Chenford Oneshots

A Little Exorcism

Lucy Chen stood in the middle of the sunlit living room, spinning slowly to take it all in. Their new home at 324 Maple Street was exactly what she and Tim had hoped for: cozy, charming, and big enough for the three of them. She turned to Tamara Collins, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, unpacking a box labeled "Kitchen Stuff."

"What do you think?" Lucy asked, unable to hide her excitement.

Tamara looked up, holding a whisk in one hand and a rolling pin in the other. "It's great. I mean, it's not exactly 'modern chic,' but it's got... personality."

Tim Bradford walked in from the adjoining hallway, holding a tape measure. "Personality is code for 'needs work,'" he said dryly.

Lucy shot him a look. "It's perfect, and you know it."

Tim smirked, leaning against the doorframe. "It'll do."

Tamara snorted. "Translation: He loves it but won't admit it because that would mean agreeing with you."

Lucy grinned, tossing a cushion at Tim, who caught it effortlessly. "See? She knows you."

"Yeah, yeah," Tim muttered, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

The afternoon passed in a blur of unpacking and takeout pizza. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the trio was sprawled on the couch, surrounded by half-empty boxes and the comforting hum of a house coming to life.

But as the first night settled over their new home, Lucy couldn't shake a strange feeling—like the house was listening, watching. She chalked it up to exhaustion and the unfamiliar creaks and groans of an old building settling into the night.

The first odd thing happened three days later.

Lucy was in the kitchen, making coffee, when she noticed the back door ajar. She frowned. "Tim, did you leave the back door open?"

"No," he called from the living room, his voice muffled. "Why?"

"It's wide open," Lucy said, stepping closer to inspect it. A cold draft brushed past her, making her shiver.

Tamara walked in, holding her phone. "Maybe it's the wind? This place is old—probably has bad seals."

Lucy nodded, but unease prickled at her. She closed the door and locked it, making a mental note to check it again later.

That night, Tim found her in the bedroom, pacing. "You okay?"

Lucy hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, just... weird vibes."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Weird vibes?"

She shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself. "I don't know. Something feels... off."

Tim stepped closer, his hands settling on her shoulders. "It's a new house. It'll take time to feel like home."

Lucy leaned into him, her forehead resting against his chest. His steady heartbeat calmed her. "You're right."

But even as she said it, a part of her couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Over the next week, the strange occurrences multiplied. Lights flickered for no reason. Footsteps echoed in empty rooms. Once, Tamara swore she heard whispers coming from the basement, but when they checked, it was empty.

"It's probably just old wiring," Tim said one evening as they sat in the living room, a flashlight in hand after the power inexplicably went out.

"Old wiring doesn't whisper," Tamara muttered, her arms crossed.