I was still holding the paper when Mom pulled me away from the door.
“Don’t read it again,” she whispered.
“What does it mean?”
“Go upstairs to your room.”
“Mom, this is a picture of the same house. The house from my dream. How could—”
“Go!”
Mom’s voice cracked. Not with anger. With fear.
I had never seen her like that.
From behind Dad’s bedroom door came the sound of something scraping. Slowly, like fingernails being dragged across wood.
Creak.
Creak.
Mom pressed her index finger to her lips. We stood motionless in the hallway, not even daring to breathe too loudly.
Then the sound stopped.
My phone vibrated again.
This time, the message came from the same number.
DON’T LET THEM WAKE UP.
I read the sentence over and over.
“Who are they?” I asked.
Mom snatched the phone from my hand. Her face grew even paler when she saw the screen.
“Leya, Nia, and Jeremi,” she said.
I stared at her.
“You knew?”
“Listen to me carefully. Don’t wake anyone. Don’t tell them about this paper.”
“Why?”
“Because they may have seen that house before.”
Before I could ask anything else, the sound of a door opening came from upstairs.
We both looked up.
Leya’s bedroom door moved slowly.
Mom grabbed my arm.
“Don’t go up.”
But then I heard Leya crying from inside the room.
“Mom?”
I immediately ran up the stairs.
“Don’t!” Mom shouted.
Too late.
Leya’s bedroom door stood wide open. The room was empty. The window was closed. Her bed was still neatly made, but the floor was wet with footprints.
The footprints came from the window and ended in the middle of the room.
I crouched down to examine them more closely. The water was clear, but the same smell of wet earth filled the air.
On the wall, directly above the bed, someone had written in long scratches:
ONE ALREADY REMEMBERS.
“Who remembers?” I asked.
Mom didn’t answer.
From the room next door came the sound of something falling.
Nia.
I ran over and opened the door. Nia was sitting on the floor, hugging her knees. Her eyes were open, but her gaze was empty.
“Nia!”
She slowly turned toward me.
“Where are we?”
“At home.”
Nia shook her head.
“Not this home.”
Her hands clenched the blanket. Tears streamed down her cheeks, exactly like in my dream.
“I heard someone calling,” she said. “They were calling my name from that white place.”
“Who?”
Nia looked at me.
“Daryl.”
The bedroom light flickered.
For a moment, our reflections appeared in the window. Nia, Mom, and I stood there.
But there was one extra figure behind us.
Its body was tall and thin.
Its face was nothing but a white question mark.
I turned around.
There was no one there.
When I looked back at the window, the figure was already standing closer. Right behind my shoulder.
I held back a scream.
“Don’t look behind you,” Nia whispered.
“Why?”
“Because if you look at it, it’ll know your face.”
The moment she finished speaking, a knock came from downstairs.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Three knocks.
Mom closed Nia’s bedroom door. The three of us backed away until my back touched the wall.
Then the knocking came again.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Six times.
My phone lit up without anyone touching it.
The lock screen changed to a picture of a two-story house. Seven people stood in front of it.
This time, Daryl’s face wasn’t blurry.
The question mark on his face had changed into an eye.
One huge eye staring straight at me.
The final knock sounded.
Knock.
Seven times.
The entire house suddenly fell silent.
Then, from downstairs, Daryl’s voice called my name.
“Now it’s your turn to open the door.”
Mom began to cry.
Nia covered both her ears.
I stared at my phone’s screen. The picture of the house slowly shifted. Its front door opened little by little.
Inside the darkness, someone stood waiting.
I recognized the shape of its body.
It was me.
But the figure in the picture had no face.
And from behind the front door of our house, Dad whispered,
“Come home.”