Rain lashed against the windows of the old Victorian, mimicking the frantic drumming in Leo's chest. He kept fiddling with the antique brass doorknob, turning it this way and that, even though it was already unlocked. The air inside felt thick, stagnant, as if the house itself held its breath. His sister, Clara, hummed a tuneless melody as she wandered through the living room, touching the dust-covered furniture. "Grandma’s still here," she said, her voice echoing strangely. He swallowed hard, a prickling sensation crawling up his spine.
Leo found himself avoiding eye contact with the portrait of their grandmother hanging in the hallway. Her knowing smile seemed to follow him, a silent invitation he didn't want to accept. He’d promised Clara he’d help sort through the attic, but he kept finding excuses to linger downstairs, examining the chipped teacups in the kitchen and the faded floral wallpaper. The shadows in the corners seemed to shift, to lengthen with every passing moment.
He grabbed a bottle of water and went back to the front door, staring at the street. Each car that passed had him flinching, wondering if someone was looking back at the house. He wished they could just pack up the house and leave. "Clara, I think I'm going to take a walk."