Chapter 1 — The New House
The house was not supposed to be ours.
At least, that was what I thought when my father first told us we were moving.
My name is Johnathan Cael Abanado, though everyone has always called me Cael.
I was twenty-five years old, the middle child of the Abanado family, and, until that point, I had spent almost my entire life in the same house.
There was my father, Juan Abanado, a quiet and practical man who rarely made decisions without thinking them through first.
My mother, Anita Abanado, was the opposite in some ways. She was warm, observant, and somehow always knew when one of us was hiding something.
Then there was my older brother, Jacinto.
Jacinto was the kind of person who always seemed to know what he was doing. He was older than me, more confident, and usually the first person Dad trusted whenever something needed to be handled.
And then there was Damon, my younger brother.
At nineteen, Damon was still figuring himself out. He could be annoying, loud, and impossible to predict, but somehow the house always felt quieter whenever he wasn’t around.
Then there was me.
Twenty-five.
Single.
Still living with my parents.
I suppose some people might have considered that strange.
But the Abanado family had never lived an ordinary life.
Our family had money.
Not the kind of money that made us famous or allowed us to live like celebrities, but enough to live comfortably. Much of it came from things that had been passed down through generations—property, land, investments, and things my father rarely talked about.
We were comfortable.
We were secure.
And most importantly, we had a home.
At least, we did.
Until my father told us we were leaving.
“Why?”
That was the first question that came out of my mouth.
My father was sitting at the dining table, quietly drinking his coffee. My mother was beside him, looking through a stack of papers.
“We found a new place,” Dad said.
“A new place?”
“Yes.”
Jacinto looked up from his phone.
“Where?”
Dad didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he pushed a photograph across the table.
I picked it up.
It was a picture of a large old house.
The house looked nothing like the one we lived in.
It was enormous.
Tall windows covered the front of the building. The walls looked worn but strong, and several large trees surrounded the property. There was a long driveway leading toward an iron gate.
It looked less like a home and more like something that belonged in a history book.
“What is this?” I asked.
“Our new house.”
Damon laughed.
“You’re joking.”
Dad shook his head.
“No.”
Nobody said anything for a few seconds.
I looked at Mom.
She seemed just as uncertain as the rest of us.
“Why are we moving?”
Dad placed his cup on the table.
“Because the house we’re living in now is going to be sold.”
“Sold to who?”
“Someone offered more than we expected.”
Jacinto frowned.
“So we’re selling the house just because someone offered a lot of money?”
“Not exactly.”
Dad leaned back in his chair.
“There are other reasons.”
That answer only made me more curious.
“What reasons?”
He looked at Mom.
She didn’t say anything.
Then Dad looked back at us.
“The house needs too much work. The property taxes have increased. Repairs are becoming expensive. And we’ve been offered an opportunity to move somewhere much larger.”
“Much larger?” Damon asked.
Dad smiled.
“Much larger.”
I looked at the photograph again.
There was something strange about it.
I couldn’t explain what.
Maybe it was the house itself.
Maybe it was the way the windows seemed to stare back at me.
Or maybe it was simply because I didn’t understand why my father wanted us to live there.
“When are we moving?”
“Next week.”
“Next week?”
I almost laughed.
“You’ve already decided?”
Dad nodded.
“We have.”
Mom finally looked up from the papers.
“It will be good for us.”
I looked at her.
“You’re sure?”
She smiled.
“I think we all need a change.”
Maybe she was right.
Maybe we did.
A week later, the house was ours.
The first thing I noticed when we arrived was how quiet the property was.
There were no neighbors immediately beside us.
No cars passing every few seconds.
No children playing outside.
Just trees.
The kind of old trees that seemed to have been there long before any of us.
The gate opened slowly as our car entered the property.
I looked through the window.
The house became larger with every meter we drove.
Damon was practically glued to the glass.
“That’s huge.”
Jacinto looked at him.
“You’ve said that five times.”
“Because it’s still huge.”
Mom laughed from the front seat.
Dad said nothing.
He simply kept driving.
When we finally stopped in front of the house, everyone got out.
I stood there for a moment.
The wind moved through the trees.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard birds.
I looked up at the house.
It was beautiful.
Old, but beautiful.
The kind of house that made you wonder who had lived there before you.
Dad walked toward the entrance.
“Come on.”
We followed him.
The front door opened with a long, deep creak.
Inside, the house smelled of old wood and dust.
Sunlight entered through the tall windows and stretched across the floor.
There were rooms everywhere.
A large living room.
A dining room.
A library.
A staircase leading upstairs.
And a hallway that seemed to continue farther than I expected.
“This place is insane,” Jacinto said.
Mom smiled.
“Give it a chance.”
Damon ran upstairs.
“Damon!” Mom shouted.
“What?”
“Don’t run!”
