Jasmine

Chapter 01

As my sister and I approached the house, I couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation in my chest. The image I had conjured in my mind was of a sprawling mansion with towering pillars and sweeping staircases, but the reality before us was something different. It was an ordinary house, just in a grand size.

"It's not as pretty as I thought it would be." my sister remarked, her voice tinged with surprise. And she was right; it wasn't a fairy palace by any means. But as I looked at it, I realized that its charm lay in its own unique way.

The house stood there, nestled among the trees like a cozy secret waiting to be discovered. Its windows seemed to wink at us playfully, and the front porch exuded a warmth that felt like a long-lost hug. A place where memories were buried deep in the ground.

"It might not be a mansion, but it's still pretty impressive," I said, trying to capture the mix of emotions swirling inside me.

We stepped closer, the gravel crunching beneath our shoes, and as we reached the front steps, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement building within me. This house, with its mismatched shutters and slightly crooked chimney, held the promise of countless adventures and lazy Sunday mornings.

"I kind of like it," my sister stated, her voice breaking the quietude as she joined our parents and the overjoyed fluffy dog who was already exploring every nook and cranny outside of our new home. I glanced around, taking in the scene unfolding before me. In the corner of the yard, leaning against the fence, stood an old man, his presence seemingly unnoticed by the others.

"You new here?" he inquired, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity as our eyes met. I found myself momentarily struck by the intensity of his gaze, his weathered face hinting at a lifetime of stories waiting to be told.

Without a word, I simply nodded, unable to tear my eyes away from his frail figure. "Surprised, this house even got sold," the old man commented, a tiny scoff escaping his lips as he leaned in slightly.

His words hung in the air, heavy with a hint of skepticism. "Don't get me wrong," he continued, his voice tinged with a mix of nostalgia and caution, "the old residents were sweethearts, always around if you needed a hand."

I felt a shiver run down my spine at the cryptic undertone of his words, a sense of foreboding creeping into the corners of my mind. His gaze bore into mine, as if trying to convey a message beyond mere words.

"But considering what happened," he added, his voice dropping to a hushed tone, "I wouldn't be letting a young man into this place."

His words sent a chill down my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settling over me, a nagging feeling that there was more to this house than met the eye.

I raised my eyebrow in response, choosing to remain silent as the old man continued, seemingly oblivious to my lack of engagement. His eyes bore into mine for a moment, as if searching for a reaction, before he resumed his unsettling narrative.

"The couple in here had a daughter," he began, his voice tinged with a somber tone. "A beautiful little darling, she was. Always helpful, never seen her in a foul mood." There was a melancholic nostalgia in his words, as if he was recalling memories long buried beneath the passage of time.

And then, with a solemnity that sent a chill down my spine, he uttered the words that pierced through the silence like a knife. "She killed herself, in the room on the first floor."

"A house with a history of someone ending their life? We're old people, we have seen the world. They never leave the house," the old man finished his story as I couldn't help rolling my eyes.