Harrowed

When Ellis first moved to the small town of Windham Crest, he could tell that something felt off. The town wasn’t unlike any other small old town, with its old-fashioned main street, worn signs, and old-looking buildings. But it was the chill in the air and the eerie silence that seemed to befall the town that brought the unease that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Ellis told himself it was just the stark difference from the big city where he used to live. The town was exactly what he had been looking for: somewhere unremarkable and quiet, where he could settle in quietly and get a fresh start.

His newly rented house in the outskirts of town stands modestly against its backdrop, with a worn, weather-beaten wooden exterior, and a small, barren front yard where he parked his van. The floor creaked in welcome just as he opened the door, revealing an almost just as humble interior, with a living room consisting of a small old couch, an old, dusty fireplace, a small old TV, a worn rug, and a bookshelf in the corner. Besides the living room, the house only had a small kitchen attached to a small dining room, a modest bedroom, and a bathroom. It wasn’t impressive by any means, and had Lucian been here, he would’ve made some smart-ass remark, but Ellis didn’t mind; it was just enough for him. Besides, it had character, and he liked the solitude.

He spent the afternoon unpacking, and then he spent the rest of the evening in front of the old TV with a microwaved meal before heading to bed, exhausted from the move. Sleep, however, did not come easily to him. He had brushed off the unsettling feeling that came over him when he first got into the town, but it was back. He had gotten so used to the sound of traffic even at night, and the silence felt eerie. He could hear every gust of wind and the leaves from the tree in the yard knocking against his window, and thought he felt a chill in the air that wasn’t there before. It was nothing, he told himself. Just the wind. After another hour of twisting and turning, sleep finally found him.

***

The first few days were quite uneventful. Ellis spent his time settling into his new home, wandering around the town, and settling into a routine. In town, he met some of the townspeople, who greeted him in a friendly, albeit curious manner. They asked him about his move, where he had come from, the reason he left the big city life behind for such a quiet life in the small town. It all felt imposing to him, but Ellis smiled politely and told them that was exactly what he was looking for: some peace and quiet.

They asked him then about where he was staying, and at his answer, they all went quiet and exchanged odd looks at each other.

“What is it?” Ellis asked with an uncertain smile.

Mrs. Curtis, an older woman in her late fifties, waved off a hand, giving him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s nothing, dear. People talk. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Ellis made a note to find out if there was something wrong with the house he was renting later—perhaps there had been a gas leak, or a pest infection—before brushing it off.

But it wasn’t until the third night that it happened, the first odd thing that prefaced all the others. He was reading in the living room when a fleeting shadow flickered across the wall, but it was gone when his eyes snapped up to see who it was. It happened again several more times, but they're always gone before Ellis could take a good look.

Finally, Ellis shook his head. "I must be tired," he muttered, placing the book down and rubbing his tired eyes. After all, he hadn't been sleeping well in a while—the silence of the town hadn't provided the comfort he thought it would. Still, it was late, and he knew his body needed the rest. He put the book back and headed into his bedroom. On his way, he passed by a mirror in the hallway where for a brief moment, he swore he saw something behind him in the reflection, but again, it was gone when he blinked. He shook it off, yet again, and finally went to bed.

***

Ellis had made a note to ask about the house he was renting, and if there was something wrong with it, ever since the comment and the weird looks exchanged between a few of the townsfolk a few days before, and apparently, the opportunity came sooner than later. That next morning, Ellis decided that he needed to get out of the house and into town, to ground himself in something normal. Just as he was sitting down at a table with a fresh cup of coffee, an older man came up to him and took a sit without invitation.

“You’re the newcomer, right?”

Ellis gave a polite smile, nodding. “Yeah. I just moved in several days ago.”

The older man gave a thoughtful nod. “Were you the one who rented old McCarthy’s place?”

Ellis blinked in surprise. “Yes, how did you know?”

The man ignored his question, giving him a strange look—half curious, half wary. “The house has been empty for years.” He leaned forward. “People said it’s haunted.”

Ellis gave a nervous chuckle, brushing it off. “Yes, but it’s just local superstitions, right?”

The man shrugged. "It depends on who you ask. Some folks here believe there lived a spirit that doesn't take kindly to strangers there. Then there's that story about a vengeful spirit—something about it being drawn to guilt, regret, negative feelings, stuffs like that." He shot Ellis a meaningful look. "Don't let it bother you, though. They're mostly just old stories."

Ellis nodded, but what the man said stuck with him, the unease in his gut tightening. The thought lingered in his mind for the rest of the day, as he lay in bed that night, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something—or someone—watching him.

