Therapy Bits

The old house, with its wildly overgrown garden, was silent, secretive. Vines clung to the cracked walls as though guarding whatever lingered inside. Mara pushed open the gate, its hinges sighing like something waking from a long sleep. She had returned only to retrieve a single box from the attic, but the air felt charged, expectant, as if the house remembered her better than she remembered herself.

Dust spiraled in her flashlight’s beam. Each step forward echoed too loudly, swallowing the hush rather than breaking it. The family portraits were still on the wall, the faces slightly blurred by time, their eyes following her with a familiarity she didn’t welcome.

In the attic, the box waited exactly where she’d left it. She knelt, hands trembling, and lifted the lid. Inside lay letters she’d never written but recognized instantly—her handwriting looping across yellowed pages describing events she had not yet lived. A cold shiver crept up her spine.

The last envelope bore tomorrow’s date. She hesitated, then opened it. Her breath stopped. The message was short, written in frantic strokes: “Leave now. Do not look back.”

Behind her, the floorboards groaned, answering. She ran as darkness gathered, swallowing the house whole.

Fandango’s Story Starter #225 – Facts, Fictions & Fantasies