This House of Silence

Inky black water haunted her dreams. The water running from the faucet had a thick, slimy texture and a dark, murky appearance, as if it had been tainted by something filthy and rotten. Black water oozed from the ceilings, seeping into the walls and forming a pool on the floors. The blackness that filled her dreams shimmered in the dim candlelight that illuminated the house. She had stopped lighting candles altogether. Even when she was still alive, she rarely did it, but now she had completely quit. Yet she lit them in her dreams. The sight of candles made her heart race and her palms sweat with fear. The black water filled her with an unsettling sense of dread. Black water scared her. Loneliness scared her. This house of silence scared her. She remembered how she always believed that life after death would be devoid of any pain or anguish. But, in reality, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

The details surrounding her death remained a mystery to her. Yet, she was conscious of it. At first, she was unaware of it and would try to call her children, but the phone line was disconnected. She began wandering through the hallways of the deserted house and the gardens, filled with anticipation and yearning to catch a glimpse of them. Every time she attempted to cross the fence, she inexplicably found herself back inside the house, or in the garden. Patiently, she would wait in silence throughout the day, until exhaustion overcame her, and she drifted into sleep on the armchair, where she would dream of water that had turned black. Black like the abyss. Black like her soul.

The days of solitude transformed into weeks, and she eventually came to the realization that no one would come to visit. Her days were filled with aimless strolls through the hallways and gardens. At times, she would talk with the neighboring child, who seemed to be the only person aware of her presence.

“I’m Max. What’s your name?” the kid asked one day.

She took a brief pause, her heart sinking at the thought of what she was about to say. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. Her name had completely escaped her memory.

That made Max burst into laughter. “You’re funny,” he said. “Can I give you a cool name?”

“Of course,” she smiled, though her smile lacked warmth. The smile was filled with terror.

“I’m going to call you Phoenix from now on.”

“Why Phoenix?”

Before Max had a chance to respond, his mother appeared, searching for him.

Max would frequently go outside to play in the afternoons. Every time he saw her, he greeted her, giving her a newfound purpose in the afterlife.

As the weeks turned into months, the house received unknown visitors. They had bought it, she overheard. It was the last hint she needed to acknowledge and come to peace with the fact that she was no longer alive.

Her children, who never made an effort to visit, had sold the house and, with it, all memories still resonating in the quiet rooms. Unfamiliar faces now kept her company. Strangers, who were deliberately changing the house–her house–getting rid of any evidence of her former existence. All her furniture but her armchair disappeared, and the walls were being repainted. All her belongings, including her clothes, books, and photographs, disappeared. Her story would dissolve into oblivion. She would leave no mark on the world. Only her ghost remained.

Without removing her belongings, they sold the house. They didn’t even take her photographs. Her photographs…

Phoenix put in her best effort to make herself visible to the unfamiliar strangers who had just brought in new, modern furniture. Some of the rooms were now filled with the aroma of fresh paint and wood. Unlike her, these new individuals didn’t bring fresh flowers from the garden. Friends weren’t invited over on Saturdays, and Sundays were not reserved for baking cookies. The house mirrored their differences, resulting in a space that was anything but familiar. They were only halfway towards settling in and making the house their own, but she already didn’t recognize it. It grew strange and cold, and it haunted her.

She needed to get rid of them. Soon.

She furtively spilled the paint, damaged the wooden furniture, and quietly tore the bed linens during the night, causing the occupants of the house to wake up in sheer terror. She broke the fine dinnerware and terrified their dreams. Gloom and despair settled over the house in the subsequent weeks and months as she lingered, haunting the new residents and pressuring them into abandoning the property. Let her be at peace with no disturbance. The idea crossed her mind that if the new occupants left and convinced everyone about the haunted nature of the house, her children might hear about it and visit her. This was her last chance to see them.

The buyers packed their belongings and departed from the house as the months turned into a year, and they no longer wished to stay. They vacated and abandoned the house, left it devoid of life and any evidence of its previous inhabitants, awaiting the arrival of new occupants to continue the cycle. Soon, the new occupants came with their newly painted walls, stylish furniture, bright drapes, and a pet.

“Leave,” she whispered into their ears, causing a chilling sensation to crawl down their backs. But they could not hear her. When night fell, she would unleash her desperate plea of “Leave this house,” her voice carrying through the darkness, night after night, until the chilling night arrived when her screams were finally heard. At first, the dog heard her and responded with a mix of anxious and vicious barks. However, the dog appeared crazy to the people in the house, almost as if it was barking at nothing. Finally, the day came when they, too, heard her voice in the distance, steadily increasing in intensity and becoming more and more menacing each night. With their dog in the backseat, they finally drove off.

Haunted. There were rumors circulating that the house was haunted. The halls were enveloped in darkness, while mold began to cover the walls. Resting in the armchair, her eyes remained fixed on the door. She remained patient. She expected her children to realize that their mother’s spirit lingered on, even after her passing. Perhaps they would consider purchasing the house once more. They might even choose to make their home there, alongside her. Or visit from time to time.

Despite the passing years, her children never showed up. They did not make any attempts to contact her. There was another sale of the house. And then another. And another. And once more, without hesitation, the ghost sent each and every one of them away.

If she couldn’t be with her children, she thought, she could at least have her privacy.

The continuous arrival of strangers finally ceased after approximately ten years. Max had grown significantly and informed her that a photo of her house was featured on the front page of the local newspaper, claiming it was haunted. Consequently, there were no longer any interested buyers for the house. The house stood empty, void of any living presence. Except for the armchair near the front door, the house was completely devoid of furniture and life and memories.

Haunted. The house had been officially declared haunted.

At first, Phoenix, who disliked her name but couldn’t come up with an alternative, used to measure time by the birthdays she celebrated with Max in the garden. Every October 25th, Max would sit there and inform her that another year had passed, and he was growing older. However, Max stopped visiting her during his late teens, just like her children had stopped visiting her eight years before she passed away. Phoenix would frequently wave at Max when he was on his front lawn, but he would always pretend not to see her. As he aged, he might have been unable to see her altogether. In the years to come, Phoenix would observe Max from afar as he blossomed into a young man and started his own family. Throughout this period, she couldn’t stop thinking about whether she had any grandchildren or great-grandchildren of her own. Did they know who she was? After everything she owned had been taken away, was there any evidence left to prove that she had once been vibrant and alive? The only trace she left behind was this eerily quiet house, where the wind whispered its secrets, and which her children had sold.

The wind made no sound of its own. It only made noise when it collided with the house. Then it whispered to the walls, and it shrieked at the halls, haunting her during her mundane days and terrifying nights. Her previous nightmares returned. There was black water flowing in the tub and seeping through the ceilings, causing stains on the carpet. In her nightmares, she was paralyzed in the bathtub as the water turned black and slowly submerged her entire body. She suddenly awoke, finding herself in her armchair, directly facing the door. The door stayed sealed until the curiosity of teenagers sparked their interest in the contents of the forsaken house. As they stepped inside, the door would emit a creaking shrill, allowing a faint glimmer of light to penetrate the darkness, reviving the house once more. The mute house would come alive, even if only for a moment, before the teenagers closed the door and never came back. Then other teenagers would appear and repeat the cycle.

Amongst the withered plants, weeds, and small animals taking refuge in the garden, she unexpectedly came across a kid next door while she was roaming aimlessly.

“Hi,” the kid exclaimed, waving enthusiastically. “I’m Max, and I’m 5. What’s your name?”

She looked at this new Max, who had a hint of familiarity in his features, reminding her of the kid she once knew, standing on that same lawn all those years ago.

“Nice to meet you, Max,” she said, her voice hoarse and raspy from decades of silence. “I’m Phoenix.”

“That’s such a cool name,” Max said, with a hint of admiration in his voice. “I wish I had a cool name.” He sighed.

“Max is my favorite name,” Phoenix said.

“Yeah?” He raised his eyebrows. “I was named after my great-grandfather. They say he was really cool when he was alive.”

Suddenly, her mouth felt dry. Max, the once talkative boy who had formed a special bond with her, was no longer alive. How long had it been since he first spoke to her? One hundred years? Suddenly, a horrifying thought crept into her mind, intruding on all other thoughts. Her children might have also passed away by this time. Those children who never visited will now surely never visit. She let out a sigh.

“He was,” Phoenix said with a nod. “I knew him when he was just a child.”

“Really? Mom says no one has lived in that house for over a century.”

Truly, a whole century has passed. “I have been living here,” she stated.

However, before Max could say anything, his father emerged and declared that dinner was ready.

“I need to go. It was great meeting you, Phoenix.” And in an instant, he vanished.

Soon after, the family moved away. As word got out about a ghost named Phoenix that had haunted both little Max and his great-grandfather Max, the town’s population dwindled, eventually resulting in its complete transformation into a ghost town.

Phoenix remained quiet as she settled into her armchair. She considered how much time had passed since she remembered herself. 75 years of life, a century after that since she met little Max, and another century–according to the documentary crew that stopped by the other night–until her town became a ghost town. Truly, it felt even longer than that. Loneliness distorted her sense of time. And the idea of eternity ahead deeply unsettled her. As she glanced at the door, it felt as if she was staring directly into the soul of time. The passing of time unfolded before her like an intricate web of aimless strolling, staring at the horizon, and screaming into the void. A dark, ominous liquid started dripping from the ceiling, echoing the haunting nightmares she used to have, leaving her in a state of deep fear. Black water scared her. Eternity scared her. This house of silence scared her.