A house that sighs A house thAt sighs J u l i A A . G i r A r d A silence that pressed like a physical weight. Julia A. Girard An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book A house that sighs A house that sighs Julia A. Girard Julia A. Girard An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C A house that sighs T he Allen family’s SUV pulled into their new driveway, loaded to the brim with cardboard boxes and belongings. A cool breeze swept through the Queensland plateau, carrying with it a strange, earthy scent. The sun was high in a bril- liant blue sky, reflecting off the pristine white walls of the newly built home. Surrounding the house was a neighborhood of identical homes, perfectly aligned like rows of dominoes, but it was the backyard that captured eight-year-old Charlie’s attention. “Can I go look, Mum?” Charlie tugged on Olivia’s sleeve, his wide eyes fixed on the backyard. “Alright, but don’t wander off too far,” Olivia said, balancing a box labeled KITCHENWARE Julia A. Girard Charlie darted past her, disappearing around the side of the house. Olivia sighed, brushing a strand of auburn hair out of her face. “Well, here we are. Our dream home.” “Sure is,” Jack said, hauling a heavy box out of the trunk. “Brand new everything. Can’t beat it.” But even as he said it, Olivia caught herself glancing at the house’s windows, the darkened panes reflect- ing the landscape like empty eyes. There was some- thing about the land here, something she couldn’t quite place. In the backyard, Charlie stopped short. A single tree loomed at the center of the freshly landscaped lawn, its thick, gnarled branches sprawling upward like skeletal arms. The tree was ancient, its bark weathered and dark, standing in stark contrast to the vibrant, green sod surrounding it. “Cool,” Charlie whispered, stepping closer. The air felt different here, heavier somehow. As he approached, he noticed markings etched into the bark—worn grooves that almost looked like faces, their expressions frozen in anguish. He tilted his head, leaning closer. A house that sighs Then he heard it ...a faint, whispering sound. “Dad?” he called out, turning his head. The wind picked up, carrying the sound all around him. It wasn’t just the rustling of leaves. It was... words. “Charlie...” He froze. His name had been spoken, soft and faint but clear as day. He spun around, expecting to see Jack or Olivia, but no one was there. “Hello?” Charlie called again, his voice trembling now. The whispers grew louder, an overlapping cho- rus of fragmented voices. They seemed to come from the tree itself, as if the bark was breathing, exhaling words into the air. Charlie hesitated before reaching out. His fingers brushed the bark... A searing jolt of energy shot through him, and he stumbled back with a scream. The world blurred around him as he fell, gasping for breath. “Charlie!” Jack’s voice rang out as he appeared from the side of the house, dropping the box he’d been car- rying. “What happened?!” Julia A. Girard Charlie looked up, his face pale. “The tree... it talk- ed to me...” Jack frowned, kneeling beside his son. “It’s just a tree, bud. Probably just your imagination running wild.” He glanced at the tree, a flicker of unease cross- ing his face before he shook it off. “Come on, let’s get inside.” That night, the family settled into their new home. The boxes remained half-unpacked as Olivia cooked a simple dinner. They laughed and talked around the kitchen table, trying to shake off the exhaustion of moving. But an unease lingered, unspoken. After putting Charlie to bed, Olivia climbed into bed beside Jack. The wind outside howled against the windows, rattling them in their frames. “What do you think about that tree?” Olivia asked, her voice low. Jack shrugged. “It’s just an old tree. Adds character to the yard.” “It feels... out of place,” she admitted, pulling the covers up. “Everything feels out of place at first,” Jack said, al- ready closing his eyes. “We’ll get used to it.” A house that sighs Olivia didn’t respond. