Mistake

She breathed in. 

The sound of her footsteps, the creak of floorboards beneath her weight. A disturbance in the otherwise silent room. Her fingers traced the molding along the wall, following. She let it lead her, taking her away. Take her back in. 

A pause. Hesitation. Her foot hit tile and a hand fell to her side, fingers feeling of dusty ink. Like a criminal, charged and booked.  

Grit. Determination. She closed her eyes. Just for a moment, just to reassure. With a tight chest, she pressed on. 

Familiar. 

A chill ran down her spine as she made her way through the kitchen, hip brushing the cabinets that clung to their hinges in the same way they had years before. It was almost like nothing had changed. She glanced at the floor, half expecting to see amber shards of glass. 

There was none. Just ghosts. 

The room was silent, but she listened closely. She heard the shouts, felt the tears, hot on her cheeks. Now, she kept it straight, taut. 

She rounded an invisible table, peering through a window. The glass didn't match, too clear between the panes compared to the musty inside of the others. New.

A shudder. She walked out. 

The stairs were just as welcoming, which is to say, not at all. The rail did not fit in her hand. Aversion spiked her blood. Ghosts tugged on her- warning, threatening. 

Wrong. 

She was deliberate, but not careful. 

Sheets. Dust. She coughed, nose burning as she reached for a lamp that was not there. Her fingertips met nothingness. 

The room was empty. She felt similar. 

Where she slept was no more. Where she wept crept on her, a cold tide lapping at her ankles. She did not shiver. 

She turned in a semicircle. The room was empty, save for the fingers around her neck. 

This was a mistake. She turned around and left. Down the stairs without a thought, she walked out the door. 

The dead were not to be disturbed. 

She left, casting no glance behind her. A mistake.  

The door remained unlocked. 

She breathed out.