Chapter 1: The house on the black wood road
The house had been empty for eleven years.
At least, that was what the realtor had said.
Veyra didn't believe him.
She stood beside the car, staring at the enormous black house at the end of Blackwood Road.
Rain had stopped only minutes ago, leaving the road shining beneath the gray afternoon sky. Water dripped from the branches of the dead trees surrounding the property. Their thin limbs scratched against each other whenever the wind moved through them.
The house stood behind a rusted iron gate.
Three floors.
Tall windows.
A steep roof.
And far too many chimneys.
Veyra looked at the uppermost window.
One curtain moved.
She watched it for several seconds.
Then she looked at the realtor.
"Someone's upstairs."
The man froze.
"What?"
"Someone moved the curtain."
He glanced at the house.
"No one has been inside for eleven years."
Veyra looked back at the window.
The curtain had stopped moving.
She said nothing.
The realtor forced a smile.
"Probably just the wind."
Veyra didn't answer.
The wind wasn't blowing.
---
"Veyra!"
She turned.
Her aunt was standing beside the open car trunk, holding a cardboard box against her chest.
"Can you help me with this?"
Veyra walked over, took the box, and carried it toward the house without saying anything.
Her aunt sighed.
"You know, normal seventeen-year-olds usually complain when they're forced to move."
"I'm not normal."
"You could at least pretend."
Veyra glanced at her.
"I am pretending."
Her aunt stared at her for a moment.
Then she laughed nervously.
"Right. Very convincing."
Veyra continued walking.
She had learned a long time ago that silence made people uncomfortable.
She preferred it that way.
Inside, the house smelled of dust, wet wood, and something faintly metallic.
The entrance hall was enormous.
A chandelier hung from the ceiling, covered in gray dust. A grand staircase divided into two directions halfway up, one side leading toward the second floor and the other disappearing behind a dark wooden wall.
There were paintings everywhere.
Old families.
Old houses.
Old faces.
Veyra stopped in front of one.
A family portrait.
Four people stood beneath a dark archway.
A man.
A woman.
A boy.
And a little girl.
The girl's face had been scratched out.
Veyra stared at the damaged portrait.
Her aunt walked past her.
"Don't touch anything. The previous owners left half the furniture behind."
"Who lived here?"
Her aunt shrugged.
"Different families, apparently."
"Why did they leave?"
"Nobody knows."
Veyra looked at the scratched-out face again.
"Someone knows."
Her aunt didn't hear her.
Or pretended not to.
---
By sunset, the house was almost completely unpacked.
Veyra's room was on the second floor.
It was larger than the bedroom she'd had before, but she didn't care.
The room contained a bed, an old wooden desk, a wardrobe, and a tall mirror covered by a white sheet.
She pulled the sheet away.
The mirror was old.
Its silver frame was decorated with tiny carvings of branches.
Veyra looked at her reflection.
Dark hair.
Pale face.
Tired eyes.
Nothing unusual.
She turned away.
Then stopped.
For half a second, she thought she had seen something behind her in the mirror.
She looked again.
Nothing.
Just the empty room.
Veyra stared at the reflection for another moment.
Then she covered the mirror again.
---
Dinner was quiet.
Her aunt talked about the house.
The plumbing.
The broken heater.
The school Veyra would start attending next week.
Veyra listened.
She barely touched her food.
"You'll make friends," her aunt said.
"I don't need friends."
"Everyone needs someone."
Veyra looked at her.
"No."
Her aunt lowered her fork.
There was a pause.
"You know," she said carefully, "you don't have to shut everyone out."
Veyra's expression didn't change.
"I don't."
"You barely speak."
"I speak when there's something to say."
Her aunt smiled sadly.
"You've always been like this."
Veyra looked down.
For a brief moment, something flickered across her face.
Not sadness.
Not fear.
Something older.
Something buried.
Her aunt noticed.
"Veyra?"
"I'm tired."
She stood.
"Goodnight."
She walked upstairs.
Neither of them noticed the clock in the hallway.
Its hands had stopped.
At 3:17.
---
Veyra woke at 2:56 AM.
She didn't know why.
The room was completely dark.
For several seconds, she remained still.
Then she heard it.
A sound from somewhere downstairs.
Three slow knocks.
Knock.
Silence.
Knock.
Silence.
Knock.
Veyra sat up.
She looked at the clock beside her bed.
2:57 AM.
Another sound.
This time, it wasn't a knock.
It was footsteps.
Someone was walking across the floor downstairs.
Slowly.
One step.
Then another.
Then another.
Veyra got out of bed.
She didn't turn on the light.
She opened her bedroom door.
The hallway was dark.
The footsteps stopped.
Veyra waited.
Nothing.
Then she heard a voice.
"Veyra."
She froze.
It came from downstairs.
Her face remained expressionless.
The voice called again.
"Veyra."
She stepped into the hallway.
The floorboards creaked beneath her feet.
She looked toward the staircase.
Nothing.
The house was silent.
She checked the clock on the wall.
3:04 AM.
Veyra walked downstairs.
The entrance hall was empty.
She looked toward the front door.
Locked.
Kitchen.
Empty.
Living room.
Empty.
Then she heard the voice again.
This time, it came from behind her.
"Veyra."
She turned.
Nothing.
Her eyes moved toward the staircase.
Then she noticed something.
A door.
There hadn't been a door there earlier.
It stood beneath the staircase.
Tall.
Black.
Old.
Veyra approached it.
She placed her hand on the handle.
It was cold.
Very cold.
She stared at the door.
Then she heard something from the other side.
A quiet scratching sound.
Like fingernails moving across wood.
Veyra didn't open it.
Instead, she stepped backward.
The scratching stopped.
A whisper came through the door.
"Don't."
Veyra stared at it.
For the first time that night, her expression changed.
Not fear.
Recognition.
She whispered:
"I know."
The house became completely silent.
Then every clock in the hallway began ticking.
One after another.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Veyra looked toward the nearest clock.
Its hands moved.
3:16.
Her eyes narrowed.
The second hand continued around the clock.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
And then...
3:17 AM.
Every light in the house turned on.
Veyra stood motionless.
The black door beneath the staircase was gone.
There was only a wall.
A completely ordinary wall.
She stared at it.
Then something caught her attention.
A photograph hanging beside the staircase.
She stepped closer.
It was the same family portrait she'd seen earlier.
The man.
The woman.
The boy.
The little girl.
Except now there was someone else standing behind them.
A teenage girl.
Dark hair.
Black clothes.
Expressionless face.
Veyra stared at the photograph.
Her breathing slowed.
The girl in the photograph was looking directly at her.
Veyra raised her hand.
She touched the glass.
The photograph changed.
The teenage girl disappeared.
The little girl's scratched-out face became visible again.
Veyra pulled her hand away.
The little girl was staring straight at her.
And beneath the photograph, carved into the wooden frame, were four words.
YOU WERE HERE BEFORE.
Veyra didn't move.
Behind her, someone whispered:
"Veyra."
She slowly turned around.
The hallway was empty.
But the clock above the staircase had stopped again.
3:17 AM.
Veyra stared at it.
Then she smiled.
It was the smallest smile imaginable.
Not happiness.
Not amusement.
Recognition.
"Finally," she whispered.
And somewhere deep inside the house...
Something knocked three times.
