A house built by bones

~ chapter 1 ~

Crimson Bay was a sleepy town where the rhythm of life was as predictable as the tide. The streets were lined with pastel-colored buildings, their facades worn by the salty sea air. Emilia Grey, at twenty-five, had made this unassuming place her home. Her days were marked by a steady routine that rarely deviated, offering a comforting, if somewhat monotonous, predictability.

Each morning, Emilia would wake to the soft chime of her alarm clock. Her cat, Luna, a sleek black feline with piercing green eyes, would already be awake, waiting impatiently for breakfast. Emilia would pad into the small kitchen of her third-floor apartment, feed Luna, and make herself a cup of coffee. She often stood by the window as she drank it, watching the early risers of Crimson Bay begin their day.

Her walk to work took her past familiar landmarks: the old lighthouse standing sentinel at the harbor, the bakery that filled the air with the sweet smell of freshly baked bread, and the cluster of seagulls that always seemed to be squabbling over some morsel. The antique shop where she worked, Hargrave's Antiques, was a few blocks away, nestled between a café and a bookstore.

Mrs. Hargrave, the shop's owner, was waiting for her as usual. A diminutive woman with a shock of white hair, she had run the shop for decades. The store itself was a treasure trove of the past, filled with trinkets and relics from bygone eras. The scent of old wood and leather permeated the air, mingling with the occasional whiff of lavender from the sachets Mrs. Hargrave tucked among the shelves.

"Good morning, Emilia," Mrs. Hargrave greeted her warmly. "Ready for another day of digging through history?"

"Morning, Mrs. Hargrave," Emilia replied with a smile. "Always."

The days in the shop were slow and unhurried. Emilia found a certain peace in the quiet moments spent polishing an old clock or arranging vintage jewelry in the display case. Customers trickled in sporadically, often locals looking for a piece of nostalgia or tourists seeking a unique souvenir. Each item in the shop had a story, and Mrs. Hargrave knew them all, sharing tidbits of history with anyone who cared to listen.

By noon, Emilia would take her lunch break, usually a sandwich from the café next door. She'd eat it at the small table in the shop's back room, flipping through a novel or chatting with Mrs. Hargrave about the latest town gossip. The afternoon would pass much like the morning, with the gentle hum of the shop's atmosphere wrapping around her like a familiar blanket.

Emilia had just finished helping a customer select an antique lamp when she heard Mrs. Hargrave humming softly to herself behind the counter. The old woman's eyes twinkled with a familiar mischievousness, the kind that always preceded a piece of juicy gossip. Emilia approached with a smile, knowing there was a story waiting to be told.

"Mrs. Hargrave, you seem particularly cheerful today," Emilia said, leaning on the counter.

"Oh, Emilia, you have no idea," Mrs. Hargrave replied, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Have you heard about the latest goings-on at the old Watson place?"

Emilia shook her head, intrigued. "No, what's happening?"

"Well," Mrs. Hargrave began, leaning in closer, "you know the Watsons moved out a few months ago, right? The place has been empty since then. But last night, old Mr. Perkins, who lives across the street, swears he saw lights on in the house."

"Really?" Emilia's eyes widened. "I thought no one had bought the place yet."

"That's the thing," Mrs. Hargrave said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "According to Mr. Perkins, he saw a figure moving around inside. He couldn't get a good look, but he's convinced someone's there."

Emilia frowned. "Maybe it's just a real estate agent showing the house?"

"That's what I thought," Mrs. Hargrave replied, "but Mr. Perkins said it didn't look like that. He said it looked more like someone was living there already, moving furniture around and everything."