Chapter 3 — Echoes of the Past

Andrew

The house loomed before them, a structure more ruin than refuge. Its charred facade stood out against the shrouded gray of the village, skeletal beams jutting upward as if clawing toward the fog-heavy sky. The roof had collapsed in several places, allowing beams of dim, pallid light to spill through the gaps, illuminating fragments of the interior. Andrew stopped at the threshold, his breath hitching as something unfamiliar and heavy settled in his chest. There was something about this place—it wasn’t just the decay or the lingering stench of ash and damp wood. It felt alive, like it was waiting for him.

Michael's voice broke the silence. “It looks sturdy enough,” he said, though his tone lacked conviction. He glanced back at Evelyn, who was clutching his sleeve as though it were the only thing tethering her to the world. Her wide, fearful eyes never left the doorway, and Andrew noticed how pale she’d grown in the last hour.

"Sturdy?" Andrew muttered under his breath. The word felt like a cruel joke. But Michael was already stepping inside, his boots crunching loudly over shards of glass and charred wood. Evelyn hesitated, and Andrew caught her arm gently, trying to steady her. She flinched but said nothing, allowing him to guide her forward.

As Andrew stepped inside, a faint chill washed over him, raising the hair on the back of his neck. The air was heavier here, suffused with the acrid scent of smoke that no amount of time had erased. The whispers, ever-present at the edge of his awareness, seemed to falter, as if holding their breath. His eyes adjusted to the dim light, taking in the scattered fragments of what had once been a home. A toppled chair lay near the fireplace, its legs warped and blackened. The remnants of a table were splintered across the floor, and the walls were etched with patterns of soot, like ghostly shadows frozen in time.

It wasn’t the decay that held Andrew’s attention—it was the overwhelming sense of familiarity. His gaze caught on a faded scrap of fabric tangled in the corner, its once-vivid colors dulled by soot and grime. A child’s blanket? The thought came unbidden, and his chest tightened. Echoes of laughter seemed to ripple faintly through the room, so faint they could have been imagined. He could almost see a small figure clutching the blanket, hear the laughter dissolve into the crackle of flames. The image vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving him with a hollow ache. He shook his head, trying to focus.

“Evelyn, stay close,” Michael said softly, his protective tone cutting through the haze of Andrew’s thoughts. The younger girl nodded, her fingers still gripping his sleeve. Together, the three of them moved further into the house, each step tentative, as though they feared waking something slumbering beneath the floorboards.

Andrew’s eyes scanned the room, his heart thudding louder with every object he recognized without knowing why. A chipped ceramic bowl on the mantelpiece. A rusted lantern hanging from a hook near the door. These weren’t just remnants of some forgotten life—they belonged to him. Or at least, they felt like they did. He paused, his breath shaky, as a faint thud echoed behind him. Spinning around, he saw nothing had moved, but the sound had left him unsettled. The whispers shifted, weaving into a low hum, charged with something that felt akin to anticipation.

In the far corner of the room, Michael crouched and lifted a charred frame. The glass was shattered, the edges blackened, but the faint outline of a family portrait could still be made out. He held it up for Andrew to see. “Think this belonged to the people who lived here?”

Andrew stared at the frame, his chest tightening further. He couldn’t make out the faces, but something about the composition—the way the figures stood, their positions and the faint trace of what might have been a smile—sent a jolt of recognition through him. He swallowed hard and shrugged. “Maybe.”

Michael frowned, clearly dissatisfied with the response, but he didn’t press the issue. Evelyn, however, was staring at the frame intently, her fingers twitching against her sides. Andrew opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, she turned away, her shoulders trembling.

“Let’s keep looking,” Michael said, his voice quiet but firm. Andrew nodded, following as they moved to the next room.

The second space was smaller, more intimate—a bedroom, perhaps. The bed frame lay in pieces against the far wall, the mattress reduced to a pile of scorched springs and fabric. A wardrobe stood in the corner, its doors hanging open to reveal empty shelves. Evelyn hesitated near the doorway, her gaze fixed on a small desk near the window.

