Chapter 8: The Memory That Wasn’t Mine
Anna was sobbing, shaking her head. “That’s not me! You have to believe me!”
But the woman in white — her double — looked at me with hollow sorrow.
Then it hit me: a flash of memories not my own. A storm. The river. A boy’s hand slipping beneath the current. The mother’s scream tearing through the night.
It wasn’t Anna’s guilt — it was the ghost’s.
Her grief had fused with the house itself.
And she wasn’t done yet.
Cliffhanger: That night, I dreamed I was standing in the river… and something beneath the water was holding my ankle tight.
