Chapter 1: The Weight of a Memory

Chapter 1: The Weight of a Memory

The air in the house was thick with the ghosts of yesterday. It smelled of stale coffee and wilting funeral lilies, a cloying sweetness that clung to the back of Leo’s throat. For three days, the world had been muted, colors bled out and sounds muffled as if he were underwater. He sat on the edge of a half-packed cardboard box labeled ‘KITCHEN,’ the sharp corner digging into his thigh, but he felt nothing.

His world had shrunk to the silver chain around his neck. His thumb traced the familiar outline of the small, golden heart charm dangling from it. It was Hannah’s. He’d given it back to her at the hospital, a silent, desperate plea. The nurse had given it back to him in a small plastic bag, her eyes full of a pity he couldn’t stand. Now, it was the only thing that felt real.

A sharp ache pulsed in his chest, a deep, internal throb that had nothing to do with the fading, ugly bruise left by the airbag. That was just a physical echo of the real damage. The real damage was a cavernous hole where his big sister used to be. A recurring snapshot of the accident played on a loop behind his eyes: the blinding glare of headlights, the shriek of tortured metal, the impossible angle of Hannah’s head against the shattered window, and then… silence. A profound, world-ending silence. He’d walked away. She hadn’t. The guilt was a physical weight, pressing down on his shoulders, making it hard to breathe.

“Leo?”

His father’s voice cut through the haze. Jim Vance stood in the doorway, his frame looking too large for the cramped, desolate living room. He was wearing a flannel shirt Leo hadn’t seen in years, and he’d made a poor attempt at shaving, missing a patch on his chin. He was trying so hard to look solid, to be the rock, but Leo could see the cracks spiderwebbing through his eyes. The same hollowed-out look stared back at him from the dusty mirror every morning.

“We need to… we need to finish up, son,” Jim said, his voice straining for a normalcy that was obscene.

Leo didn’t look up. He just kept rubbing the tiny heart charm. “What’s the point?” he mumbled. The words were gravel in his mouth.

Jim sighed, a long, ragged sound that seemed to carry all the exhaustion in the world. He walked over and sat on the arm of the worn-out sofa, the springs groaning in protest. He held out a glossy, folded brochure. The paper was crisp and bright, an alien object in their monochrome world of grief.

“This is the point,” Jim said, his voice now a low, desperate plea. “A new start, Leo. For both of us.”

Leo took the brochure without interest. The front showed a picture of a pristine, tree-lined street under a sky of impossible blue. The words ‘Old Ridge’ were printed in a friendly, looping font. Below it, a tagline read: ‘The Town That Remembers How to Live.’

Leo felt a bitter laugh bubble in his chest, but he choked it down. “It’s in the middle of nowhere.”

“It’s quiet,” Jim corrected, his gaze fixed on the brochure as if it were a holy text. “I got a job there. A good one. Long-haul, but the depot is right in town. The pay is better than anything I could find around here. We can get a house. A real house, with a yard. Not this… this place.” He gestured vaguely at the peeling paint and water-stained ceiling, at the empty space on the wall where a family portrait used to hang.

Leo’s eyes flickered to that empty space. He and Hannah, grinning at the camera, their arms slung around their mom’s shoulders. Dad had taken it down the day after the funeral. He couldn’t look at it. He couldn’t even say her name.

“I don’t want a new start,” Leo said, his voice flat. He wanted to rewind. He wanted the last three weeks to un-happen.

“We can’t stay here, son,” Jim’s voice broke, the carefully constructed dam of his composure finally giving way. “Every corner, every… I can’t. We can’t heal here. This place is full of ghosts.”

He’s wrong, Leo thought, his grip tightening on the necklace. Hannah’s not a ghost. She’s a memory. And I’m not leaving her behind.

But he was too tired to fight. The grief had sapped every ounce of his strength. So he just nodded, a barely perceptible dip of his chin. It was enough. Relief washed over his father’s face, so profound it was almost painful to watch. Jim saw this as a solution, an escape. To Leo, it just felt like running from one prison to another.

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Two days later, the old SUV was packed to the roof. The house behind them looked skeletal, its windows like vacant eyes. Dusk was bleeding across the sky in bruised shades of purple and orange as Leo climbed into the passenger seat. The engine turned over with a weary groan, a fitting soundtrack for their departure.

As his father put the car in drive, a figure emerged from the house next door. It was Bill, their neighbor for as long as Leo could remember. An eighty-year-old man who usually just watered his prize-winning roses and waved. But lately, his waves had seemed less friendly, his gaze more piercing.

He shuffled over to the driver’s side window, a wide, unnerving smile plastered on his face. His eyes, however, were like faded photographs, devoid of any real warmth.

“Off on an adventure, Jim?” Bill chirped, his voice thin and reedy.

“Something like that, Bill,” Jim said, forcing a polite smile. “New job. New town. A fresh start.”

“A fresh start,” Bill repeated, the words sounding like a curse. His gaze drifted past Jim and locked onto Leo. The smile didn’t falter, but something cold and sharp entered his eyes. “And where is this new Eden?”

“A small town down south. Called Old Ridge.”

The name hung in the air. In an instant, Bill’s entire demeanor shifted. The smile collapsed, replaced by a slack-jawed horror. The vacant cheerfulness in his eyes sharpened into a frantic, terrified intensity. His frail hand shot out and gripped Jim’s arm, his fingers surprisingly strong, like bird talons.

“No,” Bill rasped, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial, panicked whisper. “Not there. Anywhere but there.”

Jim tried to pull his arm away, startled. “Bill, what are you talking about? It’s just a quiet town.”

“Quiet?” Bill’s laugh was a dry, rattling sound, like leaves skittering across pavement. “It’s quiet because it’s empty. That place… that place is a graveyard for memories.” He leaned closer, his breath smelling of dust and something sour. His eyes, wide and wild, were fixed on Leo. He seemed to look right through him, at the necklace resting against his chest.

“You’re taking her with you?” he whispered, his gaze locked on the golden heart. “To that place? You can’t. It’ll take her. It’ll take her, and it will make you forget.”

“That’s enough, Bill,” Jim said, his voice hard as he finally wrenched his arm free. He was unnerved, but trying to dismiss it as the ramblings of an old man. “You’re upsetting my son.”

But Leo was frozen, a shard of ice piercing the numb fog of his grief. Bill’s terror felt raw and real.

“My boy went there,” Bill hissed, ignoring Jim completely, his focus entirely on Leo. He jabbed a trembling finger toward the SUV. “They promised him peace, too. Now… now I get a postcard for Christmas. Same picture every year. Same empty words. It’s not him. It’s a copy. The town took my son and left me with a polite ghost.”

He took a step back, his face a mask of anguish and fury. “Don’t go to Old Ridge,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “It doesn’t heal you. It erases you.”

Jim didn’t reply. He just hit the gas, the SUV lurching away from the curb. In the rearview mirror, Leo watched Bill stand in the middle of the street, a frail, desperate figure shrinking in the twilight. As they turned the corner, Leo glanced back at the house next door.

A dark silhouette stood in the upstairs window, perfectly still, watching them go.

It was Bill.

The car was silent, filled only by the hum of the engine and the frantic thumping of Leo’s own heart. His father stared straight ahead, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

“Don’t listen to him, Leo,” Jim said finally, his voice tight. “He’s old. He’s confused.”

But Leo wasn’t so sure. He clutched the golden heart charm on his necklace. It felt strangely cold against his skin. The seed of dread, planted by a terrified old man on a dying street, had already begun to take root. They were driving away from a house of ghosts, but Leo had the chilling certainty they were driving directly into something far, far worse.