Ghost in the Foyer

I woke before dawn, cold sweat clinging to my skin like a second layer. The dream had been vivid—no, real. I remembered walking the corridors barefoot, the house breathing behind every wall. I remembered a whisper:

...“Don’t let him lie to you. Not again.”...

I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had spoken into me rather than to me.

The black cat sat at the foot of my bed, silent, alert.

Outside my window, the fog had thickened into a white ocean.

---

I wandered down to the main foyer, drawn by instinct—or something deeper. The staircase creaked beneath my feet, the air still thick with perfume and decay.

Then I saw him.

Adrien.

Floating.

His body hung midair like he was weightless, suspended above the checkered marble floor. A transparent haze shimmered around him. His eyes were closed. His limbs relaxed.

He was… not breathing.

I panicked. “Adrien!”

I rushed forward—and just before I could grab him, he dropped to the floor with a heavy thud… then bounced up lightly to his feet as if nothing had happened.

He looked at me with embarrassment. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“What was that? You—” I struggled to find the words. “You were floating!”

Adrien sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “The mansion distorts things. I sometimes… drift between forms. Especially near the foyer. It’s the heart of the house.”

“Forms?” I said slowly. “What are you?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and gestured toward a cabinet by the wall.

“Come here. I want to show you something.”

---

He opened a tall, locked cupboard with an iron key he kept hidden in his sleeve. Inside were faded photo albums, cracked leather journals, and—

—a locket.

Silver. Old. Still warm to the touch, despite being metal.

When I opened it, a tiny portrait stared back at me. A girl with my face. Dressed in mourning clothes.

Underneath was a name carved in curling script:

Elira.

I dropped it.

“That's not me,” I whispered.

Adrien picked it up. “She died in this house. Sixty-two years ago. And you…” He looked at me carefully. “You’ve been having visions, haven’t you?”

My throat was dry. “Yes. Since I arrived.”

He nodded. “The mansion remembers you.”

I backed away. “Stop it. Just stop.”

But the cat meowed sharply, almost in warning.

The chandelier overhead rattled. A sudden cold wind surged through the hall.

Then…

A voice.

Soft. Childlike.

“Eliraaaaa… you promised you’d never leave us…”

A giggle echoed off the walls.

We both froze.

Adrien turned pale. “That wasn’t the house.”

---

Suddenly, the lights went out.

A portrait near the stairs twisted on its hook and fell, crashing to the floor. When I looked closer, it had changed—now showing a group of faceless figures standing around a woman who looked… terrified.

She wore my dress.

A shadow darted across the ceiling above us—inhumanly fast.

I could hear footsteps.

But there was no one on the stairs.

---

Adrien pulled me close. “The house is waking up faster than I thought.”

“What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he held up the locket again. “If you really are here… you need to remember what happened here.”

My voice cracked. “And if I’m not?”

His eyes, glowing faintly red again, looked mournful. “Then we’re both in danger.”

---

As we stood there in the dark, a strange realization settled in:

This wasn’t just a haunted house.

It was a living thing.

And I was no longer just a guest—

I was part of it.

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