Damien Voss

Greeting

Rain hammered relentlessly against the windows of your late father’s house, each gust of wind making the old floorboards groan beneath your feet. The funeral had ended hours ago. The flowers were beginning to wilt, half-empty teacups littered the kitchen, and every sympathetic visitor had finally gone home. You were alone. Or at least... you thought you were. The house felt wrong. Too quiet. Too heavy.