[If you need to catch up on previous installments of Galloway House, you can click here to read Part One or here to read Part Two]

Kate Winstead’s shoulders rubbed against the intricately carved wooden door as she tried to steady her breathing. It wasn’t just the ominous weather or the flash of lightning that had struck too closely as she exited the car that ignited the booming in her chest. She couldn’t quite shake the creepy stares of the locals as she drove into town. The way they stood almost catatonic, every eye piercing through the comfort and security of her tinted windows, sent an uneasiness creeping over her as wholly as the approaching clouds darkened the sky.

As she listened to the rain pattering against the roof outside, and the house sighing and groaning like a bored, petulant child inside, Kate regretted having to make the trip alone. Her husband had offered to accompany her, but she convinced him it would be best not to use up any more sick days. The truth was that he wasn’t a Galloway. Allowing him to come would only open the door to questions she couldn’t answer.

A mechanical buzzing drew her attention and she followed it to one of the many automatic light timers spread throughout the house. With each passing second, the cloud cover dipped the sky into deeper shades of gray. The house would be cloaked in darkness before the timers had a chance to do their job. Clicking on the lights, Kate took in the sheet-covered furnishings and was surprised at how much she remembered even though she hadn’t been within Townsley’s borders since she was five.

She walked over to the rocking chair in the sitting room and pulled the sheet, sending sparkles of dust into the air. Her eyes drifted across the ivy leaves carved into its curved back and traveling down along the arms. A burgundy pillow with an elaborately crossstitched “G” was still perched on the seat. Kate’s mind flooded with memories of sitting on her grandmother’s lap, listening to tales about their family. A memory that would make most nostalgic made the hairs on the back of her neck bristle.

Kate questioned again whether she should have come. Whether any of this was even necessary. What if she was acting on the whim of a family tradition born from unwell minds? On tales passed down and told so often they morphed into an undisputable truth? With every mile traveled to Townsley, the more she had believed that to be the case. But what if she was wrong? The consequences were too great to find out, so it wasn’t a chance she could take. She hadn't wanted the responsibility, but Kate was the last living Galloway and she had a job to do.

READ PART 4 HERE.

I woke up this morning, but no one else did.

The first hour was the toughest because, despite the rise and fall of their chests, I worried that my family was dead. No matter how hard I shook them or screamed their names, neither my parents nor my little brother would wake. I held my mom’s hand and cried for a while.

After gathering some courage, I sprinted downstairs and right out the front door. Running into the middle of the street, I stretched my neck and strained my ears for signs of anyone…anything. I cracked the silence as I ran, screaming at the top of my lungs.

“Hello? Is anyone out here? Anyone?”

All that greeted me was a disheartening vacuum of nothingness. There weren’t even birds singing or leaves rustling. Even the wind had left me all alone.

My voice grew hoarse and I was blocks away from home, barefoot and in my pajamas. I needed to get back. I plodded toward home, dreading the emptiness that would meet me there.

Reaching my block, I stopped mid-stride. It had been faint, but I was sure I’d heard it. It was a struggle to hear anything over the rhythmic pulsing in my ears, but after a moment I convinced myself that it had just been my imagination and continued on.

Just as I was shutting the door, I heard it again. Echoey and distant, it gently pierced its way through the silence. I raced back out into the street, turning in circles, eager to find whoever it was. Then, I heard it again, much clearer this time.

Icy fingers of fear crept up my spine. I grew weak from the excitement draining so quickly and dizzy under the weight of what I’d heard.

My own voice.

“Hello? Is anyone out here? Anyone?”

Fiction Friday: [Galloway House Pt. 3]

Fiction Friday: [Awake]