new me....

Meraleen had always looked empty, even when she smiled.

Her family called it “quietness.”

Neighbors called it “politeness.”

But everyone knew something was wrong with the girl who never raised her voice, never complained, and never reacted when her mother sneered, or her father spat insults, or her siblings pretended she wasn’t there.

She simply… absorbed it.

Like a sponge soaking up poison.

And poison has to go somewhere.

Meraleen woke with three deep scratches on her wrist.

Not the kind you get from nails.

Not from animals.

They were too perfect—three identical lines, parallel, almost burned into her skin.

Her room felt colder that morning. Heavy. Like someone had been standing right beside her bed all night.

When she went downstairs, her family acted as usual:

Her mother shoved a plate toward her without looking.

Her father muttered that she “looked wrong.”

Her brother asked if she could “stop staring like a dead fish.”

She hadn’t been staring.

She had just been listening.

Because for the first time, she could hear the house

It whispered.

They hate you, Meraleen.

They always have.

They are planning something.

They want to get rid of you.

Before you get rid of them.

She froze.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

Her family blinked at her, annoyed and confused.

“Hear what?” her mother said.

The voice giggled inside Meraleen’s skull

a brittle, splintering giggle, like something laughing with broken teeth.

the house showed her things

That night her bedroom walls pulsed.

Not metaphorically.

Not in her imagination.

They breathed.

Skin-tight wallpaper tightening and loosening, tightening and loosening, like lungs full of dust.

“Come downstairs,” the voice whispered. “You need to see.”

So Meraleen walked barefoot down the hallway, the boards creaking in pain beneath her. The house led her to the dining room.

And there, in the dimness, she saw her family

but not her living family.

These versions hung from the ceiling like butchered meat, eyes wide, mouths stretched open like gaping holes. Their bodies slowly rotated, heads drooping.

Her heart stopped.

When she blinked, the room was empty.

No bodies.

Just the voice.

See how easy it is?

See how they deserve it?

They never loved you.

But I do.

Let me help you.

Meraleen grabbed her head, shaking.

Her breath shredded.

Her mind blistered.

But the terrifying part wasn’t that she saw the bodies.

The terrifying part was that,

A small, sharp part of her liked it.

Her family began to notice

they didn’t say it out loud, but they felt it.

Maybe it was the way she stood in doorways too long.

Or how she didn’t blink as much anymore.

Or how she whispered to walls the others couldn’t hear.

Her sister called her “creepy.” Her mother hissed at her to “knock it off.”

Her father tried to grab her arm one night.

And the second his hand wrapped around her wrist, he froze.

The house went silent.

Dead silent

The voice didn’t whisper this time.

It thundered.

A chandelier rattled violently above them. Every window slammed shut. The lights flickered like frantic eyes.

Her father stumbled back as if shoved.

“What the hell was that?!” he barked.

Meraleen smiled.

For the first time in her life, she felt power

Real, tangible, terrifying power.

One night, after weeks of whispers, visions, and the walls pulsing like organs, Meraleen lay awake in the dark, unable to breathe.

The voice finally spoke clearly

a cold, breathless whisper in her ear as if a mouth hovered inches from her skin.it’s time.

Let me in.She sat up.

“What happens if I do?”I become you.

And you become free.

Her reflection in the window blinked

but she hadn’t blinked.

Her reflection smiled

but she hadn’t smiled.

And then it spoke.

They never wanted you.

But I want you.

Say yes.

Meraleen’s heart twisted painfully, her vision shaking.

She whispered:

"yes".....

Her family found her at the kitchen table the next morning.

Sitting perfectly straight.

Staring at nothing.

Blood under her fingernails.

Bare feet dangling.

Head ever so slightly tilted, as if listening to something right beside her.

“Meraleen?” her mother said.

No response.

Her brother snapped his fingers in front of her face.

Her father shook her shoulders.

Nothing.

Her eyes were wide and dead.

But her mouth…

Her mouth was smiling.

So slowly.

So unnaturally.

So horribly stretched.

And then

Right in front of them

with no sound at all

she began to whisper.

Soft.

Crooked.

Not in her voice.

“You’re next.”

They tried to leave the house.

But every door was locked.

Every window sealed.

Every light flickered violently.

The house groaned like a living thing waking up hungry.

And from the kitchen, in the dark doorway, Meraleen stood.

But her shadow stretched the wrong direction.

Her limbs were too long.

Her neck tilted too far.

Her eyes were bottomless, black, hollow pits.

“I told you,”she whispered.

“The house loves me now.”

Her smile split wider.

“And it hates you.”

The doors slammed.

The lights died.

The screaming never stopped

people still hear the house at night

The walls still breathe.

The windows still go black.

And neighbors swear that sometimes

if you listen very, very closely

you can hear a girl giggling inside.

A girl named Meraleen.

Who finally got the family she wanted.

Forever......

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