Echoes Of Eliza

It was one of those rainy nights that made everything feel a little too eerie. Alex had just moved into an old house on the edge of town, the kind that creaked with every gust of wind. He thought it would be a fun project to fix up, but as soon as he stepped inside, he felt something off—like the walls were watching him.

The first week was pretty uneventful. Just your typical settling-in stuff: unpacking boxes, trying to figure out where to put the couch, and exploring the nooks and crannies of the house. But then, strange things started happening. It started with the lights flickering. Not just a quick blink, but a full-on dance party with the bulbs. It was annoying at first, but then it got weird. The lights would flicker in a pattern, almost like a code.

One night, after a long day of sanding floors, Alex decided to investigate. He grabbed a flashlight and headed down to the basement. It was the kind of basement that screamed “don’t go down there,” with shadows lurking in every corner. He found a dusty old box in the corner, half-hidden behind a pile of junk. It was locked, but the latch looked like it could be pried open with a little effort.

After a few grunts and a bit of crowbar action, the box finally popped open. Inside was an assortment of old photographs, all black and white. They looked like they were from the early 1900s, and most of them were of people standing in front of the very house Alex was living in. But what really caught his eye were the names written on the back. They were all crossed out, except for one: Eliza.

Suddenly, a cold draft swept through the basement, and Alex shivered. He brushed it off as a draft and took the photos upstairs, where the light was better. As he spread them out on the dining room table, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. It was ridiculous, of course; he was alone in the house. Or at least, he thought he was.

That night, as he lay in bed, the flickering lights started again, but this time, they formed a pattern that almost looked like a message. “Help me.” His heart raced. He rolled over, trying to convince himself it was just his imagination. But the next morning, the message was still fresh in his mind.

Determined to get to the bottom of it, Alex started digging into the history of the house. He visited the local library and found a dusty old ledger filled with names of past owners. Eliza was listed, along with a mention of a tragedy that had occurred decades ago—a mysterious disappearance.

That evening, Alex decided to try something bold. He set up a little séance in the living room, just for kicks. Candles flickered as he sat in a circle with the photographs. He called out to Eliza, half-expecting nothing to happen. But then, the lights went out completely. Total darkness.

Suddenly, the temperature dropped. Alex felt a presence, a weight in the air. He could hear soft whispers, like someone was right next to him, but he couldn’t make out the words. Panic set in. He grabbed the flashlight, but before he could turn it on, something knocked over the candles, plunging the room into chaos.

When the lights flickered back on, everything was back to normal. The candles were intact, the photographs undisturbed, but on the table was a new photo—one he hadn’t seen before. It was a picture of a woman standing on the porch, smiling, but her eyes were hollow, almost pleading.

That’s when it hit him. Eliza wasn’t just a name in a ledger. She was trapped, and he was the only one who could help her. But how? The flickering lights started again, spelling out more messages, guiding him. He followed them, leading him back to the basement.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Alex grabbed a shovel from the garage and headed outside to the backyard, where the lights seemed to be directing him. He dug deep until he hit something solid. A wooden box, much like the one from the basement. His heart raced as he pried it open.

Inside was a journal. It belonged to Eliza, detailing her life and the strange events leading up to her disappearance. As he read, he learned about a family secret—something dark and twisted that had kept her spirit trapped in the house.

The final entry was a plea for someone to remember her. “I just want to be free,” it said. With a heavy heart, Alex realized he had to set her spirit to rest. He gathered everything—the journal, the photos, and the box—and made a small pyre in the backyard, igniting it under the moonlight.

As the flames danced and crackled, he whispered a goodbye. Suddenly, the air felt lighter, and the flickering lights dimmed for the last time. He could swear he heard a gentle sigh, like a weight being lifted.

The next morning, everything was different. The house felt brighter, less ominous. Alex smiled, feeling a sense of peace he hadn’t known since moving in. Maybe he had finally freed Eliza—or maybe she was just waiting for someone to notice her story. Either way, he was ready for a fresh start, haunted by memories, but not haunted by her.