The knocks came again, harder and more urgent, as if the person on the other side already knew what this house was hiding. A sharp chill tore through my ghostly chest, cold enough to make me feel almost alive again—alive with terror. At three in the morning, no one showed up uninvited unless something had already gone irreparably wrong. And everything inside this home was already broken beyond repair.
I hovered near the ceiling, a helpless spectator to my family's collapse. Clara's face blanched bone-white, her eyes darting wildly from my motionless body on the floor to the front door, as if she could wish the threat away with sheer panic. Her hands trembled so violently I half-expected her knees to give out. Ethan stood rigid, his jaw clenched so tightly I could see the strain flexing in his neck. He held Lila pressed against him, as if shielding her could somehow erase the horror she had already witnessed.
Lila's small shoulders shook uncontrollably. She stared at the door like it was a monster closing in. And in every sense that mattered, it was.
"Stay here," Ethan muttered, his voice rough with suppressed fear. He gently pushed Lila further behind him, planting himself between his family and the stranger outside. Clara nodded numbly, her breathing shallow and rapid. Neither of them spoke. They both knew the same terrible truth I did: silence would not save them.
The knocking pounded again, sharp and unrelenting.
I drifted toward the door, phasing straight through the wall. Through the frosted glass, a tall, broad-shouldered shadow stretched long across the light. Not a child. Not a neighbor. A man. Someone who would not leave until he uncovered the truth.
An invisible weight constricted my ghostly chest. I did not need a heartbeat to feel dread. I could taste it, thick and metallic, like blood on my tongue.
Clara finally forced herself to move, her steps unsteady. She reached up and flipped on the porch light, as if brightness could chase away the darkness closing in. The glow spilled over the doorstep, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside this house.
"Who's there?" she called, her voice cracking. Her hand hovered over the doorknob, too terrified to turn it.
A low, steady voice answered from outside.
"Police. Open the door, please."
Police.
The word struck me like a physical blow. Even as a ghost, I flinched. This was no longer a secret hidden behind closed doors. This was real. This was coming for them—for the family I had loved more than anything.
Clara froze completely. Her hand dropped away as if burned. Ethan's face drained of all color. Lila whimpered and pressed her face into his back. I watched, helpless and boiling with rage, as the life they had always known began to unravel at the seams.
They had known this might happen.
They must have known.
And they had chosen to go through with it anyway.
Clara glanced at Ethan, her eyes wide and pleading. She did not need to speak. I could read her panic as clearly as my own: What do we do? What do we say?
Ethan nodded sharply, forcing a calm he did not feel. "We're coming," he called. He shot Clara a sharp, silent look: Stick to the lie. But what lie? No story could explain what lay at the bottom of the stairs.
I hovered just behind them, my gaze fixed on the door. Every fear I had carried since waking as a spirit crashed down at once. The bottle in my bedroom. The bruise on my temple. The whispered conspiracies. The lies. None of it would survive a police investigation.
They would find the bottle.
They would ask the right questions.
They would uncover how I really died.
And when they did, they would tear my family away from me—
all over again.
Clara's fingers wrapped tightly around the doorknob, her knuckles white. She took one shaky breath, unlocked the door, and pulled it open just a narrow crack.
The officer stood in the doorway, his expression stern and unreadable. His eyes swept past them instantly, searching the hallway, as if he already knew exactly what he would find.
"Evening," he said, his tone professional and cold. "We received a call about a disturbance. Everything okay here?"
Clara opened her mouth to lie. I could see the words forming on her lips: Everything's fine. Just a scare. Please go away.
But Lila moved.
She stepped out from behind Ethan, tears still streaming down her face, her eyes red and broken. She lifted her chin, looked directly at the officer, and spoke in a small, shattered voice that cut through every lie in this house.
"My dad is dead," she said. "Someone killed him."
I floated above them, silent and invisible, watching it all unfold.
In that single, horrifying moment, I knew one unshakable truth:
The nightmare had only just begun.