***

The strange occurrences kept escalating for the next few days. They started small: a fleeting shadow out of the corner of his eyes that was gone the moment he blinked, a sudden chill in the air that prickle his skin with goosebumps, a gust of wind that sounded almost like a whisper. Ellis tried his best to ignore everything and carry on with his day, but they only seemed to get worse at night.

One night, just a shy of one week since he moved in, as Ellis lay in bed, half-asleep, he heard a slow creak of floorboards just outside his bedroom. It was just the house, he rationalized. It was, after all, an old house. But they continued throughout the week, and at some nights, he could hear the deliberate pace of someone walking. He never found anything but empty corridors when he managed to work up the nerve to investigate.

Then came the mirror. While shaving one morning, Ellis thought he saw something in the mirror just behind his reflection. He dropped the razor, turning around quickly only to find, again, nothing. It was just a trick of the light, Ellis thought. A paranoia, perhaps because he hadn't been getting enough sleep.

The scratching sounds that came later were easier to explain. At night, sometimes Ellis would hear soft scratches echoing from the walls which almost sounds like nails scratching. It was pests—mice or maybe rats—burrowing into the walls, that could only be the only explanation. It would confirm his earlier suspicion and explain almost everything: why the house had gone unrented for years, the footsteps, and the scratching. But the traps he put out, as well as the corners and cracks he inspected didn't produce any result. Still, the scratching persisted.

Objects started disappearing, too. They were small things, like his keys or his phone charger, a book he had just set down. He would tear the house apart to look for them only to later find them in the strangest of places: wedged under the kitchen sink, on a high cabinet, on the windowsill in the attic. He tried to chalk it up to stress or exhaustion from the move that caused his lack of focus, but deep down he couldn't shake of the feeling that something was seriously wrong.

And then the dreams started, and it was always the same dream, of always the same cliff. He would find himself standing on the edge of a high, jagged cliff that loomed over a crashing sea. The wind roared around him, sounding almost like a screaming whisper, threatening to hurl him over the edge. He was always jolted awake right before he fell.

***

The next morning, he decided to take a walk into town again, needing the fresh air and to get away from the house that was making his skin crawl. He noticed, again, that peculiar silence that stood in stark contrast to the city life he was used to, where conversations were muted, and people are moving in a slow, deliberate manner. It wasn't unusual for a small town like Windham Crest, but something about the rhythm of life in the town filled him with unease. He found himself walking into the general store, where the locals greeted him with calm smiles. There was something even more unsettling about their friendliness that seemed too calm, too nonchalant.

A woman at the counter smiled when she saw him. "How's the house been treating you?" Her tone was calm, even, casual, but something unreadable glinted in her eyes.

"It's fine." Ellis' voice was tight as he replied. "Actually... I was wondering about those stories I'd heard about. About town legends, superstitions and whatnots."

The woman laughed in a lightly, yet unnerving manner. "Oh, those are just old stories. This is an old town, after all." She waved a hand. "They're just something we tell the tourists to scare them. But don't worry, McCarthy's a good person. He wouldn't have rented out that place if there was anything wrong with it."

Ellis nodded, but instead of comforting him, the woman's words had the opposite effect. As he walked out of the store, he made a note internally to arrange a session with a therapist.

***

Ellis didn't like attending therapy, it felt all too imposing and uncomfortable for him, but he was convinced he was losing his mind. During the one hour session, the therapist had dug into his past and his need for a fresh start, and brought up his best friend's recent death.

"I haven't been able to sleep well since Lucian's passing," Ellis admitted. "But it's been getting worse since I moved to Windham. And then these whole—things started."

"You felt guilty for his death," the therapist said. "You're blaming yourself. But Ellis, you have to know it wasn't your fault." She gave Ellis a calm, comforting look. "You're not going insane, Ellis. This is just your grief and guilt talking."

***

The therapy session, despite the discomfort, at least brought him a little clarity and ease. However, it didn't bring him the peace he had hoped it would, nor did they explain the shadows and the whispers that couldn't seem to go away. He convinced himself that it was just his guilt and grief, just like his therapist had suggested, leading his mind into paranoia. He repeated it over and over again in his mind like a mantra, clinging desperately to it like it was the his only tether.

But then it all started again, and this time, it was so much worse. The shadows came again, but what started off as glimpses were now passing silhouettes, and the gusts of wind turned into audible whispers.

Ellis was standing in his kitchen one night when he heard it. A soft voice, a familiar one. His voice.

"Ellis."