His footsteps continued anyway.
Jacinto shook his head.
I smiled.
For the first time since Dad had announced the move, I felt a little excited.
Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea.
Maybe a new house meant a new beginning.
The rest of the afternoon disappeared into boxes.
There were boxes in the living room, boxes in the dining room, boxes along the hallway, and probably enough boxes upstairs to build another house.
Dad and Jacinto started moving the heavier furniture.
Mom took charge of the kitchen almost immediately.
I helped wherever I could, carrying boxes from room to room and trying to figure out where everything was supposed to go.
Damon, meanwhile, had apparently decided that unpacking meant opening random boxes and looking inside them.
“Damon!”
“What?”
“Why are you opening that?”
“I’m checking what’s inside.”
“That’s not your job.”
“How else am I supposed to know?”
“You read the label.”
He looked at the box.
Then at me.
“Oh.”
I laughed.
He rolled his eyes and continued opening it anyway.
Mom walked into the room and looked around.
“Okay, everyone. We need to start with the important things.”
“What counts as important?” Damon asked.
“The kitchen.”
“Food?”
“Plates.”
“Food is more important.”
“Damon.”
“Fine.”
Jacinto walked past us carrying a large wooden chair.
“Where does this go?”
“Dining room,” Mom answered.
Jacinto stopped.
“Which side?”
“The left.”
He looked toward the dining room.
“There are two left sides.”
Mom stared at him.
Jacinto stared back.
I started laughing.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re supposed to be the one who knows what you’re doing.”
“Shut up, Cael.”
Dad walked in carrying another box.
“What’s going on?”
“Your sons don’t know how directions work,” Mom said.
Dad looked at the three of us.
Then he smiled.
“Good luck.”
And he walked away.
We all laughed.
For the next few hours, the house was filled with the sounds of our family.
Furniture scraping across wooden floors.
Boxes opening.
Mom giving instructions.
Dad telling us where things should go.
Jacinto complaining about the heavy furniture.
Damon playing music from his phone while pretending to work.
And me trying not to get dragged into whatever argument the two of them were having.
It was chaotic.
But it felt familiar.
The house was huge and unfamiliar, but our voices filled it quickly.
For a moment, it didn’t feel like an old house anymore.
It felt like home.
By late afternoon, we had made enough progress to actually see the rooms beneath all the boxes.
Mom had arranged the kitchen.
Dad had finished setting up most of the living room.
Jacinto had managed to put together a shelf without breaking anything.
Damon had somehow claimed the best spot on the couch.
I was sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes, when Mom walked past me.
“Cael.”
“Yeah?”
“Are you planning to unpack those?”
I looked at the boxes beside me.
“Eventually.”
“When?”
I thought about it.
“Tomorrow?”
She smiled.
“I knew it.”
She walked away.
I laughed quietly.
For the first time that day, I looked around the room without seeing it as a strange place.
Our family photographs were already sitting on the shelves.
Our furniture was in place.
Mom had put a vase of flowers on the dining table.
Dad’s old chair was beside the window.
Jacinto’s shoes were already lying in the hallway.
Damon had left his jacket on the couch.
Little things.
Normal things.
Things that made the house feel like ours.
That evening, we ate together.
Nothing fancy.
Just takeout because the kitchen was still a mess.
We sat around the dining table, tired from the move.
Damon leaned back in his chair.
“I still can’t believe we’re living here.”
Jacinto took a drink.
“You’ll get used to it.”
“I hope not.”
“Why?”
“Because then it won’t feel special anymore.”
Dad smiled.
“Give it time.”
Mom looked around the table.
Everyone was tired.
Everyone looked exhausted.
But we were together.
She smiled.
“To our new home.”
Dad raised his glass.
“To a new beginning.”
Jacinto lifted his.
Damon followed.
I looked at them all before raising mine.
“To us.”
The glasses touched.
For a moment, everything felt perfect.
Maybe Mom was right.
Maybe we really did need a change.
Maybe this house could become something more than just a place we lived.
Maybe it could become our home.
Later that night, everyone went to their rooms.
The house became quiet again.
I stayed downstairs for a while, sitting alone in the living room.
I looked around.
During the day, the house had felt alive.
Now it felt completely different.
The shadows were longer.
The rooms looked larger.
The old wooden walls seemed darker under the dim lights.
I finally stood up and walked toward the staircase.
My hand brushed against the wooden railing.
It was cold.
Unusually cold.
I stopped.
For just a moment, I thought I heard something upstairs.
A faint sound.
Like someone walking.
I looked toward the second floor.
Nothing.
“Dad?”
He was already talking to the movers.
I looked back at the stairs.
Nothing.
I shrugged.
It was probably the house settling.
Old houses made strange noises.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
I didn’t know it yet...
but moving into that house would become the strangest decision our family had ever made.
