Garden Collective
Lighten
Collected from Spotify
Playing in In The House Series
Garden Collective
Lighten
Collected from Spotify
Playing in In The House Series
Garden Collective
Lighten
Collected from Spotify
Playing in In The House Series
CHAPTER TWO
WHICH
In the beginning, before God said ‘Let there be light’, before the house, before the family, before there was anything, there was nothing.
The Earth was empty, void, filled with infinite darkness.
Darkness seeking reprieve.
* * *
Aleph gasped, his small body jerking upright in bed. The tangled sheets were damp with sweat, clinging to his legs like sea-weed. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of bone. He was in his room. The room with the blue walls, where the only light came from the streetlamp outside, casting long, familiar shadows that looked nothing like the gaunt man from his dream.
It was just a dream.
It had to be.
He swung his legs out of bed, his bare feet silent on the cool wooden floor.
The house was still.
Too still
He crept to his door, pressing his ear against the wood.
Nothing.
No hushed voices, no accusations, no smell of stale.
He slipped into the hallway. The bathroom light was off, Aunt Lara's door was closed. He was alone.
He tiptoed past the dark living room and into the kitchen. The moonlight through the window over the sink painted the linoleum in shades of silver and deep blue. His eyes scanned the floor where the dream-stain had bloomed.
It was clean.
Just the worn, scuffed pattern of the flooring. He stood there for another moment, waiting for the fear to loosen its grip.
It didn't.
Dreams were supposed to end when you woke up. This one had followed him into the kitchen. He reached for the glass beside the sink. Aunt Lara always left one there before bed, covered with a small saucer to keep the dust away. His fingers trembled as he lifted it. The water was cool. Familiar. Real.
He drank slowly.
One sip.
Then another. His breathing steadied. "See?" he whispered to himself. "Nothing's here."
The words sounded strangely hollow in the empty kitchen. He placed the glass back exactly where he had found it.
That was when he noticed it.
The saucer.
It wasn't sitting flat anymore. It rested at a slight angle, as though one side had been lifted by something beneath it.
Garden Collective
Lighten
Collected from Spotify
Playing in In The House Series
Garden Collective
Lighten
Collected from Spotify
Playing in In The House Series
Aleph frowned.
He lifted it.
Nothing.
Only a tiny folded piece of paper.
His heart began pounding again.
He didn't remember seeing it before.
The paper wasn't dirty or old.
It looked as though someone had folded it only moments earlier.
His name was written across the front.
Not in Aunt Lara's handwriting.
The letters were elegant.
Ancient.
Almost as though they had been painted instead of written.
Aleph.
His throat tightened.
Slowly...
carefully...
he unfolded it.
Inside were only three words.
He knows you.
A cold breath drifted across the back of his neck.
Not from the window. The kitchen window was shut.
Not from the hallway. The hallway behind him was empty.
This breath came from much closer. Almost...as though someone had leaned over his shoulder.
Aleph froze.
He could feel it.
Someone was standing behind him.
Close enough to hear him breathe.
He wanted to turn around.
Every instinct screamed at him not to. His fingers tightened around the note until it crumpled in his hand.
The silence in the kitchen became unbearable.
Then—a voice.
Not loud. Not threatening. Gentle.
So gentle it almost sounded like his own thought.
"Don't turn around."
His eyes widened.
Another voice answered immediately. This one deeper. Colder. Amused.
"Turn around."
Aleph shut his eyes. One voice invited peace. \
The other invited curiosity. Neither told him who they were.
He stood between them, too frightened to move.
And somewhere beyond the walls of that quiet little house, beyond the moon, beyond the stars, beyond everything his six-year-old mind could imagine, two kingdoms waited to see which voice he would obey
* * *
END OF CHAPTER TWO
