Allegedly

Chapter 1: Shadows in the House

Emma stood still in the middle of the large, open living room, her fingers grazing the familiar curve of the polished wooden table. The faint tap of her Pembroke Welsh Corgi's paws echoed across the quiet room, and Emma could feel the tension in the air, the way it lingered, thick and heavy. She couldn't see it-of course-but she didn't need her eyes to know that something was off.

The ranch house had been her world for nearly two decades, an oasis of comfort in the vast, sprawling quiet of Saginaw, Texas. The windows always felt too large, and the ceilings too high, but Emma had learned to live within its cavernous walls. She moved through the house with the grace of someone who'd memorized every detail, every step, as if her blindness were merely an inconvenience and not a prison.

But today, it felt different. The house-her house-was holding its breath.

"Lucy," she called softly to her dog, and the small creature trotted toward her, brushing gently against her legs. Emma smiled for a moment, her hand resting on the Corgi's head. Lucy was her eyes, her comfort, the only soul she trusted completely. The house may have been filled with people, but the isolation cut through her more now than it had when she first went blind.

"Is anyone there?" Emma's voice traveled across the empty space, unanswered except by the whisper of the air conditioning. She could sense movement, the shift of the air around her. Emma had always been perceptive-people often underestimated just how much she could see without her eyes.
Silence again.

Then, a sound. Subtle, but there. It was the creak of a floorboard, the kind that only groaned under the weight of a person's step.

Emma froze, her grip tightening on the back of the armchair she'd been about to pass. "Hello?" Her voice faltered, tension curling around her words. "Is someone there?"

Still no answer.

She hadn't heard any of the others come in yet-Ada, Hui, Yuthika. Her houseguests, her help, her lifeline in more ways than one. Each of them moved differently, their presences distinct in the house. Ada's quiet determination, Hui's light, calculated steps, Yuthika's softer, purposeful movements. But this... this sound didn't belong to any of them.

Emma's heart pounded, louder now in the growing quiet. Lucy barked suddenly, the sharp sound cutting through the stillness. Emma flinched, instinctively kneeling beside her dog. Lucy never barked like that-not unless something was wrong.

With trembling hands, Emma felt for her phone in her pocket. She didn't know who to call. Her mind flickered to Rowan-an old name, a fractured memory. She hadn't seen him in years, and yet lately he'd been circling her thoughts, like a shadow creeping at the edge of her consciousness. Something inside her whispered that she should reach out to him.

But no. Not now. She swallowed the urge. It was probably just Ada cleaning up after lunch. Emma took a deep breath, steadying herself, yet her fingers shook as she stroked Lucy's fur.

The house was too large, too quiet. A sprawling labyrinth of rooms she hadn't visited in months. The isolation in the country was comforting, until it wasn't.

The silence hung thick, pressing down on her, until footsteps approached from the hallway.

"Ms. Emma?" A soft voice, one she recognized-Ada.

Emma exhaled slowly, loosening her grip on the chair. "Yes, Ada. I'm here."

"I'm just clearing up the dishes from lunch," Ada said, her tone practical, though there was an edge of tension underneath. "Do you need anything?"

"No, thank you." Emma nodded, feeling Lucy's breath steady beside her. But she could still sense something off in Ada's voice-like the calm was practiced, rehearsed.

Ada lingered for a second longer, and Emma could almost hear her hesitation before she turned and left, the sound of her footsteps fading down the hall.

Emma remained still, rooted to the spot. The house wasn't just off today-it felt alive, like it was hiding something. She could hear it in the walls, in the pauses between each breath.

And now, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone else was here. Someone who shouldn't be.