The house refused to let them forget it was alive. Every time one of them closed their eyes, the reminder came: a groan in the hallway that sounded too much like a sigh, a knock against the wall that echoed just long enough to feel intentional, the chandelier in the foyer tinkling gently as though invisible fingers were brushing the crystals. The sounds weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be. They were patient. Persistent. The kind of noise that worms its way under your skin and stays there.
