Echoes from the Past

Alex sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the journal he'd placed on his nightstand. His room, once a place of comfort and familiarity, now felt alien. The dim light of his desk lamp cast long shadows on the walls, and the distant creaks of the old house seemed louder than usual.

The story his grandmother had told replayed in his mind, each word carving deeper into his thoughts. The fire, the feud, the whispers in the fields. And Nathaniel. He couldn't stop picturing the man's twisted face, frozen in terror.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the image. "What is wrong with you? It's just a story," he muttered. "Just an old story."

But it didn't feel like just a story. Not anymore.

Alex reached for his phone, his fingers trembling slightly. He needed to talk to someone, someone who could help him make sense of this.

The first person he called was Chris.

It rang twice before his friend picked up, his voice groggy and annoyed. "Dude, it's late."

"It's not that late," Alex countered, glancing at the clock. It was 10:47 PM. "What, were you already asleep?"

"I was about to be," Chris grumbled. "What's going on?"

Alex hesitated, his free hand fiddling with the corner of his blanket. "I just… I needed to talk. My grandma told me this whole story about Blackwood House. About how it's cursed and how everyone who's lived there… "

"Died horribly?" Chris interrupted, his tone lighter. "Yeah, I figured that's where this was going."

Alex frowned. "It's not funny."

"I'm not laughing," Chris said, his voice softening. "Look, man, I get it. It's creepy as hell. But it's just a story, right? Old people love that stuff. They tell you scary crap to keep you from doing stupid things."

Alex sighed. "It didn't feel like that. She wasn't trying to scare me, Chris. She really believes it. And… I don't know, maybe she's right."

Chris was silent for a moment, then said, "You're overthinking it. You've got this letter, this house, all these crazy stories flying around. It's a lot. Trust me, I know. But you're not cursed, Alex. You're just a guy with a weird inheritance."

Alex nodded, even though Chris couldn't see him. "Yeah. Yeah, you're probably right."

"Of course I'm right," Chris said, a smile in his voice. "Now, go to bed. Or better yet, call Jordan. She's better at calming you down than I am."

Alex's stomach flipped. "Why would I call Jordan?"

"Because you like her," Chris said bluntly. "And don't even try to deny it."

"I'm hanging up now," Alex muttered, ignoring Chris's laughter as he ended the call.

Alex stared at his phone for a long moment. He didn't know why he was hesitating. Jordan was his friend; calling her wasn't weird.

But Chris's words lingered in his mind.

With a deep breath, he pulled up her contact and hit the call button. It rang once, twice, three times. He was about to hang up, chalking it up as a stupid decision when she picked.

"Hello?" Jordan's voice came through, calm and steady.

"Hey," Alex said, his own voice suddenly feeling small. "Were you busy?"

"No, just reading," she said. "What's up?"

He hesitated. "I… I wanted to talk. About the house."

"Blackwood House?" she asked.

"Yeah. My grandma told me this whole story about it tonight. About how it's cursed and how everyone who's lived there has died or gone insane. It was… a lot."

Jordan was quiet for a moment, then said, "That does sound like a lot. Are you okay?"

Alex let out a shaky breath. "I don't know. I can't stop thinking about it. What if she's right? What if going to that house is a mistake?"

"Alex," she said gently, "it's normal to feel scared. Your grandma's story must have sounded terrifying. But it's just a story. Houses aren't cursed. People love to blame bad luck on things they don't understand."

"Yeah, but what if this is different?" he pressed.

Jordan sighed, and he could almost see the way she rubbed her temple when she was thinking. "What do you need right now?"

He blinked. "What?"

"What do you need?" she repeated. "Do you want me to tell you everything's going to be fine? Or do you want me to agree that the house is haunted so you don't have to go?"

"I don't know," he admitted.

"Well," she said, her voice softening, "why don't we figure it out together? If you're up for it, we can meet at the café. Sometimes it helps to talk things through in person."

Alex hesitated. "Are you sure? It's late."

"I don't mind," she said, a smile in her voice. "Besides, I could use an excuse to get out of the house."

*****

The café was quieter than usual, the late hour thinning out the usual crowd of students and night owls. Alex sat at their usual table, his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee he didn't plan to drink.

The bell over the door jingled, and he looked up to see Jordan walking in. Her dark curls were loose around her shoulders, and she wore a simple hoodie and jeans. But to Alex, she looked effortlessly beautiful.

"Hey," she said, sliding into the seat across from him. "You look terrible."

"Thanks," he said dryly.

She smiled, her eyes warm. "So, tell me everything."

Alex did. He told her about his grandmother's story, about Nathaniel and William and the whispers in the fields. As he spoke, he noticed the way Jordan watched him; focused, attentive, like he was the only person in the room.

