Chapter 00 – Before the Door
(Note: For easy reading and sequence of events, this text precedes the first chapter of the story. It is just an introductory summary of the story for a better reading. Enjoy.)
🕯️ "Not everything that knocks... wants to be let in."
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Some say houses are just wood and stone.
Others say they remember.
This one?
It watches.
It listens.
And it waits.
They say some houses are alive.
But this one doesn't breathe.
It remembers.
And when it remembers… it recreates.
It began before the key turned.
Before the suitcase was dropped.
Before the dust sighed beneath her shoes.
Before her name was whispered through walls she hadn't yet stepped into.
The house had already seen her.
Already chosen her.
Already started remembering her—
even though she didn't remember it.
There were no welcome mats.
No warmth.
Just the faint scent of wet wood and lavender—
and the unmistakable weight of a silence that watches.
She paused at the gate.
Fingers hovering.
Not sure if she was arriving...
or returning.
Then the door creaked open—
not by her hand.
A soft gust brushed past her shoulder.
A breath?
A sigh?
She would wonder about that later.
Inside: stillness.
But not the safe kind.
The air pulsed like something living.
Like walls that dream in sleep no one wakes from.
Like floors that remember footsteps
no one else can hear.
She didn't speak.
She couldn't.
Something in her chest tightened—
like recognition.
Or warning.
There was a mirror in the hallway.
It blinked.
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✶ Whispered Fragments ✶
The following echoes are scattered through the house—
echoes of what was, what is, and what might be.
—
"I didn't choose this house. It chose me."
"Every night, someone whispers my name—but it's never the same name twice."
"They told me the house had been empty for years. They lied."
"I keep hearing footsteps, but the floor is silent."
"There was a note under my pillow. My handwriting. My words. But I never wrote it."
"Time bends here. Clocks stop. Mirrors hesitate."
"Someone moved the mug. I live alone."
"3:12 AM. Always 3:12."
"The reflection blinked before I did."
"I saw her again today. Same eyes. Same face. Not me."
"She handed me the keys. Then she vanished."
"I remember a fire. But there are no burn marks."
"The house smells like rain… but it hasn't rained in weeks."
"He said, 'You've been here before.' I haven't."
"The same voice. Over and over. Asking me to come home."
"What if I'm not the first version of me to live here?"
"I've started locking doors I never opened."
"Dreams bleed into mornings now."
"Something is waiting. Behind the silence."
"I don't think the house wants me to leave."
"Was it always this cold?"
"I forgot what day it is. Again."
"There's a room that wasn't on the floor plan."
"Her photo is still on the wall. But I never put it there."
"I whispered, and the house answered."
"Some memories are inherited. Others are implanted."
"Am I remembering… or being made to remember?"
"I don't think I came here alone."
—
> "I tried to leave once.
The door opened, but the world outside had changed.
There were no streets. No sky.
Only her, standing at the gate, smiling like she never died."
> Maybe I came here to escape.
Or maybe I was sent back.
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📅 Recorded on: July 22, 2025
(22 / 07 / 2025)
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⚠️ Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction.
All names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination.
Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The author publishes anonymously for personal privacy.
No personal data or identity is attached to this publication.
© Victoria's Whispers – All rights reserved.
Do not copy, translate, or repost without explicit permission.
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🔍 Question for You, Reader:
What do you think the house saw in her...
that made it open the door?