the house is freezing (1)

The house is freezing. Not just cold, but the kind of cold that seeps into the walls, the floors, the bones of anyone foolish enough to step inside. You wouldn’t know it from the outside—it looks normal enough.

A modest, two-story structure painted an unremarkable shade of beige, its shutters a faded green. It sits on the edge of a forest, where the tree line hovers like an unruly mob, whispering secrets whenever the wind picks up. Ellie stands on the front porch, her breath puffing out in white clouds.

She’s holding the key that was mailed to her in an unmarked envelope two weeks ago. No note, no explanation—just the key and an address she hasn’t visited since she was a child.