╰┈➤ 001, the room watches.
𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐔 IS A SEVENTEEN-YEAR-OLD SKATER WITH A SHARP MIND AND A RESTLESS HEART, CAUGHT BETWEEN THE PRESSURES OF GROWING UP AND THE WEIGHT OF HER FRACTURED FAMILY.

"but what if i'm not okay?"

-

The screech of wheels against pavement was the only sound that made sense to Anneliese. The world around her—her family, her school, the suffocating walls of her house—felt like a blur, a constant weight pressing down on her chest. But when she was on her skateboard, carving through the empty streets of their quiet suburban neighbourhood, everything else faded.

She leaned forward, knees bent, riding the smooth, familiar curves of the sidewalk with a practiced ease. Her board—weathered, chipped, and covered in stickers she'd collected over the years—was a kind of armour. It was one of the few things in her life that didn't feel broken.

Anneliese had been skating since she was a little girl, pushing herself up and down the cracked sidewalks, feeling the rush of wind in her face and the freedom beneath her feet. It was her escape—her only way to breathe.

She zipped past the old church, the abandoned diner, and down the street where the houses seemed to close in around her. She could almost feel the eyes watching her, though she couldn't say from were. Her mind played tricks on her sometimes, especially lately, but the feeling always lingered, just on the edge of her thoughts.

Her grey eyes flickered to the horizon. The sky was overcast—perpetually grey, like her mood, like her life.

She took a deep breath as she pushed harder on the board, gaining speed, feeling the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The city was quiet at this hour—just before dusk, when everyone was either finishing up their work or getting ready for dinner. It was the only time Anneliese had to herself, when her mother was either too distracted or too absent to notice.

The wind stung her cheeks as she rounded the corner, headed toward the park. A few kids were hanging out by the swings, talking in hushed voices. She wasn't interested in them—not right now. She just needed to skate. The rhythmic movement helped her clear her mind, helped her forget that she was failing at everything else in her life.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She didn't need to check it to know who it was. Mother.

She ignored it.

By the time Anneliese returned home, the shadows had stretched long across the lawn. She could feel the weight of the house before she even stepped inside—like it was waiting for her. Waiting to consume her.

She tossed her board in the garage and walked through the back door. The air inside felt stale and heavy, filled with the smell of old cigarettes and dust. The light from the single bulb in the kitchen cast long, thin shadows on the walls.

Her mother was sitting at the table, a bottle of wine in front of her, but she didn't look up when Anneliese entered. Her once-beautiful face was gaunt now, hollowed by sleepless nights and whatever demons had taken hold of her.

Marissa Moreau had once been the woman who braided Anneliese's hair before school and kissed her forehead every night. Now, she was a ghost—her eyes always distant, her words sharp and bitter.

"I'm home," Anneliese said, though she wasn't sure why. Her mother didn't seem to care anymore. She wasn't even looking at her.

Marissa took a slow sip from the bottle and exhaled, she turned to leave the kitchen, but the air in the hallway caught her attention. A faint noise—like someone whispering. Anneliese paused, her skin prickling.

It was just the house settling, she told herself. But she knew better. She'd heard it before. The whispers. The strange sounds. It was as if the house had a life of its own, one that was more alive at night than during the day. The feeling of being watched never went away.

Anneliese pushed the thought aside and retreated to her room. She needed to focus on something—anything—to distract her from the darkness creeping at the edges of her mind. The low hum of her laptop provided some comfort as she scrolled through assignments. It was just another night of pretending to care about things that felt meaningless.

the fumes of alcohol heavy in the air. "You're late. You're always late."

Anneliese didn't reply. She never did. Her mother's words were like a broken record, and she was too tired to argue anymore.

"I'm not in the mood to talk right now," her mother muttered, barely glancing at her. "Go do something."

Anneliese stood there for a moment, feeling the weight of the silence press in. She didn't want to be here. Not with her mother. Not in this house. It was suffocating.

She turned to leave the kitchen, but the air in the hallway caught her attention. A faint noise—like someone whispering. Anneliese paused, her skin prickling.

It was just the house settling, she told herself. But she knew better. She'd heard it before. The whispers. The strange sounds. It was as if the house had a life of its own, one that was more alive at night than during the day. The feeling of being watched never went away.

Anneliese pushed the thought aside and retreated to her room. She needed to focus on something—anything—to distract her from the darkness creeping at the edges of her mind. The low hum of her laptop provided some comfort as she scrolled through assignments. It was just another night of pretending to care about things that felt meaningless.

Anneliese sat on the edge of her bed, the soft glow of her laptop screen casting long shadows across the room. The clicking of her keyboard felt oddly loud in the silence—like an intrusion in a world that wasn't quite hers anymore. She tried to focus on the assignments in front of her, but the words blurred together, the numbers never quite adding up.

Her gaze drifted to the clock on her wall. It was just after nine PM. The house was empty—again. Marissa had retreated to her room hours ago, and Anneliese hadn't seen her since the disinterested mutter in the kitchen. She wasn't surprised. Her mom wasn't exactly the parent type anymore.

And yet, the silence... the emptiness... it filled the house like a slow-moving fog, suffocating everything in its path.

A sudden, sharp creak came from somewhere in the hallway. Anneliese froze, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Her heart skipped a beat.

