Trapped memories
It was quiet inside the house. The storm outside receded, kept at bay by the thin wooden walls and the shards of glass that remained inside their window frames. But we had to be careful to listen - houses, I’d learned, had voices of their own. They were built to keep the world at bay, but they had their own little worlds inside; filled with creaking wood, sighing draughts, and whispering curtains. There were no people here anymore, that was true, but their lives had a strange way of echoing throughout the dwellings they’d once called home. It was my job to listen for those echoes, find their source - and silence them.