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling until she finally drifted off to sleep. In her dream, she stood in the middle of an open clearing under a blood-red moon. Figures danced around her, their faces obscured by painted masks, their bodies illuminated by the flickering light of a massive fire. Their chants rose and fell in a language she couldn’t understand, but their voices were filled with an unmistakable sorrow. One figure stepped closer—a woman with streaks of white paint across her face. She reached out to Olivia with trembling hands, whispering something that sounded like a warning. “You shouldn’t be here...” The woman’s face suddenly twisted into a mask of pain, and Olivia jolted awake, screaming. “Liv!” Jack grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. “Hey, hey! You were dreaming!” Breathing hard, Olivia stared at him with wide eyes. “It felt so real,” she gasped. From the next room, Charlie’s voice called out. “Mum? Dad?” Julia A. Girard Jack groaned. “I’ll check on him. You try to get some sleep.” As Jack left the room, Olivia sat up, rubbing her temples. Outside the window, the wind carried an eerie sound, low and mournful, almost like voices. And then she heard it again, just as clear as Charlie had earlier. “Olivia...” Her blood ran cold. A house that sighs I. The Queensland sun streamed through the blinds as Olivia hummed softly, carefully arranging a vase of flowers on the dining room table. The house was starting to feel like home. The freshly painted walls, the scent of new furniture, and the faint buzz of the air conditioning filled the rooms with a comforting sense of modernity. Yet, an inexplicable heaviness lingered, one Olivia couldn’t quite ignore. “Breathe in,” she muttered, practicing mindfulness. She had read somewhere that new beginnings were all about perspective. “Just nerves. It’s a big move.” Jack emerged from the garage, wiping grease off his hands. “Air con’s acting up again,” he said, shaking his head. “I think the unit’s defective. Brand new house, and the air conditioning is already playing up.” Julia A. Girard “It’s fine,” Olivia said, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ll call the builders tomorrow. What’s the worst that can happen?” Jack smirked. “You’d think the house was alive, the way it huffs and puffs. Like it’s breathing or some- thing.” Olivia didn’t laugh. That night, Charlie lay awake in his room, clutch- ing his blanket tightly. Shadows played on the walls as a gust of wind outside rattled the windowpane. The air felt too cold, too sharp, like an unseen pres- ence moved through the room. “Mum?” he called out weakly. No answer. Then he heard it ...a faint, rhythmic whisper. “Charlie... Charlie...” He froze, his heart pounding. The voice was soft but insistent, weaving through the air like the wind itself. Gathering his courage, Charlie slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the door. The hallway stretched ahead, bathed in dim light A house that sighs from the nightlight plugged into the wall. The whis- pers grew louder, coaxing him forward. “Hello?” Charlie whispered, his voice trembling. A shadow shifted at the end of the hall, flickering just beyond the reach of the light. Charlie’s breath hitched, and he took a step back. “Charlie, what are you doing up?” Olivia’s voice broke through the tension. She appeared in the hall- way, her face soft with concern. Charlie turned to her, eyes wide. “There’s someone in the house,” he whispered. Olivia knelt down, pulling him into a hug. “Sweet- heart, it’s just a new place. New sounds. You’ll get used to it.” “But I heard them,” Charlie insisted. “They said my name.” Olivia’s spine stiffened, but she forced a smile. “Come on, back to bed. It’s just your imagination.” The following evening, Jack was outside, grum- bling as he hacked at the tough clay soil in the yard. He wanted to plant a small garden, something to Julia A. Girard brighten up the stark new lawn. His shovel hit some- thing hard, sending a jarring vibration up his arms. “Damn rocks,” he muttered, crouching to investi- gate. But it wasn’t a rock. Jack pulled out a long, curved piece of bone, etched with faint, intricate carvings. His brow furrowed. “What the hell is this?” He brushed the dirt off with his sleeve, revealing more of the strange symbols. They seemed purpose- ful, almost like a language. He held it up to the fading light, unsure what to make of it. “Olivia!” he called. Inside, Olivia was setting the table when Jack walked in, holding the object like it was a prized ar- tifact. “Found this in the yard,” he said, placing it on the counter. Olivia frowned, peering at the bone. “It looks old. Maybe a tool? Or an artifact?” Jack shrugged. “Could be anything. Thought it was cool, though.” A house that sighs That night, the bone sat on the kitchen counter, its carved