09/27/2024
Episode 2: "The Man in the Shadows"
The pounding in Sophie’s chest hadn’t slowed since the voice whispered in her ear, echoing in her mind like a warning. The sound of it—the low, deliberate tone—lingered in her head, pulling at something deep inside her. There was something familiar about it. The way it had brushed against her ear, sending a cold rush of fear down her spine. She couldn’t place it, not fully, but the sense of recognition was undeniable.
Sophie stood frozen in place, her body refusing to move, her eyes fixed on the yawning darkness of the hallway. Her phone lay face down on the floor, its screen cracked from where it had slipped from her trembling hand. Vivian’s faint voice still crackled through the speaker, but it felt distant, almost like the house itself had swallowed the sound whole.
Her breath came in shallow bursts, her pulse thudding in her ears, drowning out everything else—until headlights suddenly cut through the gloom. Bright beams pierced the windows, slicing through the shadows that had felt so heavy just moments before.
Mark.
Relief surged through her, finally unlocking her from her paralysis. She stumbled toward the front door, fumbling with the latch in her panic, her fingers shaking as she yanked it open. The cold night air rushed in, hitting her like a slap, but it was nothing compared to the sense of safety that washed over her when she saw Mark’s tall, familiar figure hurrying up the steps.
"Sophie? Are you okay?" His voice was tight with urgency, his eyes wide as he took in her pale face, her trembling hands.
"I-I don’t know," she stammered, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "I heard something. Someone. There’s... someone inside the house. I’m sure of it."
Mark didn’t hesitate. He immediately pulled out his phone, dialing with quick, practiced movements. "Stay here," he said firmly, his voice steady even as he turned slightly away. "I’m calling the police."
Sophie nodded, her body trembling as she leaned against the doorframe, desperate to feel the solid structure behind her. The cold air was a welcome contrast to the suffocating stillness that had filled the house just moments before. She could hear Mark speaking in low tones as he explained the situation to the dispatcher, his words clipped and to the point.
"Yes, there’s been a possible intruder. The Morgan estate. I need someone out here immediately," he said. Then a pause. "No, she’s okay, but shaken up." Another pause. "Yes, I’ll stay with her. We’re outside the house."
Sophie closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm the wild beating of her heart. It hadn’t been her imagination. She knew what she had heard—the creak of the door, the deliberate footsteps, and that voice.
The voice.
It tugged at her memory again, slippery and elusive, like something from a dream she couldn’t quite grasp. But it was there, buried beneath the layers of fear. Familiar. She could feel it in her bones.
Mark hung up the phone and turned back to her, his expression serious but calm. "The police are sending someone. They’ll be here soon."
Sophie nodded again, trying to steady herself. She was grateful that Mark had come back when he did. She couldn’t imagine standing there alone, trapped in the darkness of the house, waiting. "I don’t understand," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Why would someone be here?"
Mark’s gaze flickered toward the house, his jaw tightening slightly before he looked back at her. "We’ll let the police figure that out," he said, his tone firm. "Right now, the important thing is that you’re safe. Just stay close, okay?"
Sophie nodded, though the trembling in her hands hadn’t stopped. Mark reached down, picking up her phone from where it had fallen. He examined it, his brow furrowing at the sight of the cracked screen.
"Vivian was still on the line," he said, holding the phone up to his ear. "Vivian? It’s Mark. I’m with Sophie. We’ve called the police, and they’re on their way. She’s fine, but—"
A voice squawked through the speaker, too garbled for Sophie to make out. Mark nodded, as if Vivian could see him, and then he turned the phone toward Sophie. "She wants to talk to you."
Sophie took the phone from him with trembling fingers. "Viv?"
"Sophie! Oh my God, are you okay?" Vivian’s voice sounded panicked and far away, like it was coming from a different world. "What happened? Did they find anyone?"
Sophie shook her head, her throat tight. "No, not yet. I... I heard someone, but the house is empty now."
"Are you sure it wasn’t just the wind or the old house creaking?"
"I’m sure," Sophie said, her voice firmer than she felt. "It wasn’t the wind. I heard a voice. Someone was inside. They said—" She stopped, her breath hitching. "They said I shouldn’t have come back."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and when Vivian spoke again, her voice was softer, more cautious. "Sophie... has anything like this happened before?"
