BENEATH THE SILENCE

Daily next chapter will be posted...

Chapter 1

A House of Secrets

The moving truck growled as it crawled down Oakwood Lane, a corridor of towering oaks whose gnarled branches seemed to reach for the sky in a dance of shadows. Claire Hayes trailed behind in her aging sedan, the rhythmic hum of the tires drowned out by the thrum of her racing thoughts. This was supposed to be a fresh start—a new chapter in a life that had been fractured beyond repair. But as the road narrowed and the houses grew farther apart, Claire couldn’t shake the feeling that she was stepping into something far older than herself.

Her GPS chimed with sterile finality: “You have arrived at your destination.”

The house stood before her, shrouded in the golden haze of late afternoon light. It was a modest, two-story structure with peeling white paint and sagging porch steps. The kind of house that whispered of another time, another life. Despite its wear, there was a charm about it—a quiet defiance that had drawn Claire to it the moment she saw the listing.

She parked behind the moving truck and stepped out, the crisp autumn air biting her cheeks. The scent of damp earth and decaying leaves filled her lungs. She paused for a moment, taking in her new surroundings: the rustle of wind through the oaks, the faint chirp of birds, the absolute stillness of the street. It felt as though the house had been waiting for her.

“Miss Hayes?”

The voice startled her, and she turned to see one of the movers standing by the truck, clipboard in hand.

“Yes,” she replied, her city accent cutting sharply through the rural quiet.

“We’ll have this all unloaded in a couple of hours. Just let us know where you want everything.”

Claire nodded, forcing a polite smile as she climbed the creaking porch steps. The key turned stiffly in the lock, and the door groaned open, revealing the faint scent of cedar and timeworn dust.

The sunlight streamed through large windows, spilling across hardwood floors that creaked beneath her weight. A stone fireplace dominated the living room, its soot-stained edges telling of countless winters past. The air carried a strange stillness, as though the house had been holding its breath for years, waiting for someone to disturb its slumber.

---

By the time the movers left, dusk had painted the sky in shades of bruised purple. Boxes were stacked haphazardly in the corners, and the house had begun to take shape around her belongings—a gray couch here, bookshelves there. She wandered from room to room, imagining the life she would build within these walls.

The master bedroom upstairs offered a view of the backyard, where skeletal trees stretched their arms toward a fading sun. A smaller room down the hall would serve as her office. It was perfect—or at least, it would be.

Finally, Claire ascended the narrow staircase to the attic. The air grew cooler with each step, the wooden planks groaning beneath her feet. A single bulb cast a weak glow over the dim, dusty space. Cobwebs draped the rafters, and an old trunk sat nestled in one corner like a forgotten guardian.

But it was the pile of yellowing newspapers and books near the far wall that caught her attention. Something about it called to her, pulling her forward. She knelt, brushing aside layers of dust until her fingers brushed against cracked leather.

She pulled out an old journal, its cover worn and faded. Her fingertips traced the ridges of its spine as a peculiar chill ran down her back. Opening it, she found the first page scrawled in elegant but hurried cursive.

June 14, 1993

"He’s watching me again. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this a secret. If I disappear, they’ll know why."

Claire’s breath hitched. The words were raw, trembling with a fear that leapt across decades. She turned the fragile pages, each one heavy with cryptic entries: mentions of “him” and “the secret.” She read faster, her pulse quickening, until she reached the final entry:

July 12, 1993

"He said he’d make me disappear if I talked. Maybe he’s right."

The attic felt colder, the shadows longer. Claire glanced around, half expecting to see someone lurking in the corners, but the space was empty. Still, the journal’s presence filled the room with an oppressive weight.

Who had written it? And what had happened to them?

---

Back in the living room, Claire placed the journal on the coffee table and poured herself a glass of wine. The soft glow of the fireplace did little to dispel the unease curling in her chest.

Her logical mind told her it was just an old relic, a forgotten piece of someone else’s past. But the desperate tone of the words gnawed at her, refusing to be dismissed. This wasn’t just a relic—it was a cry for help from the grave.

Lying in bed that night, Claire stared at the ceiling, her thoughts spiraling. The house was silent except for the occasional groan of wood settling. Yet every sound felt amplified, like the house was alive, listening.

She closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. The journal’s final words echoed in her mind, relentless and chilling:

"He said he’d make me disappear."

In the stillness of the night, Claire couldn’t help but wonder:

What had this house witnessed? And what was it trying to tell her?