The evening breeze brushed gently against Helen's face as she stepped down from the old bus that had stopped by the narrow road leading into her childhood village. The sun was sinking behind the treeline, its fading glow reflecting off the rows of rubber trees lining the path. This village… she had not returned for twelve long years. And yet now, for reasons she could not fully understand, something had pulled her back—something stronger than the logic that tried to keep her away.
It all began three days earlier when she received 'a strange letter'. The paper was yellowed, like it had been stored for decades. No stamp. No sender's name. Only a single sentence written in shaky handwriting:
"Come home. The house on the hill is waiting."
At first, Helen thought it was a prank. But the more she tried to ignore it, the more the words echoed in her mind—haunting her sleep, disturbing her thoughts. It felt as though a faint voice from far away was calling her back to the place she had tried so hard to forget.
Her steps were slow as she walked along the silent village road. Once, this place had been lively with the laughter of children and the chatter of neighbors. Now, it was nothing but quiet. The old wooden houses still stood, but many were empty, worn down, abandoned. The air carried the scent of damp soil, mixing nostalgia with creeping unease.
She stopped at a small junction that led to a low hill. There she saw it—the silhouette of a large wooden house standing alone at the top.
Her grandmother Maria's house.
The house she had avoided since her grandmother's mysterious death twelve years ago.
"This is a terrible idea…" she whispered.
But her feet kept moving anyway.
The closer she got, the more clearly the house came into view. Its windows were dark, its wooden walls peeling, its roof sagging slightly as though exhausted. But what made Helen's heartbeat quicken… was something that should not have been there.
The front door was slightly ajar.
She froze. Her breath hitched.
"No one should be here," she muttered, though she didn't believe her own voice.
She climbed the damp wooden steps. They creaked under her weight, groaning as if they had not held a human presence in years. When she pushed the door open, the rusty hinges cried out—a long, ragged moan that sent chills crawling down her spine.
Inside, it was dark—yet surprisingly not as dusty as she had expected. Instead, certain parts of the floor looked recently swept. Her fingers brushed an old wooden table—her grandmother's—and she frowned.
"Not thick dust…"
It was as though the house had been lived in recently.
Or… visited.
Helen swallowed hard. Her heartbeat quickened.
Perhaps a thief had broken in.
Perhaps a distant relative had come by.
Perhaps…
Her instincts disagreed with every explanation.
She stepped further inside. The old family photographs still hung crooked on the walls. There was even one of herself as a child, sitting on her grandmother's lap. Her grandmother was not smiling in the photo. Hawa hardly ever smiled.
As a child, Helen always felt the house hid something—something her grandmother guarded fiercely. Especially the small storeroom at the end of the upstairs hallway.
The room that was always locked. The room that scared her even when she simply walked past it.
Helen felt the urge to call out her grandmother's name, though she knew the woman had long been dead. Before the words left her mouth—
THUD.
Helen froze. The sound came from upstairs.
THUD… THUD…
Soft, deliberate footsteps.
She lifted her head slowly. The wooden ceiling looked calm, but she knew what she heard. That was not the scampering of rats. Not the settling of old timber.
Someone was walking.
Or… something.
"You need to leave," her instincts screamed.
But something heavier—something deeper—pulled her toward the staircase. She needed to know. Needed to see who, or what, was up there.
The stairs creaked loudly as she climbed. Each step shattered the silence of the sleeping house. When she reached the upper floor, the hallway greeted her in darkness. A small window at the far end was partially open, letting in a cold wind that made the torn curtain flutter eerily.
Helen braced herself against the chill.
The hallway looked exactly as she remembered. And at the far end…
The storeroom door.
The door that haunted her dreams as a child.
The door that was always locked.
The door that… now had something carved into it.
She stepped closer, her pulse racing painfully.
Three long scratches slashed across the wood—fresh, the splinters still scattered on the floor.
And in the middle of those scratches, something was etched in smaller strokes:
"SIS."
Helen felt her blood turn to ice.
"That makes no sense… I'm an only child…"
She stumbled backward, unable to tear her eyes away from the word.
Then—
tok… tok… tok…
A gentle knocking from inside the storeroom.
Like… small fingers tapping the wood.
Helen clamped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened in terror. Her breath came fast and shallow.
Then, in the suffocating silence, a soft voice emerged. Faint. Childlike. Whispering just beyond the door.
"…Sister… Helen… you're home…?"
Her heart nearly stopped.
The voice didn't sound angry.
It didn't sound monstrous.
It sounded…
Like someone who had been waiting.
Longing.
Lonely.
Someone she never knew existed.
Someone who believed she was their sister.
Someone… inside that locked room.
---
To be continued....