The motel room was silent, but Evelyn couldn't shake the feeling that something was listening. The air was stale, thick with the scent of aged wood and something faintly musty, like pages of an old book left untouched for too long. She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her thumb over the locket at her neck.
Lillian's photo was inside. Their last summer together, frozen in time.
She had told herself this trip was just for answers. But the truth felt heavier now, pressing into her chest. She wasn't just here for a story. She was here to face the thing that had haunted her for fifteen years.
A sharp knock on the door sent a jolt through her.
Evelyn took a breath, steadying herself before unlocking it.
A woman stood in the dim hallway, wrapped in a thick cardigan, her gray-streaked hair pulled into a no-nonsense bun. Her gaze was steady but unreadable.
"You're the journalist."
Evelyn hesitated before nodding. "Evelyn Carter."
The woman studied her for a moment before extending a hand. "Martha Reed. I run this place."
Evelyn shook it, feeling the strength in the woman's grip.
"I remember you," Martha said. "You used to be Lillian Gray's friend."
The words hit like a pebble breaking still water. Evelyn held her gaze, waiting for the judgment, the warning. But Martha only sighed.
"You shouldn't have come back."
Evelyn crossed her arms. "I keep hearing that."
Martha's fingers twitched at her sides, barely perceptible. "Then maybe you should listen."
The air between them felt heavier. The motel's dim hallway suddenly seemed too quiet, as if the world had paused, waiting.
Evelyn finally broke the silence. "What happened to Lillian?"
Martha's expression didn't change, but something in her eyes flickered.
"The same thing that happens to everything this town forgets," she murmured. "It disappears."
Before Evelyn could respond, Martha turned and walked away, her footsteps too light for a woman her age.
The warning settled over her like a weight she couldn't shake.
The next morning, Evelyn drove to the one place she had sworn she'd never return to.
Lillian's house.
It stood on the far edge of town, past the old church where the road thinned into gravel. The forest encroached on the property, its trees bending inward, as if they, too, were trying to reclaim what had been left behind.
The house itself hadn't changed much two stories, weather-worn blue paint, sagging porch steps. But it felt different now. Like something was watching.
The town called it cursed. Some whispered that Lillian never really left.
Evelyn didn't believe in ghosts.
But as she stepped onto the porch, the boards groaned beneath her weight, a slow, aching sound that made her skin crawl.
She reached for the doorknob, already knowing it would be locked. It was. But the side entrance the one she and Lillian had used as kids to sneak out on summer nights had always been loose.
She pressed against it. The wood stuck for a moment, then gave way with a hollow creak.
Inside, dust blanketed every surface, thick and undisturbed. The air was damp, tinged with something rotten beneath the scent of aged wood. The silence wasn't empty. It was listening.
She stepped forward.
Something shifted in the corner of her vision. A trick of the light nothing more.
The old staircase loomed to her left, the railing coated in dust. Ahead, the hallway stretched into shadows, doors cracked open just enough to suggest something might be waiting inside.
Then
A whisper.
So faint, it could have been the wind slipping through the cracks. But there was no wind.
Evelyn's breath caught.
The sound hadn't come from outside. It had come from inside the house.
She swallowed hard.
It was just the house settling. Just her imagination.
And yet
Somewhere deep in her gut, something whispered back:
The house remembers.
The Hollow Echo
The air inside the house was thick, suffocating. Dust clung to the beams of light filtering through the cracked blinds, swirling in lazy patterns as Evelyn moved deeper inside. The silence was its own kind of weight, pressing against her ears, making her own breath sound too loud.
She shouldn't be here.
But turning back now would mean giving in to fear, to doubt, to the whispered warnings that had followed her since she arrived.
Evelyn took another step forward, her fingers brushing along the edge of the hallway table. A thin layer of dust coated her skin. The last time she had been here, there had been fresh flowers in a vase, their petals wilting in the summer heat.
Now, only the ghosts of memories remained.
She passed the living room, its furniture draped in white sheets like forgotten bodies. The old grandfather clock stood against the wall, its hands frozen at 2:17.
She frowned. That wasn't right.
When Lillian disappeared, it had been just past midnight. Evelyn remembered because she had stared at her own alarm clock that night, waiting for a phone call that never came.
She reached out, brushing her fingertips against the clock's face.
A sudden thud echoed through the house.
Evelyn's breath hitched.
It had come from upstairs.
The logical part of her brain said it was nothing a bird nesting in the attic, an old house settling. But logic had never explained the way Lillian had vanished without a trace.
She turned toward the staircase, each step creaking beneath her weight. The upstairs hallway was darker, the doors shut tight, as if the rooms themselves were holding their breath.
She reached Lillian's bedroom. The door was ajar.
Pushing it open, she hesitated at the threshold.
Everything was still here. The bed, the old wooden dresser, the bookshelf crammed with novels they used to trade back and forth. A layer of dust dulled the edges, but nothing had been touched. It was as if time had frozen the room the day Lillian disappeared.
Evelyn stepped inside.
The window was cracked open, the wind whispering through the sheer curtains. The air smelled faintly of rain, damp and electric.
Then, her eyes landed on the desk.
Something was off.
The papers that had been scattered the last time she was here newspapers, Lillian's old sketches were gone. In their place sat a single object.
A notebook.
Lillian's journal.
Evelyn's pulse quickened.
She had searched for it after Lillian disappeared, desperate for anything that might explain what had happened. But it had never been found.
So why was it sitting here now, as if waiting for her?
She reached for it, fingers trembling.
A chill ran through her as she flipped open the cover.
The first page was blank.
The second, too.
But on the third page, written in shaky, uneven handwriting, were three words that made Evelyn's blood turn to ice.
Don't trust them.
A shadow moved in the reflection of the window behind her.
Evelyn spun around.
The room was empty.
But she wasn't alone.
She could feel it.
Something in this house had been waiting for her.
And now, it knew she was here.