20/06/2025
It started with a letter.
No stamp. No return address. Just a pale blue envelope slid under the door of Daniel's small apartment. The paper inside was old, creased, and smelled faintly of lavender. It read:
> “Come to 17 Vale Street. Midnight. Do not bring anyone. Do not speak until spoken to.”
Daniel stared at the note for a long time. He didn’t recognize the handwriting. He had never heard of Vale Street. But something about it tugged at him—like the memory of a dream just out of reach.
At 11:45 PM, curiosity beat caution. He grabbed a flashlight and left.
---
Vale Street wasn’t on the map.
He wandered the city’s back roads and alleys until the street revealed itself—quiet, narrow, lit only by the moon. Number 17 was a house swallowed by shadows, its windows blank and dark.
Daniel knocked once. The door creaked open by itself.
Inside, the air was thick and still. Every step he took made no sound. The house had no echo.
He whispered “Hello?” but his voice didn’t carry. It was as if the walls swallowed sound.
Suddenly, a voice—not his—spoke from the top of the stairs.
“You came. Good.”
A figure stood in the dim hallway above. Pale, tall, wearing a black coat that shimmered slightly as if wet.
“Do you know what this house is?” the voice asked.
Daniel shook his head.
“It’s a place where memories go to sleep. Forgotten memories. Abandoned thoughts. Things people choose to forget.”
The figure walked down slowly. The floor made no noise.
“You were here once before. Long ago. You left something behind.”
“I—I don’t remember,” Daniel said, though no sound escaped his lips.
“Exactly,” the figure replied. “Follow me.”
They went to the basement. The walls were lined with mirrors, but none reflected Daniel’s face.
In the center was a small wooden box. The figure handed it to him.
Inside: a photograph of Daniel as a child, standing beside a woman he had never seen before. But the warmth in his chest said otherwise.
“Who is she?” he asked, his voice still lost in the silence.
“Your mother,” the figure whispered. “You chose to forget her. The pain was too great.”
Daniel’s knees went weak. He clutched the photo.
“I want to remember.”
The figure nodded. “Then listen.”
And for the first time, the house echoed. The walls whispered lullabies, rain tapping against windows, her voice calling his name.
Tears streamed down Daniel’s face.
When he looked up, the figure was gone.
So was the house.
He stood in an empty lot, holding the photo, the echo of a memory now fully awake.