Sophie swallowed hard, her gaze drifting toward the darkened windows of the house. "No," she said, almost to herself. "At least, not for a long time." She hesitated, feeling the weight of the past pressing down on her. "I haven’t been here in over ten years."
Mark, still standing beside her, glanced over. "Ten years?"
Sophie nodded, her voice distant as her mind wandered back to that final day she had walked out of the house, vowing never to return. "I left when I was eighteen. I swore I’d never come back, and I didn’t... until now."
Mark studied her for a moment, then asked quietly, "Why now?"
Sophie let out a shaky breath. "My father’s will. I have to stay here for thirty days if I want to keep the estate."
Mark frowned, glancing up at the mansion’s darkened silhouette against the night sky. "Thirty days in this place? Seems like a long time for a house full of bad memories."
Sophie managed a faint, humorless smile. "That’s an understatement."
Before she could say more, the distant wail of sirens reached their ears, and the flashing blue and red lights soon followed, cutting through the thick shadows around the estate. The police had arrived.
As the squad cars pulled up, Mark gave her a reassuring nod. "Let them handle it from here. Stay close, okay?"
Sophie nodded, but her mind was still spinning. The voice she had heard—it wasn’t just anyone’s. She knew it. Or at least, she thought she did. The familiarity of it gnawed at her, digging into the back of her mind like a splinter she couldn’t quite pull free.
But the sirens and flashing lights helped anchor her to the present. Two uniformed deputies stepped out of the cars, walking up to them with purposeful strides. Their presence offered a small sense of security, but it didn’t erase the lingering dread curling in her stomach.
"Sophie Morgan?" one of the deputies asked as he approached. "We got a call about a possible intruder?"
Sophie nodded, explaining what had happened in clipped, shaky sentences. As she spoke, the officers exchanged glances, listening carefully, their eyes narrowing as they took in the details.
"We’ll check the property," one of the deputies said, motioning for the other to follow him. "Stay here."
Sophie watched as they disappeared into the house, their flashlights flickering as they began to search the darkened rooms. Her heart pounded in her chest, every nerve on edge, waiting for them to come back with answers. But as the minutes ticked by, the house remained quiet. Still. Like it had swallowed the entire night.
Mark stood beside her, his presence a steady, calming force. "Sophie," he said gently, "has anything like this happened before? I mean, when you were living here?"
Sophie stared at the mansion, her pulse racing as old memories flickered to life. The long nights. The creaking floorboards. The feeling that someone—something—was always just out of sight. Watching. Waiting.
"Nothing like this," she whispered. "But it’s been years. The last time I was here, I was just a kid."
Mark frowned, looking up at the towering house. "Then maybe it’s time to get some answers."
Before Sophie could respond, the front door creaked open, and the deputies returned, their faces grim.
"There’s no one inside," the lead officer said, his tone flat. "We checked every room, every door. No signs of forced entry."
Sophie’s stomach twisted, a wave of nausea washing over her. "But I heard someone. I know I did."
The officer’s expression softened slightly, but there was still a trace of skepticism in his eyes. Sophie nodded, though the knot in her chest only tightened. The night was far from over, and whatever had happened—whoever had whispered those words in her ear—was still out there.
Watching.
Another car pulled up—a sleek, unmarked vehicle. Sophie’s breath caught as a familiar figure stepped out from the driver’s side, his tall frame unmistakable even in the dim light.
Ethan.
Her ex-boyfriend. The one person she had sworn she’d never run into again. The man who knew her better than anyone, even after all these years apart. Her pulse quickened as she instinctively straightened, smoothing the front of her jacket. Crescent Bay had always been too small to run from your past for long. Still, she hadn’t expected to face it—face him—on a night like this.
Ethan’s dark eyes flicked up to meet hers as he approached, his expression unreadable, though a flicker of something flashed across his face. "Sophie," he said, his voice even, but the tension between them was palpable.
She swallowed hard. "Ethan." Her voice was quieter than she intended. "I… didn’t know you were the one coming."
His mouth quirked in the faintest hint of a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Guess the universe likes to throw us together when we least expect it."