It wasn't unusual. The house was old, and it had a way of settling—groaning and creaking under its own weight. But this sound felt different. It was deliberate. Like someone was walking.

Anneliese glanced at the door to her room. Her heart raced as she tried to convince herself it was just her imagination. There was no one out there. Her mom was asleep. She was alone.

But the feeling lingered—the sensation of being watched.

She turned back to her laptop, hoping to drown out the noise, hoping the distractions would pull her back into some semblance of control. The screen was filled with assignments she couldn't bring herself to care about, the words becoming a blur of meaningless symbols.

Another creak came, this time louder, followed by a faint scraping sound, like nails on wood.

Anneliese's breath hitched. The feeling of being watched only intensified. She couldn't shake the unease that crawled up her spine, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

She stood up, her heart pounding in her chest. Something wasn't right.

Her room, once a place of comfort and solitude, now felt like a cage—small, suffocating, and filled with the weight of something unseen. Anneliese slowly moved toward the door; her footsteps muffled against the carpet. Her hand reached for the doorknob, hesitating for a moment.

It's just the house, she told herself. It's always like this.

But as her fingers brushed the cold metal, she couldn't ignore the gnawing feeling in her gut. She opened the door slowly, just a crack, peering out into the hallway.

Nothing.

It was quiet—too quiet.

The hallway was dim, the only light coming from a single lamp in the living room. The air felt heavy, almost thick with something she couldn't put into words. The house seemed to stretch into the darkness, the shadows growing longer as the night deepened.

She exhaled, the weight of her breath echoing in the silence. But something caught her eye.

The bathroom door, which was usually closed, was wide open.

Anneliese didn't remember leaving it open. In fact, she was sure she hadn't.

Her heartbeat quickened as she stepped into the hallway, moving toward the bathroom, her pulse thumping in her ears. Her hand shook as she pushed the door open wider.

Inside was nothing but shadows. The light from the hallway barely illuminated the edges of the room, leaving the corners in complete darkness. The mirror, fogged over slightly from the steam earlier in the day, reflected the dim light in an eerie, distorted way.

Nothing seemed out of place.

But then she noticed something—something off.

There, in the corner of the mirror, just beside the faucet—was a faint outline. The shape of a handprint.

Anneliese's breath caught in her throat. Her fingers trembled as she reached out toward the mirror, her mind racing. The handprint was almost too subtle to see, like a faint smudge. But as she wiped at it with her sleeve, the image didn't fade. It deepened. The outline of fingers remained, as if the hand had been pressed up against the glass from the other side, just moments before.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

She backed away from the bathroom, her body stiff with terror. What was happening? Who had been in here?

She couldn't think straight. She needed to get out of this house, away from the feeling that the walls were closing in on her.

Anneliese grabbed her phone from the bed and texted Ash in a frantic rush:

"Ash, please come over. Something's wrong. I don't know what's happening."

She hit send before she could even think twice.

The wind outside had picked up. Anneliese could hear it howling through the cracks in the window frame, rattling the glass. The house was eerily silent again, but now, it was as if the silence itself had become heavy, pressing down on her chest.

She didn't know how long it took before she heard the knock at the door—sharp, urgent, and so out of place in the quiet of the house. She jumped, startled by the sound, her pulse racing again.

Rushing to the door, she flung it open, half-expecting to find the same unsettling emptiness she'd been facing for the past hour. But there, standing on the porch, was Ash, looking even more serious than usual.

"You alright?" he asked, his brow furrowed as his eyes scanned her face.

"Not really," Anneliese whispered, stepping aside to let him in. "You're not gonna believe me... but something's wrong with this place."

Ash didn't respond right away. He stepped into the hallway, glancing around with an almost wary look on his face. He was always the sceptic, but even Ash couldn't deny that the house felt... different tonight.

"What's happening?" he asked quietly.

Anneliese told him everything—the creaking, the whispers, the handprint in the bathroom. Ash listened without interrupting, his gaze growing darker with each word she spoke.

When she finished, there was a long pause. Ash looked at her, his expression unreadable.

"You know I don't believe in ghosts or whatever," he began, "but this... feels off, even for me."

The tension in Anneliese's chest tightened. "So.. what do we do?"

Ash looked down at his feet for a moment, then turned to face her, a grim determination in his eyes. "First, we get out of this house. I don't care if you think I'm overreacting. This place doesn't feel safe anymore. You don't have to go through this alone."

For the first time that night, Anneliese felt a slight weight lift off her chest. With Ash there, she wasn't completely alone.

But as they moved toward the door, something else—something even darker—stirred in the house, deep within its walls.

The whispering grew louder, more urgent, filling every corner of the house with its chilling call.

Anneliese's heart raced as Ash moved to the window, peering outside, his hand gripping the curtain tightly. "What the hell?"

There was nothing out there. Just the quiet street. The trees swayed in the wind, their branches scratching against the window like fingers.

Anneliese's chest tightened, and for the first time in a long time, she felt truly trapped.

"Where are we going?" she whispered.

Ash didn't answer at first. His eyes darted around the room, like he was looking for something, anything that would make sense of what was happening.

But there was nothing.

And then—just as the darkness seemed to swallow them whole—the house gave a sharp, deafening groan, as if it was waking from a deep slumber.

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