the house is freezing (4)

Ellie’s flashlight sweeps over the kitchen. The fridge hums faintly, an out-of-place sound in the otherwise oppressive silence. The sink is dry, but there’s a single glass sitting on the counter, its rim fogged over as if it had been used recently. She frowns. No one should have been here.

Upstairs, the air grows heavier. The cold presses against her chest, making it hard to breathe. She shines her flashlight into each room as she passes. The guest bedroom is empty. The bathroom mirror is cracked, the shards creating a distorted reflection of her flashlight beam.

She hesitates outside the door to the master bedroom. When she was little, her grandmother told her never to go into this room. “Some doors aren’t meant to be opened,” she’d said, her voice trembling.