Ghostale
When we moved into our house, it had been empty for twelve years. A week later, three different people told us it wasn't empty at all. Footsteps. Voices. Something already living inside.
So I looked into its history. The family before us had lived there most of their lives, raised their children there — and one of them died in that house. That detail stayed with me. Because an empty house is never really empty. The rooms remember their routines. The walls remember their voices.
What if they're not trying to scare us… just waiting for someone to realize they're still there?