Ellis whipped around, his heart racing as his eyes darted around the room, but the kitchen was empty. There was no sign of movement. It couldn't have been him. He had been dead for months, but... the voice, it had sounded so real, and so close. Ellis closed his eyes and took several deep breaths to calm himself, repeating his mantra in his mind: it was the guilt and grief, just his mind playing tricks on him. Nothing else.

At night, Ellis could hear the footsteps again, but this time they were deliberate and unmistakable. He'd also learned that he couldn't blame the scratching noise on the walls on the nonexistent pest in the house. His dreams of the cliff persisted, but now Lucian had started appearing in them. Staring at him with his familiar brown eyes rimmed with red, watching him. Blaming him for everything. Ellis always snapped awake from the nightmare with a start, wide eyed and breathless, heart racing.

The nightmare didn't end when Ellis woke anymore. He was everywhere: silhouette appearing on the corner of his eyes, whispering his name, leaving messages on dusts and condensations in the window and the bathroom mirror that disappeared after he rubbed his eyes, blaming him for everything. The house seemed to whisper to him, the shadows creeping closer, and his voice lingered in his ears. The stories, the legends and the superstitions that the townspeople told him about began to burrow into his thoughts. The superstitions about the vengeful spirit drawn to guilt and regret, the spirit that didn't take kindly to newcomers. Could they have been right? What if this wasn't just in his mind? For weeks, Ellis had tried to rationalize everything, consulted a therapist, blamed everything on the guilt and grief, but there was no denying it anymore: this was no hallucination, nor was it his mind playing tricks. They weren't figments of his grief; this was real. Someone—he—was out to get him.

***

Ellis had hoped that the drive would clear his head. But as he left the house in a daze, his heart racing, his mind awash with a whirlwind of memories and reality colliding. The shadows weren't just in his head anymore. He had seen them. He had seen him.

His best friend. The ghost. Lucian.

Ellis sped down the town's empty road, hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He had to escape, to get away from everything. From the town and the house and the suffocating feeling that wrapped around him like a heavy cloak. There was no destination in his mind as he drove and drove, his thoughts narrowing on the knowledge that he needed to put as much distance between himself and everything else. The road seemed to stretch on and on, winding through the familiar forest and past the cliffs looming on the horizon. There seemed to be no escape, no matter how far he drove. The memories of his past clung to him like a shadow, he couldn't avoid them anymore. Before he knew it, he found himself on a cliff. And not just any cliff.

Impossible, he thought as he pulled over and stepped out of the car, his hands trembling, the shock sending a jolt through his body. It was simply impossible; he had left that life behind him, moved far, far away... and yet, in front of him the cliff stretched, looking familiar yet surreal at the same time. The cold night air struck against his skin, harsh and biting, while the cliff that loomed before him was steep and menacing. It was an exact replica of where everything had gone wrong.

The wind hissed as it swept past him, and then his voice spoke. “You killed me.”

Ellis whipped around, eyes wide and his heart in his throat at the sight of his late best friend standing just on the edge of the cliff. His face was pale, and he looked gaunt and broken. His eyes were hollow, yet filled with such rage and sorrow.

Ellis shook his head. “No.” Another shake of his head. “It wasn’t—it wasn't like that. I didn't mean to—”

“You pushed me, Ellis. You killed me.”

The memories of that night came flooding back then, crashing over him and swallowing him whole. The cliff. The argument. The accusation. The pleading. The threat.

“You killed me.” I know what you did, Ellis.

“I didn't mean to!” I don't know what you're talking about.

“You killed me.” You have to come clean. This is wrong.

“You threatened me! You were going to expose what I did. I would lose everything!” I can't. Don't you realize what's at stake here? Not just my job, but my whole career, my image, my reputation.

“You killed me.” You have to. If you don’t come clean, then I will.

“I didn't want to! But what else was I supposed to do? I was just trying to protect myself!” Lucian, you can’t. Please. I would lose everything.

“You killed me.” I have to, Ellis. This is wrong. I’m sorry.

“It wasn't my fault! Leave me alone!”

“You will pay for what you did.”

As if on cue, a blast of wind swept past him, and Ellis lost his footing, and everything seemed to stop. The ground seemed to disappear from underneath him, and then he was falling. The world twisted and swirled around him as he plummeted over the edge, his thoughts a million miles a minute, his heart beating rapidly.

This is it, he thought as the jagged rock and the crashing waves of the sea raced toward him. And then everything went black.

In the heavy silence that followed, the wind lashed over the cliffs, trailing the echo of a single voice.

"You killed me."

And Ellis had finally paid the price.