The House at the End of the Road

The New Homeowner

I turned the key in the lock, proud and nervous. The realtor had warned me about the property’s history, but the price was unbeatable. Dust hung in the air like cobwebs. My footsteps echoed in the hollow rooms. Then I heard something else—another set of footsteps, matching mine, one beat behind.
I laughed nervously. Empty houses play tricks on you.

That night, as I unpacked boxes, I noticed the bathroom mirror was fogged up. I hadn’t run the water. In the condensation, letters formed slowly: