Whispers of the Lost

Chapter 1 : Shadows in the Past

I stared out the window, watching the rain fall in steady sheets, blurring the world beyond. My parents were probably on some sandy beach right now, soaking up the sun, sipping on cocktails — while I was stuck here. Not that I hated staying at Grandma Evelyn's house. It just... felt strange. Old. Like it was frozen in time.

The house creaked constantly. The floors groaned, the windows rattled when the wind picked up, and the shadows... well, they always seemed to move just a little too much. It wasn't like I was scared. I was sixteen, for crying out loud. But there was something about this place that got under my skin.

Today had been one of those dreary, do-nothing days. School was still dragging along, and without my parents around to nag me about homework, I spent most of my time scrolling through my phone or lying on my bed. Cody, my German shepherd, was sprawled at my feet, his tail thumping lazily against the floor every once in a while.

It all started with a stupid school project. I needed an old photo of my parents for some assignment. Normally, I'd have asked Mom or Dad, but they weren't exactly reachable, so I decided to hunt through the attic. Grandma's attic was like stepping into another world—dusty, cluttered, filled with old things I'd never seen before.

I found the box of family albums tucked in the back, under an old quilt. I opened the first one, expecting the usual—pictures of me as a baby, family trips, birthdays. And yeah, there was all that, but then I saw something that stopped me cold.

There was another girl.

She was in almost every picture. Standing with my parents, sitting next to me in front of a birthday cake, laughing by the pool. She looked around my age, maybe a little younger, and her face was so familiar, like I knew her from somewhere. But I didn't. At least, I didn't remember knowing her.

I flipped the page. There she was again. And again. Always there, like she belonged. I couldn't shake the weird feeling gnawing at my gut. I looked closer at the back of one photo. The handwriting was faded, but I could make out a name: Emma Blackwood.

Blackwood —my last name.

I shut the album, my heart racing. Who was she? Why had no one ever told me about her? Was she a cousin? A family friend? But no... she was in all these family pictures, standing beside me like... like she was supposed to be there.

I shoved the album back on the shelf and practically ran out of the attic. My mind was buzzing with questions, but there was no one to ask. Grandma Evelyn was downstairs, probably half-asleep in front of the TV, and I already knew my parents wouldn't give me any real answers. They never did.