The Voice
New Year’s Eve, 1976
The night had the kind of stillness that wrapped around you like an old blanket—a calm that was comforting and unsettling all at once. It was my last night in the house I’d grown up in. The house where pizza nights with my parents were as regular as clockwork, where sleepovers stretched into the early hours, and where the scent of childhood—old crayons, warm carpet, and a hint of vanilla from candles Mom loved—still clung to every corner. By tomorrow, this house would be just another vacant space, waiting for the next family to fill it with their own stories. Dad’s new house was almost finished, but instead of excitement, all I could feel was a strange, uneasy knot forming in my chest.
It was New Year’s Eve, 1976, and the world outside was blanketed in snow. The kind of heavy snow that made everything quiet—too quiet, except for the occasional creak of old tree branches bending under the weight. My parents had gone to some downtown party, leaving me with Evie and Tara, my two best friends who’d been part of my life since we could all barely spell our names. Our big plan for the night? Pizzas, a movie, and maybe, just maybe, digging through the collection of old toys I still hadn’t been able to part with.
The Barbies, in particular, still held a special place in our hearts, even if we didn’t admit it. Evie had unearthed them from the back of my closet, their stiff, plastic limbs and perfect smiles like relics of simpler times. We spread them out across my parents’ bed, giving the dolls ridiculous voices, reenacting the over-the-top dramas we used to create when we were younger. It was silly, I know—we were fifteen—but there was something soothing about it. A last grasp at the uncomplicated, before everything in our lives changed.
Then, the voice cut through the night.
“KAY!”
It was unmistakable—deep, masculine, and as clear as if someone were standing right there with us. It echoed from somewhere down the hallway, sending an electric jolt straight through my chest. Evie stopped mid-sentence, her plastic Barbie poised in the air, while Tara’s eyes widened, scanning the room for answers. We all froze.
We’d heard it.
But it wasn’t possible. The doors were locked. I knew because I’d checked them—twice. No one else was in the house, and we hadn’t heard a car pull up or footsteps crunching through the thick snow outside.
Tara was the first to break the silence, her voice barely more than a whisper. “That wasn’t one of you messing with us, right?”
“Of course not,” I said, though the words came out shakier than I’d intended. I glanced at Evie, who had already straightened up, eyes sharp.
“I definitely heard that,” Evie muttered, her usual bravado edging into something more serious as she grabbed the nearest object—a hairbrush—and held it up like she was preparing for battle.
The hallway stretched in front of us, dark and endless, leading down to the staircase. The kind of dark where you half expect something to leap out at you, where shadows seem to move even when you’re standing still. My heart thudded against my ribs, but I wasn’t about to let fear make me look foolish. After all, Nancy Drew wouldn’t stand frozen in place, would she?
“We should check,” I said, taking a small step forward, my voice firmer now. “Maybe it’s just something outside. The wind or…” I trailed off, knowing full well that wasn’t the wind. And it wasn’t any normal house noise either.
Evie, ever the adventurer, didn’t need more convincing. “Let’s go,” she said, leading the way with her hairbrush still clutched in hand like a sword. Tara followed close behind, though she looked far less enthusiastic about investigating.
We tiptoed down the hallway, the soft carpet muffling our footsteps. I kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting to see some shadowy figure lurking just behind us. But there was nothing. Just the dark and the sound of our shallow breathing.
We reached the bottom of the stairs, and I flicked on the light in the entryway. The front door stood firmly shut. No footprints disturbed the thick layer of snow outside the window, and the lock was still in place, untouched.
“Maybe it came from upstairs,” Evie suggested, her voice low. Her eyes darted to the landing above us, where the shadows seemed thicker, deeper.
Tara shook her head. “If it was upstairs, we’d have heard footsteps coming down, wouldn’t we?”
I nodded, biting my lip. She was right. That voice had been loud—too loud for it to be coming from upstairs or muffled by walls. It was as if the sound had cut right through the air, ignoring all barriers. But how could that be?
“Hello?” I called out into the stillness, my voice sounding much braver than I felt. “Is anyone here?”
No answer.
We waited, the three of us standing in the doorway, listening so hard we could almost hear our own heartbeats. But the only response was the quiet creak of the house settling around us and the soft whine of the wind outside.
“Okay,” I finally said, trying to sound calm. “It was probably just… I don’t know, maybe someone playing a prank.”
“Who would do that in this weather?” Tara pointed out, her voice shaking slightly. “No one could get up here in all this snow without us seeing.”
She wasn’t wrong. I glanced back at the undisturbed snow outside, a perfect blanket of white with no footprints leading up to the door. Not a soul had been near the house since my parents left.
Evie crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Then maybe it wasn’t someone outside.”
I shivered involuntarily, the chill seeping through more than just my skin. Something about the way she said it made the hair on the back of my neck prickle.
“Whatever it was, it’s gone now,” I said, trying to regain some control of the situation. “Let’s just… go back upstairs. Maybe it was nothing.”
But as we turned back toward the staircase, a single, undeniable thought crept into my mind—a thought I didn’t want to acknowledge, even to myself.
This wasn’t nothing.
Something had happened, and it wasn’t finished with us yet
