Aria didn't sleep for the rest of the night.
She sat upright in bed, hugging her knees, eyes fixed on the door. Every creak in the wooden walls made her flinch. The whispers had stopped, but their echo remained in her mind like a haunting melody that refused to fade.
Morning light crept in through the curtains. It was dull and gray, filtered by the ever-present clouds. This house felt as if it lived in permanent shadow.
She finally rose and tiptoed into the hallway, her bare feet cold against the wooden floor. The attic door stood at the end of the corridor, still shut tight, but something about it felt... alive. She stared at it for a moment before walking past quickly.
In the kitchen, she found Caleb making coffee. He didn't say anything at first, just poured a second cup and slid it across the counter toward her.
"You look like hell," he said bluntly, eyes still fixed on the coffee pot.
"Did you hear anything last night?" Aria asked.
"Like what?"
"Voices. Children whispering. Crying."
Caleb paused for half a second — barely noticeable — but enough to make Aria's heart skip. "No," he said flatly, then took a long sip. "Maybe you were dreaming."
"I was awake," she whispered.
"Then maybe this house is just messing with your head."
He left it at that.
---
Later that day, Ethan offered to show Aria around the property. The forest behind the house had grown wild — vines curled around old fences, and moss crept up the stone walls. The air smelled of earth and pine, wet from the previous night's rain.
They stopped near an old treehouse. The wood was rotting, the ladder broken.
"We used to play here all the time," Ethan said, his voice softer now. "Before everything went wrong."
Aria looked up at the treehouse. "Do you remember anything from the night of the fire?"
Ethan's face tightened. He hesitated, then shook his head. "Bits and pieces. Smoke. Screaming. Then... nothing."
Aria looked at him carefully. "Do you ever hear things? See things?"
He glanced at her, startled. "You mean, like... ghosts?"
She didn't answer. But her silence was enough.
Ethan looked down. "Sometimes," he admitted. "But I thought it was just me going crazy."
They both stood in silence for a long time. The wind whispered through the trees, like unseen voices still trapped in the past.
---
That evening, Aidan called for dinner. The table was quiet. Forks scraped plates. No one made much conversation.
Then, Aria asked, "What's in the attic?"
Aidan's hand froze mid-cut.
Caleb looked up slowly.
Ethan shifted uncomfortably.
"What attic?" Aidan replied.
Aria narrowed her eyes. "The one at the end of the hallway. The door's locked."
"There's no attic," Aidan said firmly. "You're imagining things."
Aria's heart pounded. She knew what she saw. And more than that, she knew what she heard.
Something was in that attic.
And her brothers were hiding it.