The room was silent, save for the soft flickering of the candles casting shadows on the walls. I stood at the entrance, my heart pounding in my chest, trying to process what I was witnessing. My sister, eight-year-old Lily, lay beside our father’s lifeless form, her small body curled against him as if she could will him back to life. Her lips moved in a soft whisper, words too quiet for me to catch, but her intent was clear — she was speaking to him, or perhaps for him.

Rebecca, our stepmother, stood rooted to the spot, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief. “No… she knows,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper, as if the very act of speaking might shatter the fragile reality around us.

I took a step forward, the creak of the floorboards underfoot breaking the spell. Rebecca’s eyes snapped to mine, filled with a silent plea that I couldn’t quite understand. Was it fear of discovery? Or something else entirely?

Rebecca had always been an enigma to me. Since marrying Dad, she had been nothing but kind, yet there was an air of secrecy about her, a shadow that seemed to follow her every move. I had never questioned it, chalking it up to the complexities of blending families. But now, faced with her reaction to Lily’s presence here, my mind raced with possibilities.

“Lily,” I called gently, stepping closer to the coffin. My voice wavered slightly, caught between the need to comfort my sister and the growing unease that something was terribly wrong.

Lily turned her head towards me, her eyes wide and bright in the dim light. “He’s not gone, you know. He’s just… away. But he’s trying to come back.”

I swallowed hard, trying to make sense of her words. “What do you mean, Lily?”

She sat up slowly, still clutching the photograph of Dad to her chest. “He talks to me in dreams. He says there’s something we need to find. Something that will bring him back.”

Rebecca let out a strangled sound, drawing both our gazes. Her hands trembled as she clutched the back of a chair for support. “Please, Lily,” she whispered, “don’t…”

“Don’t what?” I demanded, my voice rising despite myself. The tension in the room was palpable, a living thing that threatened to engulf us all. “What is it she knows, Rebecca?”

Rebecca shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Your father… he was involved in something. Something dangerous. I tried to protect you both, but—”

Her words were cut off by the sound of a loud crash from the hallway, and we all jumped, hearts racing. I moved instinctively towards Lily, pulling her close as we turned to face the source of the noise.

But the hallway was empty, just shadows and the flickering candlelight. Yet the sensation of being watched, of something lurking just beyond the edge of sight, was overwhelming.

“We need to leave,” Rebecca said suddenly, her voice firm with a resolve that hadn’t been there before. “Both of you. Now.”

As we hurried out of the funeral home, the night air cold against our skin, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. My father, in death as in life, had left us with a mystery. And, like Lily, I was determined to uncover it.