Echoes of the dark

It was late September when Jesse and her brother, Sam, first saw the house beneath the hill. The cool evening air bit at their skin as they made their way down the old, dusty road, their footsteps crunching over the dry leaves that littered the path. The town of Oakridge had always been quiet, the kind of place where everyone knew everyone else's business. But this house-this house was different.

Nestled at the bottom of a steep hill, its silhouette loomed ominously against the dimming sky. The windows, dark and lifeless, gave off the impression that the house had been abandoned for years, if not decades. The walls were covered in ivy and the roof was caved in at strange angles, as though the house itself was slowly sinking into the earth.

"I don't like it," Sam muttered, his hands shoving deeper into his jacket pockets. He was younger than Jesse, but there was an undeniable edge of maturity to him that made her second-guess her own unease. She turned to him with a half-hearted smile, trying to shake off the growing tension in her chest.

"It's just an old house, Sam. There's nothing to be afraid of," she said, trying to sound convincing. But the words felt hollow as they left her mouth. There was something in the air tonight, something that made the wind feel colder, sharper than usual.

Jesse's gaze lingered on the house, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw movement-just a flicker at one of the windows. She blinked, but when she looked again, the window was empty. She frowned, feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

"Let's go," she said quickly, pulling her brother's arm. But Sam, always the curious one, refused to move. His gaze was fixed on the house, a strange expression twisting his features.

"Jesse, look," he whispered. She turned toward him, following his gaze to the front porch of the house. There, standing perfectly still, was a figure. It was a man, his face obscured by the darkness, but Jesse could make out his broad shoulders and the faint outline of his posture.

For a moment, Jesse's heart skipped a beat. "Who is that?" she asked, her voice shaky.

But before Sam could respond, the figure turned sharply and vanished into the darkness of the house. The door creaked as it slowly swung shut behind him.

"Maybe it's just someone who lives here," Sam said, though his voice wavered slightly. "Let's go check it out."

Jesse grabbed his arm with more force than she intended. "No, we're not going up there. I don't care what it is. I don't like it."

But Sam, as stubborn as ever, wrenched himself free and started walking toward the house. Jesse hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly followed him. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were being drawn into something they didn't understand, something that had been waiting for them for much longer than they knew.

The closer they got to the house, the more oppressive the air became. The oppressive silence weighed on them, the only sound being the rustling of the wind in the trees. When they reached the front porch, Sam's foot hovered just above the first step.

"Are you sure about this?" Jesse asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Sam didn't answer. He simply pushed the door open with a creak that echoed into the empty house, and they both stepped inside.

The air inside was thick with dust and decay. The floorboards groaned beneath their feet as they cautiously stepped deeper into the darkness. The only light came from the dying glow of the evening sky, seeping through cracks in the walls and the broken windows.

Jesse's heart raced. She wanted to turn back, but something in her-something primal-kept her moving forward. She followed Sam, who seemed to know exactly where he was going, as though the house had some magnetic pull on him.

They reached a narrow hallway, and Sam paused in front of a door. Jesse felt a cold chill crawl up her spine, her instincts screaming at her to leave.

"This is it," Sam muttered, his hand hovering just above the doorknob. "This is the room I saw."

Jesse's stomach churned. "What room?"

Sam pushed the door open, and they both stepped inside.

The room was small, with rotting wallpaper peeling off the walls and a large, broken mirror hanging crookedly above a faded dresser. There was an old rocking chair in the center of the room, its wood warped and splintered.

But what caught Jesse's eye was the painting. It was a portrait of a family-two adults and two children. They looked strangely lifelike, as though they could jump out of the canvas at any moment. The eyes of the family members were cold, distant, yet they seemed to follow Jesse's every move.

"That's... that's the same man," Sam whispered, his finger pointing shakily at the father in the painting.

Jesse felt a shiver run through her. The man in the portrait looked eerily familiar, but she couldn't place where she had seen him before. Her mind raced, trying to connect the dots. Then it hit her-the figure they had seen outside the house.

"This is wrong," Jesse said, her voice trembling. "We need to leave. Now."

But before she could turn, the door slammed shut behind them with a deafening bang, plunging them into darkness.