Chapter 5: She’s Still Waiting

"You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream." – C.S. Lewis, author

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Chapter 5: She's Still Waiting

Sam blinked at the guestbook.

"She's still waiting in the guest room."

The ink looked fresh. Not smudged, not faded—someone, or something, had just written this.

He exhaled through his nose, closing the book slowly. "Right. That's normal."

His first instinct was to brush it off, but his gut wouldn't let him.

The guest room. Not just any guest room. That one. The locked one. The one he had never entered since arriving here. The one he didn't have the key to.

His uncle had never mentioned it. Never explained why it was shut. And Sam, being the responsible adult he totally was, had never bothered to ask.

Now, someone was waiting in there?

He snorted, shaking his head. "Sure. And I'm an A-class actor."

The thought almost made him laugh. Acting. Right. If he were any good at it, he wouldn't have been stuck doing background work while his classmates took the lead.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. Maybe he was just hungry. It was easier to believe his brain was messing with him than to consider… other possibilities.

Knock, knock.

Sam flinched so hard he nearly tripped. He spun toward the guest room door—but no, the sound came from the front.

His heartbeat pounded as he exhaled. "God, I hate this house."

He stomped toward the entrance, throwing it open with an exaggerated scowl. "What."

"Dude," his friend deadpanned. "I called you."

Standing there was Ethan, an old college buddy. Tall, slightly disheveled, and currently holding up his phone like it was evidence in a court case.

Sam blinked. "Oh. Uh." He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and—yeah. Eight missed calls.

"…I was busy."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Doing what, staring dramatically at the wall?"

"No. Reading ominous literature." Sam leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed. "What do you want?"

Ethan scoffed and stepped inside without waiting for permission. "Damn, you're really living the recluse lifestyle now, huh?"

"Yeah, well." Sam shut the door. "Got a big, fancy house all to myself. Might as well commit."

Ethan gave him a weird look, scanning the room. "Dude, this place is still creepy."

Ethan flopped onto the couch like he owned the place. "You got water or something? It's hot as hell out there."

Sam shook his head in mock disappointment. "What, didn't bring your own personal hydration system?"

Ethan pointed at him. "I did, but someone made me stand outside knocking like a lost child."

Sam snorted but went to the kitchen. He grabbed a glass, filling it from the filter. When he returned, he tossed it onto the table in front of Ethan.

"There. Hydrate or die-drate."

Ethan rolled his eyes but took a sip.

"Thanks."

"I mean it. How do you live here?"

Sam smirked. "What, afraid of ghosts?"

Ethan rolled his eyes. "No, I just don't wanna be in a horror movie."

Sam snorted. "Too late. You're already the best friend who warns the main character but disappears halfway through."

"Oh, great." Ethan said,"So, when's my tragic off-screen death?"

"Depends. Did you come with an emotional backstory?"

Ethan flipped him off.

Sam rolled his eyes and flopped onto the couch. "Like a normal person. I eat, sleep, clean. Pray I don't get haunted."

"…Right." Ethan didn't sound convinced. He walked around, glancing at the furniture. Then, casually: "So, when are you selling it?"

Sam snorted. "Wow. Not even a 'how are you' first?"

"Because I know how you are. Stressed, weird, and avoiding your problems." Ethan smirked. "Now, answer the question."

Sam sighed. "It's not urgent. Even if I wanted to, nobody's buying it. And the ones who are? They're throwing out offers so low, I'd rather donate the place to a cult."

Ethan whistled. "Harsh. Guess people aren't lining up to live in 'probably haunted guesthouse' territory."

"Nope."

"So, what? You just gonna stay here forever?"

Sam shrugged. "For now. I mean, might as well clean the place up, keep it nice. A well-maintained house attracts better offers."

Ethan smirked. "Yeah, sure. You're totally not getting attached."

"I'm not."

"Uh-huh."

Sam groaned and tried to kick him which Ethan dodged easily.

Then, as if remembering something, Ethan straightened. "Oh, right! Don't forget—the club's audition is the day after tomorrow."

Sam blinked. "Oh. That's still happening?"

"Of course it is. And you are coming."

Sam rubbed his temples. "Ethan, I literally suck."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

Ethan crossed his arms. "Look, I know you weren't the best at acting, but you're not bad either. Besides, I need you there. Don't let me suffer alone, man."

Sam sighed, staring at the ceiling. He'd already resigned himself to stagehand roles—lighting, backstage work, setting up props. He never got a real part.

Still… he had paid for the club's classes. And getting out of the house might be nice.

"…Fine," he muttered. "I'll go."

Ethan grinned. "Good. I'll drag you there if I have to."

"Yeah, yeah."

They talked a bit longer before Ethan stretched. "Alright, I should get going. This place is weird."

Sam smirked. "C'mon. Stay the night. See if the ghosts introduce themselves."

Ethan shuddered. "No thanks. I like waking up in my own bed."

Sam chuckled as he walked him to the door.

Ethan stepped outside, then paused. "Hey."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

Ethan frowned slightly, glancing back at the house. "I dunno. Just… don't let this place get to you, alright?"

Sam tilted his head, smirking. "What, you worried?"

Ethan rolled his eyes. "I'm always worried about you."

With that, he left.

Sam shut the door, locking it behind him. The house fell silent again.

He turned, eyes drifting toward the stairs.

The guestbook sat on the table.

The guest room remained shut.

…For now.

---END.