He turned to the deputies, nodding for them to continue their search inside, then shifted his focus back to Sophie. His gaze softened, though his tone remained professional. "You okay?"
Sophie hesitated, the flood of emotions hitting her all at once—relief, dread, and the unresolved past tangled with the present danger. "I don’t know," she admitted. "I heard someone. I’m sure of it. Footsteps. A door slammed… and…"
Her voice trailed off as she remembered the voice—low, deliberate, chilling. Her mind flashed back to the feeling, the certainty she’d had in that moment.
Ethan’s brow furrowed as he glanced up at the looming mansion, taking in the shadows that clung to it like a second skin. "This house has always given me the creeps," he said, his voice low. "I’ll check it out with the deputies. You stay here with him." he looks over at Mark.
“Mark” Ethan nods.
Sophie bit her lip, uncertainty gnawing at her. Ethan had always been the calm one, the steady force that kept her grounded when everything else was falling apart. But now? Their history—the way things had ended—complicated everything. She didn’t want to feel vulnerable in front of him. Not again.
Still, she nodded. "Be careful."
Ethan gave her a look that was part reassurance, part warning, before he disappeared into the house with the deputies. The mansion seemed to swallow them whole, the faint flicker of their flashlights barely visible through the windows.
Mark stood beside her on the porch, his presence solid and reassuring. "They’ll find whoever—or whatever—it was," he said quietly. "The house is old, but it’s not invincible."
Sophie wrapped her arms around herself, trying to shake off the unease that had settled deep in her chest. The mansion loomed like a predator, and even now, with the police nearby, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was watching her. Waiting.
Minutes passed in silence, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the radio from the deputies inside. Sophie stood frozen, staring at the darkened windows. The tension was suffocating, her nerves frayed by the quiet.
Finally, Ethan reemerged from the front door, his face set in a hard line. The deputies trailed behind him, shaking their heads.
"No one’s inside," Ethan said, his voice calm but firm. "We checked every room, every closet. There’s no sign of forced entry either."
"But…" Sophie’s voice faltered. She could feel the frustration rising up inside her, mingling with the fear that hadn’t left since the moment she heard that voice. "I know I heard someone. A door slammed. And the voice—"
Ethan’s gaze softened slightly, but there was still that distance between them, like he wasn’t sure whether to comfort her or keep his professional demeanor. "It’s an old house, Sophie," he said, glancing briefly at Mark. "Sometimes they make more noise than you’d expect, especially in a place like this. Wind can rattle doors. Floorboards creak under temperature changes."
Sophie shook her head, the frustration bubbling over. "It wasn’t just the house. I heard a voice. It said, ‘You shouldn’t have come back.’"
Ethan’s eyes darkened at that. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, the mask of calm slipped from his face. "A voice?" he repeated, his tone sharper than before.
"Yes. Right behind me," Sophie whispered, the fear from earlier creeping back in. She crossed her arms, suddenly feeling exposed standing out in the open like this. Vulnerable.
Ethan stared at her for a long moment, as if weighing whether to believe her. Then, with a sigh, he nodded to the deputies. "Post a car outside tonight. We’ll keep an eye on the place, just in case."
One of the deputies gave a quick nod before heading back to the car to radio in the request. The other deputy lingered for a moment, glancing at Sophie. "Miss Morgan," he said carefully, "Are you sure about what you heard? Sometimes, when people come back to places with… strong memories, the mind can play tricks."
Sophie bristled at his words, but before she could snap back, Ethan held up a hand, his voice calm but authoritative. "That’s enough. She said she heard something, and we’ll treat it like she did. Post a car, and I’ll handle the rest."
The deputy nodded, backing off and moving toward the patrol car.
Ethan turned back to Sophie, his eyes searching her face. "Look," he said, his voice softening as he took a step closer. "Let me handle this. I’ll dig into it, okay? See if there’s anything we’re missing."
Sophie met his gaze, the weight of their unresolved past hanging between them like a storm cloud. She wanted to say something—anything—to acknowledge the tension, but before she could speak, Mark cleared his throat.
"Miss Morgan," he said, his voice gentle but firm, "maybe we should call it a night. You’ve had a long day."
Sophie blinked, pulling herself back to the present. She nodded absently, her mind still racing, her nerves shot. "Yeah," she murmured. "I just need to clear my head."
