The Haunted Roots

THE HOUSE AT THE END OF THE ROAD

By the time the Miller family reached the end of the road, Daisy had stopped looking through the window.

There were hardly any houses left anyway.

The concrete buildings had thinned behind them until the road became red earth and grass. Their father’s Toyota bumped over stones while Lily slept against their mother’s shoulder and Michael argued with Maya over a missing phone charger.

Then Daisy noticed the trees.

They leaned toward the bungalow.

There was hardly any wind, but the branches seemed angled in the same direction, as though they were listening.

“Is that it?” Maya asked.

Their father nodded.

The bungalow sat beyond a low gate. Yellow walls. Dark wooden frames. A narrow veranda.

“It looks old,” Michael said.

“The landlord said it was renovated.”

Daisy said nothing.

Inside, the house smelled of dust, damp wood, and something older beneath both.

For the first hour, it was only a house.

Boxes. Arguments. Footsteps. Their mother calling for someone to carry a mattress. Michael complaining about the room he had been given. Lily wandering from doorway to doorway.

Normal.

That was what made Daisy trust it.

Later, while carrying a box toward the bedrooms, she noticed the corridor.

It ran from the sitting room toward the back rooms. The lights were on, yet the corridor looked darker than the rest of the house.

Daisy stood there for a moment.

“Daisy!”

Michael’s voice came from behind her.

She turned.

“What?”

“You’re blocking the way.”

She moved aside.

That night, long after the house had gone quiet, Daisy dreamed of roots pressing against the underside of the floor.

She woke before she understood why.

The room was dark.

For several seconds, she did not move.

Then she heard something beneath her bed.

Scrape.

A pause.

Scrape.

Daisy held her breath.

The sound stopped.

She waited.

Nothing.

Then, directly beneath her—

scrape.

She pulled the blanket to her chin and stared into the darkness until morning.