I halted abruptly, and Hannah darted to my side in an instant. Glancing back, I pressed a finger to my lips, signaling her to keep silent.
She nodded in understanding, and we stood there, holding our breath, straining our ears to catch any sound.
Truth be told, it wasn't all that late, but since only a third of the usual residents lived along Oldtown Avenue, and they were scattered at that, it felt much later.
The lane was eerily quiet and one could hear a pin drop.
After a long pause with no further sounds, Hannah gave me a puzzled look, spreading her hands and shrugging her shoulders in confusion.
I remained silent, motionless, and she didn't dare move, continuing to listen intently to our surroundings.
Moments ago, I was certain I'd heard the wooden gate in my backyard creaking, and I knew it wasn't the children – they'd be chattering away cheerfully, not this silent. That thought sent a chill down my spine.
The yard behind my house used to be a small property, long uninhabited and left empty. I'd checked it the last time I was here; it had been renovated, separated from my backyard by only a narrow alley.
That little courtyard was distinctive, with high walls that made it seem secure and mysterious. The gate was particularly unique, with a solid wooden structure and an arch overhead, securing the courtyard in a way that even during lively times, it seemed isolated from the world.
Inside the courtyard stood a quaint two-story building, its windows carefully restored to their original state during the renovation.
A small garden hugged the wall, planted with a row of palm trees, and a wooden pergola was draped with wisteria. Below it sat a wooden tea table flanked by a couple of rocking chairs.
I was especially fond of this view.
Legend had it that the courtyard was once the dwelling of a bookkeeper and his wife from the grand house that my family owned. After his untimely death, his widow lived there alone. Despite being well-off, she kept to herself to avoid gossip, making the courtyard very private.
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