As Ethan and the deputies prepared to leave, Sophie pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders. The night air felt colder now, biting at her skin in a way that made her shiver. The house loomed behind her like a dark, silent sentinel, its presence heavy and unblinking, as if it refused to look away.
She glanced back at Ethan one last time before he disappeared into his car, the weight of their shared history pressing down on her like an anchor. There were too many questions—about the house, about the voice, and about him—that she wasn’t ready to face. But sooner or later, she knew she would have to.
The next morning, Sophie woke with a knot in her stomach. She had barely slept, her dreams twisted and strange, filled with whispers and shadowy figures lurking in the corners of her mind. Every creak of the house had sent her heart racing, every gust of wind against the window had made her bolt upright in bed, convinced someone was there.
But there was no avoiding it. If she was going to spend thirty days here, she had to confront the past—and the present—head-on.
She began wandering through the mansion after breakfast, moving cautiously from room to room. Each step felt like peeling back layers of her old life, exposing memories she had spent years trying to bury.
The house felt alive around her, the weight of old memories and long-forgotten secrets pressing in on her as she stepped through the grand rooms. A dusty old study, cluttered with books and papers that hadn’t been touched in years. A library, its shelves lined with volumes that seemed frozen in time. A grand ballroom, its chandelier hanging overhead like a ghost from another era, glittering faintly in the morning light.
In her father’s office—the room that seemed to pulse with the weight of everything unspoken—Sophie stood in front of the large oak desk once again. The same scattered papers lay where they had the night before, left as though her father had stepped out and would return at any moment. But something was different this time. Something that hadn’t caught her attention before.
A photograph.
Tucked halfway under a pile of old folders, its edges yellowed and worn, the photo felt out of place, like it had been deliberately hidden. With trembling fingers, Sophie pulled it free, the brittle paper rough against her skin. She stared down at the image, her heart skipping a beat.
Her father, younger, his expression grim. But it was the man standing next to him that sent a cold shiver through her.
The man’s face was sharp, his eyes hard, and there was something about the way he stared into the camera—almost through it—that made Sophie’s skin prickle. His smile wasn’t warm, nor was it friendly. It was knowing. Menacing. As if he was aware of a secret no one else knew.
She couldn’t place him, but his presence in the photo felt wrong. Like he didn’t belong. Like he had forced his way into her father’s life.
The room suddenly felt colder, the air heavier. Sophie’s breath caught in her throat as she turned the photo over, her fingers trembling. There was no name. Just a date. August 18, 2008.
Sophie’s mind raced. She hadn’t been home that summer—she’d left for college the year before. Her father had never mentioned anyone significant during that time. But the date felt familiar, tugging at the edges of her memory, like an old wound reopening.
She squinted at the edges of the photograph. And that’s when she saw it—something in the background, almost too faint to notice. A shadow. Blurred, as though it had been caught in motion. But the shape of it—it was unmistakable.
The silhouette of a man, watching from behind a half-closed door.
Sophie’s pulse quickened, the weight of the photograph growing heavier in her hand. She stared at the shadowy figure, her heart hammering in her chest. There was something about it that felt familiar, something that sent a jolt of recognition through her.
A noise suddenly creaked through the stillness—the floorboards, just outside the office.
Her breath hitched, her body freezing in place. The sound was unmistakable. Footsteps, deliberate and slow, creeping closer.
Sophie’s eyes darted toward the open door, but the hallway was empty. The shadows stretched out before her, dark and endless.
She glanced back down at the photograph, her pulse thundering in her ears. The man in the background—his outline—was clearer now, almost as if it were coming into focus.
And then, the realization hit her with a force that made her stomach lurch.
The man in the background was standing in this very room.
Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in around her. The sinister presence in the photograph seemed to seep out, filling the air with an oppressive dread. She could feel it now—something dark, watching her.
The footsteps stopped. Just outside the door.
Her grip on the photograph tightened, the edges crumpling in her palm. She forced herself to take a step forward, her legs trembling beneath her. Every instinct screamed at her to leave, but she couldn’t move fast enough.
And then, the whisper—soft, barely audible, but enough to freeze her blood.
“You never should have come back.”
