Chapter 4 — Lucy’s Ghost

Catherine Moore

Catherine stirred in her sleep, the ghost of Maxwell's hand still lingering on her wrist, its grip as suffocating as the dining room air had been. Her mind drifted, unmoored, her subconscious weaving memory and emotion into something vivid and surreal.

She stood in the hallway of the Moore family home. The dark wood paneling loomed above her, its surface polished to a cold sheen, while the walls seemed to press inward, conspiring to keep her confined. The faint, acrid scent of old leather and varnish hung in the air, mingling with the heavy silence. Somewhere in the distance, the grandfather clock ticked—sharp, deliberate, unrelenting. The sound felt alive, trailing her, drawing her deeper into the dark.