surface catching the moonlight that spilled through the windows. Around midnight, Olivia jolted awake to the sound of rushing water. She sat up, confused. The noise was everywhere, a roaring cascade that echoed through the house. “Jack, wake up!” she shook him frantically. Jack groaned, half-asleep. “What is it?” “Water! Can’t you hear it?” Jack’s eyes snapped open, and he leapt out of bed, racing down the hall. Olivia followed, her heart pounding. The kitchen was a flood. Water gushed from the sink, the tap wide open. The dishwasher had over- flowed, spilling sudsy foam across the floor. Upstairs, the bathroom faucets were running, too, creating a cacophony of splashes and drips. “What the hell is going on?!” Jack shouted, yanking the sink’s tap closed. Olivia ran to the bathroom, turning off the faucets Julia A. Girard one by one. Her bare feet splashed through the grow- ing puddles on the tiled floor. “Mum! Dad!” Charlie’s scream rang out from his room. They bolted up the stairs to find him huddled un- der his blanket, pointing at the doorway. “There were people,” he sobbed. “In the hall! I saw them!” Jack checked the hallway. It was empty. “There’s no one here, Charlie,” he said firmly. “But I saw them!” Charlie’s voice broke. “They were whispering my name! I swear!” Olivia hugged him tightly. “It’s just the new house,” she whispered, though her own voice wavered. “You’re safe with us.” The next day, as the family worked to dry out the house, an older man approached from the neigh- boring property. His dark, weathered face carried an expression of quiet solemnity. He wore a wide- brimmed hat and carried a walking stick adorned with small charms. “G’day,” the man said, his voice deep and steady. “Name’s Walter. Thought I’d come by and say hello. Welcome to the neighborhood.” A house that sighs “Hi, Walter,” Jack said, shaking his hand. “I’d invite you in, but the house is, uh... well, it’s a bit of a mess right now.” Walter nodded, his gaze drifting toward the back- yard. His expression darkened when his eyes fell on the tree. “You didn’t disturb the land, did you?” Walter asked. Jack hesitated. “Well, I dug up a bit of the yard yes- terday. Found an old bone or something. Is that a problem?” Walter’s grip on his walking stick tightened. “This place remembers,” he said quietly. “What do you mean?” Olivia asked, stepping clos- er. Walter turned to her, his eyes heavy with an unspo- ken burden. “It’s old land. Sacred land. It holds the stories of those who were here before. Their voices don’t rest easy.” He glanced again at the tree. “Especially not under that one.” Julia A. Girard Jack and Olivia exchanged uneasy looks. “What should we do?” Olivia asked. Walter shook his head. “Respect it. Leave it alone. But be warned... once it starts, it’s hard to stop.” “What starts?” Jack asked, but Walter was already walking away, his figure disappearing into the shim- mering heat of the day. A house that sighs II. The air in the house had changed. It wasn’t just the creaking floors or the odd noises at night—it was the feeling of being watched. Olivia noticed it most when she stood by the kitchen sink, her back to the open room. She felt the weight of unseen eyes boring into her, like shadows pressing against her skin. Charlie had grown unusually quiet. The boy who once filled every room with his chatter now spent hours in silence, staring out the back window at the gnarled tree in the yard. “Charlie, sweetie,” Olivia said one afternoon, her voice soft and coaxing, “what are you looking at?” Julia A. Girard He didn’t turn, didn’t blink. His small hand rested on the glass, his breath fogging it faintly. “They’re there,” he whispered. Olivia froze. “Who’s there?” Charlie finally looked at her, his wide eyes brim- ming with fear. “The ones who were here before. They’re waiting.” Later that evening, while tidying Charlie’s room, Olivia found the sketches. Charcoal drawings on scraps of paper were tucked under his bed and wedged in his desk drawer. Each image was more unsettling than the last. Figures with painted faces loomed in the shadows, their dark eyes staring out from jagged lines. A tree stood in the center of many of the drawings, its twist- ed branches reaching for a blackened sky. And fire, always fire, consuming everything around it. Olivia’s heart raced as she flipped through the im- ages. “Charlie... what is this?” Charlie stood in the doorway, pale and trembling. “They show me,” he whispered.