The house was quite. Absolute silence used to make me uneasy, but now it reassures me. Not only was it silent, it was freezing. Ice crept up the windows and doors, enslaving the house. The frozen floors popped and moaned with my weight. I sneaked toward the kitchen. The room wasn’t wrecked like I expected, but a random house in the country wouldn’t get much attention. It was as if the family just got up from their meal and abandoned their life.
I shut the doors quietly behind me, careful not to make unnecessary noises. I wasn’t sure who I was so afraid of disturbing, but the thought lingered in my mind like a bad taste. The high ceilings echoed my movements, slow shuffling and muffled coughs. My teeth chattered and my bones ached as the winter wind swept across me.
Why was I here? What would an old house have to interest me? The house was notorious for suicides. Every family who occupied it would inevitably kill themselves. It didn’t take