When he finished, she leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. "That's… intense. No wonder you're freaking out."

"I'm not freaking out," he said, though he knew it was a lie.

She raised an eyebrow. "Alex, you called me at eleven o'clock at night. If that's not freaking out, I don't know what is."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just don't know what to do. Part of me wants to just forget about it. But I can't. I feel like… like I have to go."

Jordan reached across the table, her hand brushing his. "If you really feel like you have to do this, then do it. But don't let fear make the decision for you."

Her touch was light, but it sent a jolt through him. He looked up, meeting her eyes, and felt his heart skip a beat.

"Thanks," he said softly.

She smiled, pulling her hand back. "Anytime."

For a while, neither of them spoke. The faint hum of the café's espresso machine filled the silence between them, punctuated by the occasional clink of a spoon against a mug. Alex kept his gaze on his coffee, watching the steam curl upward as he turned Jordan's words over in his mind.

She was right. He knew she was right. But knowing didn't make it any easier.

"So," Jordan said, breaking the silence, "what's your plan?"

Alex frowned. "Plan?"

"You said you feel like you have to go to the house," she said, leaning forward slightly. "But what does that actually mean? Are you going to pack a bag and just… show up?"

He let out a half-hearted laugh. "Honestly, I haven't thought that far ahead."

Jordan gave him a look, the kind that always made him feel like he was missing something obvious. "You know, there's another way to figure this out. You don't have to go in blind."

"What do you mean?"

She tapped her fingers lightly against the table. "The letter you got, it came from Anderson and Sons, right? The law firm?"

"Yeah."

"Why don't we go there? Tomorrow, maybe. Talk to them. See what they know about the house. If anyone has answers, it's them."

Alex blinked, surprised by the suggestion. "You'd come with me?"

"Of course," she said, smiling faintly. "What are friends for?"

Friends. The word stung more than it should have.

Alex shifted in his seat, his fingers tightening around his coffee mug. "What if they can't tell me anything? Or worse, what if they say something that makes all of this even worse?"

Jordan tilted her head slightly, her dark curls brushing against her cheek. "Then at least you'll know. Isn't that better than sitting around, letting your imagination fill in the gaps?"

She had a point. Of course she did. Jordan always had a way of cutting through the noise in his head, of grounding him when everything felt like it was spiraling out of control.

"You're good at this," he said softly.

She raised an eyebrow. "At what?"

"Keeping me sane."

Jordan laughed, a light, genuine sound that made his chest feel tight. "It's a full-time job, let me tell you."

He smiled, but it faded quickly. "I just… I don't know if I'm ready for all of this. The house, the history, whatever the hell my family's gotten tangled up in. It's a lot."

"Of course it's a lot," she said. "But you don't have to carry it by yourself. You've got people who care about you. Me, Chris, Emma, Taylor. We've got your back."

Alex looked at her, and for a moment, the weight in his chest felt a little lighter.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

"Anytime," she replied, her gaze lingering on him just a fraction too long.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics after that; movies, classes, Taylor's terrible taste in music. But beneath the surface, there was an unspoken tension, a thread that pulled tighter with every shared glance, every moment their hands brushed as they reached for their cups.

At one point, Jordan reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, and Alex found himself staring. She caught him, her lips quirking into a small, knowing smile.

"You're quiet," she said.

"Sorry," he mumbled, looking away.

"Don't apologize," she said softly. "I don't mind."

The words hung between them, heavier than they should have been.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, the café began to empty. The barista behind the counter started wiping down tables, and the hum of conversation faded to a gentle murmur.

"We should probably head out," Jordan said, glancing at her phone. "It's getting late."

"Yeah," Alex agreed, though part of him didn't want the night to end.

They walked out into the cool night air, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. The quiet felt different now; less oppressive, more peaceful.

Jordan turned to face him, her hands tucked into the pockets of her hoodie. "Feel better?"

Alex nodded. "Yeah. Thanks to you."

She smiled, stepping closer. "Good."

For a moment, they just stood there, the space between them shrinking until it was almost nonexistent. Alex's heart was pounding, his thoughts a tangled mess of uncertainty and hope.

"Jordan," he started, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah?" she asked, her gaze steady.

He hesitated, searching for the right words, but before he could find them, she leaned in.

The kiss was soft, tentative, and over too quickly. But it left Alex frozen in place, his mind blank except for the sensation of her lips against his.

When she pulled back, there was a flicker of something in her eyes, something vulnerable, like she wasn't sure what would happen next.

"Goodnight, Alex," she said, her voice quieter than usual.

"Goodnight," he managed, his voice hoarse.

She turned and walked away, leaving him standing there under the streetlight, his thoughts spinning.

For the first time since the letter came into his life, the fear in his chest loosened its grip, replaced by something warmer.