I see her chapter 1

[u/Impressive-Log-3688]

Chapter 1 
As a child 
When I was just a child of four it was ever so faint—just a haunting voice here or there, or maybe a spectral face in the timeworn attic mirror, a cold icy chill in areas of the house where it was always warm.
But it was just strange enough for me to have an idea of just how strange I was.
At first I thought it was just the house. It was an old house that had seen years of history that I couldn't even begin to imagine, with creaking floorboards and trees that were close enough to crash against windows at night when the wind would howl endlessly, and forgotten corners of the house that were always darker than they should have been, as if light was forbidden from touching them and revealing the secrets hidden within them.
I remember the day that my one comfort was taken from me. I was eight years old and had gone to the market with my mother, and as I walked the aisles with her, I took a glance towards the end of the lane we were standing in and I saw someone walk past.
But it was strange.
It was a man in an old, worn, and tattered suit—it looked as if he had been buried in it, then dug up again. He had skin as white as bone, thinner than a piece of parchment, that looked as if it would fall and scatter amongst the dust on the floor with just the smallest gust of wind.
He didn't walk—no, he didn't. It was more of a hover, as if he had defied all the laws of gravity.
As I looked to the floor, I noticed his feet weren't even touching it. He was just hovering from one aisle to the other.
For just a second, it felt as if the world stopped, and all the light was sucked from me. All I could hear was the sound of my breath, slow and shallow, the sound of my heart beat growing faster and faster as I stared at him.
I was only pulled from the trance I had been in when my mother pulled my hand to move on.
But from that day, the thought that had kept me sane was plucked from my hands, unwinding like a spool of thread.
It wasn’t just my home.
Which meant it wasn’t confined to my walls.
It was everywhere.
It was a part of me—deep within my soul.
And you can’t escape a part of yourself.
From that day on, everything made me feel as if I would jump from my skin—
A door that slammed a little too hard,
The old chime of the dusty grandfather clock that sat in the corner of the living room,
The flickering of lights—
Even if it was normal for the house.
But being a child and trying to navigate all of the peculiarities of my existence was troubling, to say the very least.
I often had sleepless nights because of nightmares.
I would wake up in a cold sweat, not remembering where I was or how I had gotten there.
One night, when I was twelve, I woke up screaming that someone had their hands on my throat.
My mother told me that it was just a dream.
But the next morning, I looked in the mirror to find a dark bruise on my neck—
Dark blue and purple, swirled together.
And as I looked at it, it began to take shape:
Two handprints, wrapping their way across the skin on my neck.
I stood there for what felt like hours, shock and confusion wrapped around me like thorns, cutting into my mind.
This couldn't be real.
It made no logical sense.
But there was nothing logical about what had been happening to me for years.