That's Where Aurabelle Lives

Chapter 12: Photographs of the Past

Sarah's tries to control her breathing as she stands in the Walter's house, her heart racing with a rhythm that feels foreign even to her own chest. She's unsure of how long she's been in the house, her last memory a blur of voices and eerie chants that now echo in the recesses of her mind. The air is heavy, saturated with the scent of dust and disuse. She's trapped.

A lingering whisper in her thoughts, nudges her forward, urging her to explore the shadowed halls and peeling wallpaper of its domain. Sarah feels the compulsion drawing her deeper into the house, her feet moving of their own accord. Each step she takes feels like a descent into a past that isn't hers, a history steeped in mystery and darkness.

The walls are adorned with old and broken pictures, their frames crooked, hanging at odd angles. As Sarah's gaze flits across them, she's drawn to the images of a family that looks nothing short of peculiar. A sense of wrongness emanates from the portraits; the family members' eyes seem to follow her, their expressions capturing a story untold.

Among the portraits, Sarah's attention fixes on pictures of a girl who she assumes was Aurabelle, who appears to be in her teenage years. Aurabelle's eyes are wide with fright in almost every photograph, her posture rigid, as if she's perpetually bracing for a blow. In contrast, there's a sister, her smile too wide, too knowing, bordering on sinister. It sends a chill skittering down Sarah's spine, the look in the sister's eyes much like that of a predator toying with its prey.

"Why did they look so strange?" Sarah wonders aloud, her voice a soft murmur in the silence of the house. She feels a strange kinship with Araubelle, the captured fear in the girl's eyes resonating within her own heart. "What happened to you, Araubelle?" she asks, directing her words to the photograph as if expecting an answer.

Sarah feels as though the pictures might just whisper back if she listens hard enough. The urge to understand, to unravel the mystery of Araubelle and The Walter's family, grows stronger, a compulsion that Sarah can't seem to resist.

As she meanders through the rooms, her fingers trail over surfaces coated in dust, the remnants of a life long since abandoned.

Suddenly, a noise from the depths of the house causes her to freeze. It's coming from the basement—a place wrapped in shadows and untold secrets.

The voice of the spirit in her head grows insistent, a strong command that beckons her to the basement door.

"Go," it urges, a directive that thrums through her veins. Sarah's heart pounds in her chest, fear rooting her to the spot. The basement represents the unknown, a darkness that she's terrified to confront.

Despite the spirit's insistence, Sarah can't muster the courage to descend into the depths. Instead, she turns away.  She won't be coerced into the shadows—not yet. Instead, she wanders to the parents' old bedroom, the door hanging askew on its hinges. The bedroom feels frozen in time. Sarah's steps echo softly on the warped floorboards as she ventures further into the room, her eyes scanning the remnants of the past. The bed is unmade, its sheets tattered and stained, while the dresser stands sentinel against the peeling walls, its drawers gaping open as if in silent protest.

Sarah catches sight of a faded photograph tucked beneath a pile of yellowed letters. She retrieves it, her fingers trembling as she gazes at the image captured within the worn frame. It's a picture of Araubelle and her family, the same ones she had seen in the hallway.

Araubelle, her eyes wide with fear, stands at the center of the photograph, flanked by her parents and the sister with the haunting smile. The parents' expressions are solemn, their eyes filled with a sorrow that seems to seep from the very fibers of the photograph. The sister, however, stands at the edge of the frame, her smile unnervingly wide.

Sarah's gaze lingers on the picture, and she feels a surge of empathy for Araubelle. What had she endured in this house? What unseen horrors had unfolded behind the facade of family portraits and forced smiles?

As Sarah's eyes drift to the corner of the photograph, she notices something she hadn't seen before—a faint, shadowy figure lurking in the background. The figure is blurred and indistinct, like a specter caught in the periphery of the camera's lens. It sends a shiver down her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling with unease.

Before she can delve further into the photograph's enigma, a soft sound drifts through the room, pulling her attention to the open window. The curtains sway gently in the breeze, their tattered edges fluttering as if beckoning her to the outside world. Sarah hesitates, her eyes narrowing as she contemplates the invitation.

The spirit's voice, a persistent murmur in her thoughts, urges her to explore the house, to uncover its secrets. But a whisper of self-preservation tugs at her, urging her to flee, to escape the clutches of this haunting place.

A sudden commotion from the hallway startles her, the sound of footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. Sarah's pulse quickens, her breath catching in her throat as she frantically searches for a place to hide. The bedroom offers no refuge, and she realizes she's trapped.

With a surge of determination, Sarah makes a split-second decision. She darts toward the open window, her fingers grasping the frayed curtains as she hauls herself through the narrow opening. The outside world unfolds before her, bathed in the soft glow of twilight, and she's filled with a desperate longing for freedom...

Only for a second...then she's back in the same bedroom. Trapped once again.

Thee whispered echoes of the spirit's voice continue to resonate in her mind, a haunting reminder that she hasn't truly left the house behind. Its secrets still linger, waiting to be unearthed, and Sarah knows that. She hides underneath the bed for the time being. Waiting...