Our Haunted Hearts (Ch. 2)

Chapter Two

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             The path to Elias’s house was narrower than Emma expected, barely more than a deer trail winding through thick woods. Branches clawed at her coat as she walked. Their skeletal forms scraping against the sky like gnarled fingers. The mist had thickened since she left town, wrapping itself around the trees and muffling the sounds of the forest. Every step seemed to disappear into the ground beneath her feet as if the earth itself wanted to swallow her whole.

             As Emma trudged along the forest path, the mist curling around her like cold fingers, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it at first, her thoughts too tangled in the fog of grief to care. Another step, another buzz. The vibration gnawed at her patience until she pulled it out, half expecting some spam message.

             It was Sam.

            Hey, you okay? Haven’t heard from you. Just checking in.

            She stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. Sam had been blowing up her phone for days, each missed call and ignored message another reminder of the mess she was walking away from. Part of her wanted to throw the phone into the nearest patch of brambles and be done with it.

            But she couldn’t.

            Sam had lost Alex too.

            She sighed, the memories creeping in despite her best efforts to shove them aside.

            Emma thought back to the first time she’d met Sam—years ago, in a dingy apartment Alex had rented after getting out of rehab. Alex had been so proud, determined to stay clean and rebuild his life. He’d invited her over for dinner, something he’d learned to make in a cooking class the two of them had taken together. Sam was there too, standing awkwardly in the kitchen, a cigarette hanging from his lips even though the window was barely cracked open.

             “You’re Emma, right?” Sam had asked, offering her a lopsided grin as he stubbed the cigarette out in an old mug. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

            “Yeah, and you’re Sam. Alex talks about you nonstop,” she’d replied, forcing a smile as she tried not to choke on the haze of smoke. She wasn’t exactly thrilled about meeting the guy her best friend had spent months detoxing with, but Alex had insisted.

             Sam was rough around the edges, his arms littered with tattoos, his eyes always a little too tired. But there was a kindness there, beneath the layers of exhaustion and the battle scars of addiction. She could see why Alex had bonded with him.

            They’d spent the evening making awkward small talk while Alex cooked. Sam kept sneaking glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, his eyes lingering just a little too long. It didn’t take long for Emma to pick up on it—the subtle crush he had on her, the way he’d hang back when Alex wasn’t around, always trying to make conversation, trying to make her laugh.

            But she never took him seriously. He was Alex’s friend, and that was that.

            That hadn’t stopped him from texting her, though. Over the years, whenever Alex had slipped, it was Sam who would call her, asking if she knew where Alex was. After Ava entered the picture, and Alex seemed to be doing better, Sam faded into the background, still part of Alex’s life, but never hers. 

             Until now.

            Emma blinked, shaking herself free from the memories. She stared at the message again, her thumb still hovering over the screen.

            I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.

            The words felt hollow even as she typed them, but she hit send anyway. She couldn’t deal with Sam’s concern right now. She had bigger things to focus on.

            The phone buzzed again almost immediately. This time, she didn’t bother looking at it. Stuffing it back into her pocket, she picked up the pace, with the mist thickening as she neared Elias’s house. Whatever Sam had to say could wait. She had her own ghosts to confront now.

             It didn’t take long to find the house. An ivy-covered relic, leaning slightly to one side as though it, too, had grown tired of holding itself together. Its windows were dark, the glass grimy with age. For a moment, she wondered if anyone even lived there anymore. Maybe Elias had succumbed to the curse long ago, and the stories had simply lingered like ghosts.

               She stood at the edge of the overgrown yard, her heart pounding in her chest. For a second, she considered turning back. But the weight of her grief, the unbearable ache that had driven her this far, wouldn’t let her. She needed an end to this. She needed to meet the man whose heart carried death.

               Taking a breath, Emma stepped forward, her boots sinking into the soft, wet earth. As she approached the door, the wind picked up, stirring the ivy that clung to the walls. It hissed softly, like a warning. She ignored it, and was struck with a concerning thought: I should have made another drink.

              Her hand hovered over the door for a moment before she knocked—three sharp raps that seemed to echo louder than they should have. She waited, her breath shallow, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence.

             Then, slowly, the door creaked open.

             Elias stood in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted by the dim light inside. His face was pale, and gaunt, as though the life had been drained out of him long ago. His dark eyes met hers, and for a moment, they seemed to stare straight through her, like he already knew everything she was about to say.

             “I know why you’re here,” he said softly, his voice as worn and weathered as the house itself.

             Emma blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of his words. She had imagined all sorts of scenarios—begging, pleading, trying to explain the unbearable weight she carried. But now, standing in front of him, her carefully rehearsed thoughts seemed to scatter like dry leaves in the wind.

              “I don’t think you do,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. But she knew it was a lie. He did know. That was the point of all of this, wasn’t it? He understood.

             Elias’s lips twitched in something that might have been a smile, but there was no warmth in it. “Then you want to die.”

             The bluntness of the statement cut through her like a blade. She could feel the truth of it settle in the air between them, heavy and undeniable.

             “Yes,” she said. There was no point in pretending anymore. “I want it to end.”

              For a moment, Elias said nothing. His eyes searched hers as if weighing her words against something deeper, something unseen. Then he sighed, a sound full of weariness and resignation, and stepped back into the shadows of the house.

             “You should leave,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I can’t give you what you want.”

             Emma hesitated. This was not how it was supposed to go. She had imagined something darker, something that would match the terrible ache inside her. But there was no danger here, no sense of finality. Only a man who seemed just as tired as she was.

              “Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I need it to stop. I need—”

              “No.” The word was sharp, final. Elias’s eyes were hard now, the kindness from before gone. “I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever cared about. I don’t want your death on my conscience, too.”

               “But you’re cursed,” she blurted, stepping toward him as if that would somehow make him understand. “Everyone you love dies. Isn’t that what they say?”

               Elias’s expression twisted, something bitter flashing in his eyes. “They say a lot of things,” he muttered, turning away from her. “It doesn’t matter. You need to leave.”

               Emma’s breath hitched in her throat as he began to close the door. She reached out, pressing her hand against the wood, desperate. “Wait! You don’t understand—”

               He stopped, his hand hovering over the door frame, but he didn’t look at her. “You don’t want this,” he said softly. “Trust me.”

               The door closed with a soft thud, leaving Emma standing in the mist, her heart pounding in her chest. She stared at the door for a long moment, her hand still pressed against it. The weight of Elias’s words sank into her, mingling with the ache that had driven her here.

               She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but this wasn’t it. He had turned her away so easily like her pain wasn’t enough to warrant the curse’s touch. Like her death wasn’t inevitable.

               But that couldn’t be the end. She wouldn’t let it be.

                Emma turned and began walking back down the path, the mist swirling around her ankles. She would come back. She would make him see.