The Expectant House

The House The house doesn’t look abandoned. It looks… expectant. Lights glow behind

every window, warm but watching. When I step inside, the door closes on its own.

The air smells like pine and smoke and something darker underneath. This isn’t a place

you stumble into. This is a place that waits. I run my fingers along the banister

and feel the hum beneath it. Christmas magic, they’d call it. But magic always

wants something in return.