What Lies Forgotten | Jess's Return

What Lies Forgotten

The road was narrower than she remembered. The trees leaned in, their twisted branches arching over the dirt path like an overgrown tunnel. Jess kept both hands on the wheel as the farmhouse came into view, tucked between the rise of distant hills and the sweep of untamed fields. The place looked smaller now, more worn. Time had crept over it like ivy, smothering the life it once had.

She parked in front of the house, gravel crunching under the tires as the engine sputtered to a stop. Silence settled in around her. For a moment, Jess didn't move. The farmhouse was supposed to bring her peace, a place to get away from everything, to clear her head. But now that she was here, she felt the weight of the quiet pressing down on her.

She stepped out of the car, taking in the house. The once-bright yellow siding had faded to a dull beige, and the shutters hung unevenly, weathered by years of neglect. The porch steps creaked as she walked up, and the front door gave a low groan as it swung open under the weight of her hand. The inside smelled like dust and old wood, the air thick with the scent of things long forgotten.

Jess lingered in the doorway for a moment, her gaze sweeping the familiar layout of the living room. It hadn't changed much—same old couch, same worn rug under the coffee table, and the framed photos on the mantel. Everything was still, untouched, yet it felt different. She pushed the feeling aside and dropped her bag near the door.

The house groaned as it settled. Jess moved toward the kitchen, flipping the light switch, the bulb sputtering to life with a weak glow. The hum of the fridge filled the space, and she opened it absentmindedly, not expecting much. A few stray items had been left behind, but she ignored them.

As she turned to the sink, Jess paused, sensing something behind her. She glanced back, but there was nothing—just the dim room and the weight of silence. She shook off the unease and ran her fingers under the faucet, letting the cold water trickle over her skin.

It's just the house, she thought, brushing away the creeping unease.

Jess wiped her hands on her jeans and stepped away from the sink, heading for the staircase. Each step groaned under her weight, the creaking echoing through the house like the voice of something buried beneath its foundation. The unsettling stillness clung to her, but she kept moving, shaking off the strange feeling settling in her bones.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she paused, her eyes drawn to the bedroom at the end of the hall. Her mother's room. The door was cracked open just enough to show the dim light filtering in through the faded curtains. The bed, still made, sat beneath the window, its quilt neatly folded. Everything was in its place, untouched. The mirror on the dresser, clear and unbroken, reflected the soft light from the window.

Jess wandered into the room, running her fingers along the worn fabric of the quilt. She avoided looking directly at the mirror, not ready to see her own reflection in this space. Instead, she went to the window, staring out at the overgrown field beyond the house. This place had once been alive with movement—her mother always tending to the garden, the air filled with the scent of fresh earth and herbs. Now it was just weeds and shadows, tangled and untamed.

She turned back to the dresser, her gaze landing on a small, faded photograph tucked under the edge of the mirror. It was one she hadn't seen in years—a picture of her and her mother, taken when she was no older than seven or eight. They were standing in front of the farmhouse, her mother's hand resting stiffly on her shoulder. Jess stared at the image for a long moment, a strange pang in her chest. She remembered that day, or at least she thought she did. But the details were fuzzy, like trying to recall a dream after waking.

Pushing the thought aside, Jess left the room, closing the door behind her.

Downstairs, the evening light began to fade, casting long shadows across the floor. She turned on a small lamp in the corner of the living room, the soft glow comforting in the growing darkness. The house seemed quieter now, almost waiting. Jess tried to distract herself, unpacking a few belongings, but every so often, she would pause, her ears straining for any sound. It was as if she was expecting something, though she couldn't say what.