The town looked smaller than I remembered.
The roads were cracked, lined with weeds that clawed through the asphalt like veins of something alive. The air smelled faintly of rust and smoke — a ghost of a scent that had never left since the night it all burned. My old hometown, Greystone Hollow, was a place no one really talked about anymore. People left. Buildings collapsed. And the silence stayed behind like dust that refused to settle.
Ten years. That's how long it had been since the fire. Since the night I lost everything.
The taxi that brought me here had left five minutes ago, but I was still standing in the same spot, suitcase in hand, staring at the blackened outline of what used to be my home. The gate hung by a single hinge. The mailbox was half-melted, the paint bubbled away to reveal gray metal. I stepped forward slowly, afraid the ground might still remember what happened.
I wasn't sure why I came back. Maybe because nightmares only stop when you face them. Maybe because I finally found the courage to open the box in my apartment — the one with the newspaper clippings and the old photo of my parents smiling on the front porch before everything turned to ash.
The house didn't look real anymore. It was just bones now — a frame of charred beams, a broken staircase leading nowhere, windows without glass like eyes that had forgotten how to cry.
I set my suitcase down and walked toward the porch. My boots sank slightly in the dirt. The sound of crunching glass underfoot startled me, and for a second, I thought I heard something — a whisper carried by the wind.
"...Elara…"
I froze. My name.
No one was there, of course. Only the hollow wind curling through the remains of walls and broken doorways. I told myself it was the breeze, the sound of memory echoing in my head. But my chest still tightened.
The fire report had said "accidental electrical fault." My father died trying to put it out. My mother… her body was never found. For years, people whispered that she might have escaped. Others said she had started the fire herself. The truth changed depending on who was speaking — and no one ever told it to me directly.
Now, walking through the ruins, I felt every version of the story pressing down on me at once.
The living room was still recognizable — the same fireplace, though the mantel had collapsed. I ran my fingers over the edge of a burnt picture frame, half-buried in ash. Inside, the photograph had melted into a swirl of gray and silver. Only a corner remained clear enough to show a face — my mother's eyes.
I felt something twist in my chest.
"Mom?" I whispered, my voice breaking against the silence.
A floorboard cracked somewhere above me. My head snapped up. There shouldn't be a second floor — the stairs had fallen years ago.
For a heartbeat, I swore I saw a shadow move across the ceiling.
I took a step back, nearly tripping on a loose plank. My pulse thundered in my ears. It was probably an animal — a raccoon or stray cat. That's what I told myself as I turned toward the doorway. That's when I saw it: something small, half-hidden under a fallen beam near the fireplace.
It was a photo. Burned around the edges, but still visible. My family — me, Mom, Dad… and someone else.
A man.
He was standing slightly behind my mother, hand on her shoulder, smiling. I didn't recognize him. But what made my blood run cold was the pendant around his neck — a small silver charm shaped like a flame. The same one I was wearing.
The one Mom had given me on my tenth birthday.
My hand shook as I traced the outline of the pendant in the photo. The man's eyes seemed to look directly at me, even through the haze of soot and burn marks.
I stuffed the picture into my jacket pocket and stepped back outside. The morning fog had thickened, swallowing the edges of the street. Somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed, and the sound echoed too long, like it was trapped.
My phone buzzed — a text from an unknown number.
> Unknown: "You shouldn't have come back."
My stomach dropped. I turned around instinctively, scanning the empty street. Nothing but silence and fog.
Another buzz.
> Unknown: "Some things are meant to stay buried, Elara."
I stared at the screen until the message faded. Then, slowly, I looked back at the ruins.
The ashes seemed to shift in the wind. And I could have sworn I heard it again — faint, low, and human.
> "Elara… don't dig too deep."
The voice was softer this time. Almost kind.
But when I turned toward it, there was nothing there.
Only the sound of the wind… and the faint, lingering smell of smoke.