The Haunting - Part 1

Arrival in Marietta

Driving through Marietta's charming streets, David Wolfe found comfort in the suburban tableau. The engine of his midnight blue Audi A6 hummed softly, blending with the rustling leaves. Sunlight flickered through the tree branches, painting the road in moving patches of gold.

With their old-world charm, the side streets offered a sense of nostalgia, slowing time down in a familiar way to David. As he turned onto Sessions Street, his destination emerged as if from a tale long whispered in hushed tones—a Victorian house nestled amidst towering arboreal guardians.

Its wooden frame, weathered to a silvery-gray, held an ethereal charm. Gingerbread trim and elaborate fretwork crafted a façade of welcoming intricacy, yet as the sunlight danced upon the upper windows, casting flickering reflections like the glance of a coy observer, an inexplicable shiver traced down his spine.

With its silent, watchful windows, the house offered a greeting not just from within but from something unseen, whispering secrets hidden behind its stoic gaze.

The House Looms Ahead

Guiding his car onto the cobblestone driveway, David felt the deep rumble of the stones beneath the tires. He parked but remained in the driver’s seat, staring at the untamed shrubbery that hugged the house, imbuing the property with mystery and intrigue.

A strange mix of excitement and trepidation settled in his chest—like stepping into a story whose ending he couldn’t quite predict.

Stepping out, he drew in the scent of aged masonry and the crisp autumn air. The whispering breeze through the trees mingled with the distant chorus of cicadas, a reminder that life moved on regardless of the histories trapped in old walls.

A Watchful Neighbor

From the corner of his eye, movement across the street caught his attention.

A woman tended to flourishing plants in colorful pots on the deck of the neighboring house. She moved with a quiet elegance, arranging sprigs of herbs into small bundles, her fingers deft and practiced.

She glanced up and smiled—a brief, knowing gesture. Then, without a word, she turned back to her work, humming softly.

David returned the wave, lingering for a moment before shifting his focus back to the house that had called him here.

Up Close—Time Holds Its Breath

The driveway led him toward the worn flagstone steps, where moss and lichen had claimed residence in the cracks.

Up close, the house seemed to loom larger, its weathered façade revealing spiderwebbed cracks and faded carvings that hinted at stories long since buried.

He paused at the base of the stained-glass door, letting his gaze drift to the turret above.

Its darkened window seemed to watch him in return.

For a fleeting heartbeat, an unsettling notion filled his mind—a presence weighing and measuring him. He blinked, and the feeling was gone, leaving only the sense that something unseen had acknowledged his arrival.

A Past That Won't Let Go

Memories stirred. Anise.

His wife of sixteen years.

He saw her in a thousand faded moments—muted glances across dinner tables, laughter that had grown strained, the slow erosion of words.

She had left, and yet here she was, lingering like an echo within him.

The house felt like a mirror, reflecting something he couldn’t quite name. Was it a

promise of renewal—or a trap set by the past?

"Is that chapter of my life closed?"

Buying this house was more than a transaction. It was a reinvention, a shedding of old skin.

And yet, deep down, a whisper of doubt remained.

The Rusted Gate

The buzz of his phone startled him from his thoughts.

Brandi: Almost there! See you in five!

David exhaled, his grip tightening on the phone. Brandi—his realtor, Anise’s old friend.

"Perfect. Just got here," he typed back, then pocketed his phone.

With a few minutes to spare, he wandered to the left of the walkway, where something unexpected caught his eye—a rusted iron gate, half-hidden beneath a wild tangle of vines.

It led nowhere, its purpose lost to time, yet little white flowers bloomed through its rusted bars, vibrant against the decay.

He stepped closer, brushing his fingers along the iron. Something about it felt deliberate.

"Strange that it survived all these years," he murmured.

Before he could dwell on the thought, the sound of an approaching car broke the spell.

Brandi Arrives

David turned back toward the driveway just as Brandi’s car slowed to a stop.

She stepped out with her signature energy, her smile bright and familiar.

“Welcome, David!” she called, crossing toward him. “Isn’t it beautiful? I can’t wait to show you around.”

He returned her smile, his eyes drifting back to the towering house.

“It is amazing,” he admitted. “It has a life of its own, doesn’t it?”

Brandi gestured toward the expansive yard as they walked toward the porch.

"You’ve got a good-sized lot—and it’s a corner property, too. Adds a bit of charm, don’t you think?”

David nodded. “Definitely. Gives it a unique edge.”

Brandi gazed at the weathered architecture as they climbed the steps. "They don’t make them like this anymore, do they? This house has a soul, David. You’ll see.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious, but as David placed his hand on the exquisite stained-glass door, he hesitated.

Something waited inside.

He could feel it.

Brandi reached for the doorknob.

“Ready to check it out?” she asked.

David inhaled deeply. Then, with a steadying nod, he followed her across the threshold.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Next Time: The grand staircase, the stain on the floor, and a whisper in the mist… What secrets does the house on Sessions Street hold?