Page 26 of All the Things We Buried

TWENTY FIVE

LENORE

“Breathe Me” – Sia

T he storm struck hard tonight. The lights blinked out, and the house got swallowed in black. Dorian told me to stay in bed, that he would grab candles from the kitchen, but that was half an hour ago. He never came back.

The room had turned to ice. Shadows thickened in the corners, stretching across the walls. My skin prickled beneath the blanket. I tried to pull it tighter, but then something changed. There was pressure. Weight. As if someone were standing on the bed, pressing down on my legs.

I froze.

My breath caught in my throat. I didn’t dare pull the blanket down. I didn’t need to. I felt it move. Not by me. Someone else was there. Fingers peeled the blanket from my face.

And I couldn’t open my eyes. Fear glued them shut. Until something dripped onto my cheek. Cold as rain. A slow drop. I knew. She was back.

The Wet Lady.

Haunting me again.

Something inside me whispered for me to look. I didn’t want to, but I did. And there she was.

Hovering inches above me. Her hair clung to her face, wet and dark. And her face, I saw her face for the first time, and she...

It was mine. She was me.

Same jawline. Same scar near the brow. Her skin looked almost translucent, like she had drowned. Around her neck, she wore my mother’s necklace. The one she promised to me on my eighteenth birthday.

I reached up with a trembling hand, my fingers hovering near her cheek. When I touched her, her skin was icy and wet.

Her eyes opened. White. Empty. Then she screamed.

A raw sound tore through the room. I screamed too. Not only in fear. In recognition.

She showed me. She showed me myself.

She revealed the past, who I had been. She showed me the future, too. But the future was empty. Not there at all.

I climbed out of bed with legs that barely obeyed me. The hallway tilted beneath me. I saw the door standing open. From inside came a faint voice singing a lullaby.

Her lullaby. I stepped into the room. And there she was. My mother.

She sat in her old rocking chair, just like I remembered. For the first time in what felt like forever, she smiled at me. She opened her arms.

“Come,” she whispered.

I didn’t hesitate.

I ran to her. The door slammed shut behind me as I fell into her hug. Her arms wrapped around me. Cold. So cold. But it was her. That was enough.

When you have lost someone you love, truly lost them, even their ghost feels like home.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the necklace.

“It’s yours now,” she said, fastening it around my neck. She kissed my forehead just before she left the room.

“Mommy, where are you going?”

She turned without answering and walked down the stairs. I followed, but something stopped me.

Something pulled me back. A tight grip around my neck.

I gasped, stumbling. Looked up. A rope. It hung from the chandelier above the staircase.

And as I looked down, I saw Dorian.

“Lenore, no!” he shouted from below. “Stay where you are. I am coming.”

But everything moved again.

Mom was at the door now. Dorian stood beside her, holding our bags. We were supposed to leave. It had been our plan. He reached out.

“Come on, Lenore,” he said.

And I jumped. I did not think. I knew.

Death, my love, is not the end.

It is the moment the veil lifts and everything is laid bare. I saw it all flash before me. Every warning the house gave. Every creak, whisper, and dream.

The house was never haunting me. It was trying to warn me. And I did not listen.

I don’t know how to say this without sounding like I’ve given up. Maybe I have. But not in the way people think. Not in some dramatic, cinematic way. It’s quieter than that. Slower. Like a candle burning from the inside out.

I’ve been dying for a long time. Not in body, but in everything else.

People think sadness is always loud. They expect tears, screaming, locked doors, and written diaries.

But depression is subtle. It’s brushing your teeth and going to work, and laughing at jokes you don’t get to feel.

It’s answering “I’m fine” so many times that even you start to believe it’s the truth.

It’s waking up and feeling like you’re carrying something no one else can see. Something so heavy it warps your spine, your thoughts, your will to stay.

I’ve been screaming without making a sound. And no one heard me. Or maybe they just didn’t want to listen.

The house knew. It breathed with me. It watched me. It reflected me.

It gave me warnings, doors that creaked open to empty rooms, photographs that changed ever so slightly, mirrors that blinked. It whispered, “You’re not okay.” But I hushed it. Like I did everything else. Because no one wants to hear the truth when the truth makes them uncomfortable.

But death, Death, my love.

She wrapped her arms around me without question. She didn’t ask me to explain myself. She didn’t ask me to try harder, smile more, be grateful. She just said, “Rest.”

And for once, I felt peace.

I know this will hurt you. And I’m sorry for that. But I hope one day, you’ll understand: this wasn’t about giving up. It was about letting go of the weight I was never built to carry alone.

I loved you. All of you. But loving you didn’t save me. Because you never saw me drowning.

If you take anything from this letter, let it be this:

Check on the quiet ones. The smiling ones. The strong ones. They’re the best at hiding the storm.

Yours, Lenore