Ash on Clean Skin

The back doors of the van swung open, and I stepped out. The icy air hit me immediately, and I turned toward the house—the place that had haunted me for years—and began walking.

Every step felt heavier than the last. My heart pounded, the rhythm growing louder in my ears with every breath. I reached for my necklace again, my fingers brushing against the charm as I whispered to myself. You can do this. You can do this.

The porch creaked under my weight as I stepped onto it, and for a moment, I hesitated. The door loomed in front of me, chipped and peeling, just as I remembered it. My hand shook as I raised it, and I knocked.

Three sharp raps.

Silence.

I waited, glancing over my shoulder at the empty street. No movement. No sound.

I knocked again, harder this time.

After a moment, I heard it: the heavy shuffle of footsteps from inside. My stomach tightened, the bile rising in my throat as the door swung open.

William.