Andrew approached it, his footsteps crunching softly over the debris. The desk was battered but intact, its surface coated in a layer of ash. He brushed it away with his sleeve, revealing the faint outline of carved initials along the edge. A and R. His fingers traced the letters, and a flicker of warmth sparked in his chest, followed by a pang of sorrow so sharp it left him breathless. A memory, fragmented and unclear, surfaced—a hand smaller than his now, clutching a knife as he carefully etched the letters into the wood. A voice, warm and steady, murmuring encouragement. It dissolved before he could grasp more.

“Andrew?” Evelyn’s voice wavered, pulling him back to the present. He turned to see her holding something in her hands—a small, tarnished locket. The chain was broken, and the metal surface was blackened in places, but the intricate wolf’s head design etched into the front was unmistakable. She held it out to him, her wide eyes filled with something that looked like recognition.

“I found it under the floorboard,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I don’t know why, but... I feel like it’s important.”

Andrew took the locket from her, his hands trembling. The weight of it felt oddly comforting, like holding a piece of himself he hadn’t realized was missing. He opened it carefully, the hinges creaking faintly, and found two tiny portraits inside. They were faded, the details blurred, but the faces were unmistakable—a boy and a girl, their expressions frozen in time. The boy’s eyes held a glimmer of curiosity, while the girl’s faint smile was both familiar and painfully elusive. He looked up at Evelyn, his throat dry. “Do you recognize them?”

Evelyn’s lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, she reached out and touched the locket with trembling fingers, her face crumpling as though she were on the verge of tears. “I... I don’t know,” she whispered. “But it feels like I should.”

Michael stepped closer, his expression darkening. “That’s enough,” he said sharply, pulling Evelyn back. “We can’t risk letting it distract us. We need to focus on staying safe.”

Andrew bristled at the tone but chose not to argue. Instead, he slipped the locket into his pocket and turned away, his thoughts churning. The whispers had returned, louder now, their fragmented voices weaving together in an almost melodic hum. He pressed his fingers to his temple, wincing as the dull ache sharpened once more.

“Let’s head back,” Michael said, his voice curt. He placed a steadying hand on Evelyn’s shoulder and guided her toward the door. Andrew lingered for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the room one last time. He felt as though he were leaving something behind, though he couldn’t quite name what it was.

When they returned to the main room, Sophia and Tobias were waiting. The older man’s expression was as grim as ever, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Sophia, however, looked... expectant. Her gaze drifted to Andrew, and for a moment, it felt as though she could see straight through him, her green eyes filled with quiet understanding.

“Did you find anything?” Tobias asked, his tone brusque.

Andrew hesitated before pulling the locket from his pocket. He held it up for them to see, watching as Sophia’s lips parted slightly, her breath catching. Tobias, however, remained impassive, his sharp eyes narrowing. His hands, though, clenched briefly at his sides.

“Well?” Andrew prompted, his voice strained. “This... This has to mean something. Tell me what you know.”

Sophia reached out, her fingers brushing the locket lightly before she pulled her hand back. “It was hers,” she said softly, her voice tinged with sorrow.

“Whose?” Andrew demanded, his tone more forceful than intended. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Sophia glanced at Tobias, who shook his head. “Not now,” he said gruffly, though a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. “We need to keep moving before night falls.”

Andrew opened his mouth to argue, but Sophia placed a hand on his arm, her touch warm and steady. “There will be time for answers,” she said gently. “But not here. Not yet.”

Frustrated but unwilling to press further, Andrew nodded reluctantly. He slipped the locket back into his pocket and followed the group as they stepped out into the fog-drenched world once more. The house loomed behind them, its hollow windows watching like silent sentinels. As they moved deeper into the village, the whispers followed, their haunting melody weaving through the air, pulling Andrew further into the past he could no longer ignore.