CHAPT3: New Beginnings

Lynda carried her things into her new home, bit by bit, taking her time to settle in. The place still felt unfamiliar, but she told herself it was just the first-day jitters.

Stella had already left, insisting she’d come back later to help unpack. So now, it was just Lynda, her boxes, and the quiet hum of the neighborhood.

As she stepped outside to grab another bag from her car, she heard a voice behind her.

“New here?”

She turned to see an older woman standing by the fence, watching her with a polite but curious expression. Lynda gave a small smile. “Yeah, just moved in today.”

The woman nodded, glancing at the house briefly before meeting Lynda’s gaze again. “I’m Mrs. Dawson. I live two doors down.”

Before Lynda could respond, another voice chimed in. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

A man, probably in his early forties, stood near his front porch, offering a small wave. “I’m Mr. Callahan. It’s been a while since we’ve had someone new move in.”

Lynda noted the way he said it—as if people didn’t *stay* long.

She returned the wave. “Nice to meet you both.”

Mrs. Dawson hesitated for a moment, then offered a small smile. “If you need anything, don’t be shy to ask.”

Lynda nodded, appreciating the kindness, but she couldn’t ignore the feeling that her arrival had stirred something among her new neighbors.

Was it just small-town curiosity? Or was there more to it than that?

She expected them to leave it at that, but both neighbors lingered, their gazes flickering toward her house. There was something unsaid between them, a tension in the air that made Lynda shift slightly.

“You live alone?” Mr. Callahan asked casually, though there was an edge to his tone.

Lynda hesitated before nodding. “Yeah, just me.”

Mrs. Dawson pursed her lips. “That’s brave.”

Lynda frowned slightly. “Why’s that?”

Neither of them answered right away. Then, as if realizing they had lingered too long, Mrs. Dawson cleared her throat and smiled again. “Well, I should get going. Welcome again, dear.”

Mr. Callahan gave her a nod before stepping back toward his house.

Lynda stood there for a moment, watching as they disappeared into their respective homes.

Her hands tightened slightly around the bag she was holding, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. It wasn’t just the strange way they had spoken or the tension in the air. It was as though the house itself was watching her, as if it had its own secrets to reveal. The thought made her shiver.

She took a deep breath, trying to shake the unease. It was just her imagination, she told herself. After all, it was just a quiet little neighborhood. What could possibly be wrong?

But deep down, she wasn’t so sure.

Lynda turned back toward the house, feeling an odd heaviness settle in her chest. The walls seemed to close in, amplifying the silence. It wasn’t just her nerves—something was off.

She quickly walked inside, trying to focus on unpacking. The house felt colder now, the stillness more pronounced. With every creak of the floorboards, Lynda felt the presence of something lingering, as though the house itself was waiting for her to uncover its secrets.

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