touch, leaving a trail up the steps. Each flake pinged against the floor like falling rain.
Darkness swallowed the hallway. She fumbled for the light on her camera.
BOOM.
Thunder rumbled above. The sound of rain began to patter against the windows. Penny found the button, and a harsh light flared, revealing every detail in its path, throwing sharp, shifting shadows across the walls.
She walked to the first door; the bathroom. Opening it a crack, she saw the window was shut.
Okay…
Pip. Pip. Pip.
The sink dripped slowly, but with a rhythm.
“No, no, no.”
Penny rushed to the sink, turning the knob off and on.
“Come on, the realtor said the plumbing was perfect.”
The dripping suddenly stopped. Penny blew her hair out of her face and exhaled.
“Okay.”
She walked out and on to the next room. The doorknob turned, but the door refused to budge.
It opened fine yesterday.
She slammed her shoulder against it. Once, twice, until it gave way, swinging open hard and hitting the wall with a hollow thud.
Penny winced. There’d be a hole there for sure. She looked behind the door to check the damage. The faded wallpaper had torn, exposing the inside of the wall.
Curious, she leaned closer, trying to see inside.
Something was wedged between the studs.
She set the light down, angling it toward the wall. The bright light poured over the surface, throwing the room behind her into pitch black. Rain battered the windows harder now, reminding Penny why she’d come up here in the first place.
It’s raining hard now. The floor’s probably soaked.
The sky rumbled. The wind groaned against the siding, like something whispering for her to stop.
Her neck stretched toward the opening, angling for a better look. What looked like paper was wedged deep inside. Penny dug her fingers into the drywall until it crumbled, the paper coating flaking like ash. She reached down and carefully pulled out the object.
A handmade journal.
She brushed the cover clean. It wasn’t new, but not exactly old either. Its edges warped, and soft from time. On the front, handwritten in faint black ink, it read:
To My Friends and Family. To All the Ones Who Listened.
Penny flipped the first page.
The whisper you say is quiet. The kind of talk it only wants you to hear. Do you feel special? Or do you feel burdened? A dead oak tree can stand tall for many years without falling. But sometimes a great storm rips it from its roots. There was a whisper of a great storm. It was too quiet to hear, and many people fell down. They all stood tall. But they were dead. No one noticed it wasn’t a storm. How could they? The only thing capable of doing that is a storm of great size. Don’t think it’s possible for a lily to grow in the snow just because it told you it was. Trust your instincts.
“My instincts?”
Penny stood, the journal trembling slightly in her hands. Dropping the book, she walked down the dark hallway. The sound of the dripping sink grew louder, muttering to itself in the dark.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A faint, hollow knocking echoed from downstairs. Penny’s heartbeat crawled up her throat, pounding in her ears. Her pupils widened, searching for something, anything in the dark.
She stepped back toward the light. Panic overtook her movements. She snatched the light and swung open the next door.
The window was closed.
She ran to the next room.
The window was closed.
Tripping over her own feet, she stumbled down the hall, trying to catch her breath. She reached the final door, gripped the knob, and pushed. Wind seeped out from the crack, pushing forward against her hands. Penny let out a shaky laugh of relief as the wind swirled her hair.
She pushed harder, and the door swung open.
Her hair fell flat across her face as the wind died.
“The window is closed.”
She backed up as dust began to spiral toward the doorway. The hinges creaked, slow and sharp. The door began to close and slam shut.
Penny turned and ran.
Her footsteps echoed down the stairs, fading into the slam of the front door.
Outside, an engine roared to life. Tires screeched on wet pavement.
Then silence.
Only the soft patter of rain.
The journal lay open on the floor, its pages fluttering in the draft. One page turned over.
Don’t be afraid of the moment. Listen to the chaos.
Beat the Mimicker.
