Web of lies

The Return

Rhea stepped off the train, a thin layer of sweat coating her palms as the humidity of the small town engulfed her. Her suitcase rattled against the uneven platform as she dragged it behind her, feeling the weight of the decision she had made a month ago. The place was both familiar and foreign. The same old, tired train station greeted her, with its chipped paint and rusted benches, but now it held an air of unease she couldn't quite shake.

She looked around, half-expecting to see a familiar face from her past. The people bustled around her, but none of them seemed to notice her return, and maybe that was a good thing. Rhea had left this town behind almost a decade ago, fleeing to the city to escape its suffocating familiarity. But now, after everything that had happened, returning to her childhood home seemed like the only option.

It wasn’t the homecoming she had ever imagined. The house, nestled at the edge of the town, still stood as it had years ago, yet it now loomed larger in her mind, a relic of a past she wasn’t sure she wanted to revisit.

A cold shiver passed over her despite the warm breeze. She hadn’t expected to feel this way—an uneasy blend of nostalgia and dread. It was the trauma, she told herself. The city had chewed her up, left her scarred, and now this place felt like a refuge, even though she could never truly feel safe again.

“Rhea?” a voice broke through her thoughts.

She spun around, her heart skipping a beat. The face that greeted her was weathered but kind. It was Mrs. Patel, the old woman who used to live a few doors down when Rhea was a child. She hadn’t aged much, though her hair was now fully gray.

“Mrs. Patel,” Rhea forced a smile, though it felt strange on her lips. “It’s been a while.”

“Ten years, if I recall correctly. What brings you back? Last we heard, you were making a name for yourself in the city,” Mrs. Patel said, her voice a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

Rhea hesitated. She wasn’t ready to spill the truth, not yet. “Just needed a change of pace,” she lied. “The city can be… overwhelming.”

Mrs. Patel nodded, though Rhea could tell she wasn’t convinced. The old woman’s eyes flickered with concern, but she didn’t pry. Instead, she gestured toward the house Rhea had grown up in.

“Your parents’ house has been sitting empty for a while now. I’m sure it could use a little care,” Mrs. Patel said. “If you need anything, just come by.”

Rhea thanked her, feeling a bit of relief as the woman shuffled away. The truth was, she didn’t want to engage with anyone right now. She needed time to breathe, to figure out her next steps. The old house, with its chipped paint and overgrown lawn, was waiting for her. It felt like a time capsule—untouched since her parents had passed away five years ago.

She fished the keys out of her bag and unlocked the front door. The creak of the hinges made her wince as she pushed it open. Inside, the air was stale, thick with dust and the scent of abandonment. The sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting a hazy glow over the furniture, which was draped in old sheets.

As Rhea walked deeper into the house, memories rushed at her—dinners with her parents at the small dining table, the sound of her mother’s laughter echoing down the hall, her father’s quiet hum as he read the newspaper by the window. She had thought she had moved on, but being back here made it feel as though time had barely passed.

She left her suitcase by the door and wandered through the rooms, feeling the past cling to her like a second skin. When she reached her old bedroom, she paused. The room was exactly as she had left it, down to the posters of bands she no longer listened to and the stack of books on the nightstand that had gathered a thick layer of dust.

Rhea sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, the creak of the mattress breaking the oppressive silence. She felt uneasy, but she couldn’t quite place why. Perhaps it was just the memories—perhaps it was the feeling that she didn’t belong here anymore.

Or maybe it was the fact that, no matter how hard she tried to leave her past behind, something was always lurking just out of sight, waiting to pull her back in.

As night fell, she decided to unpack. The silence of the house became overwhelming. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of wind against the windows, sent chills down her spine. She shook it off—nerves, just nerves, she told herself.

Then, as she zipped open her suitcase, something odd caught her eye. There, resting on the nightstand, was a small envelope. Her pulse quickened. She hadn’t left anything here, certainly not an envelope. With trembling fingers, she picked it up, staring at the unmarked white paper. There was no name, no address—just a blank envelope that had somehow appeared in her locked house.

Rhea’s throat tightened. She hesitated before tearing it open, her mind racing with possibilities. Inside was a single sheet of paper with one sentence written in neat, deliberate handwriting:

"Welcome back, Rhea. You won’t be leaving this time."

Her breath caught. She looked around, suddenly feeling exposed. The house felt different now, the walls closing in. Her heart pounded in her chest as the silence pressed against her ears.

Someone knew she was here. Someone had been in her house.

And they were watching.