Whispers at Waverly House

Not this time.

Detective Milo Crane never liked old houses, but Waverly House was different. It had a certain look to it ; the sagging roof, the dusty windows, the way the wind seemed to whisper secrets through its broken shutters. It wasn’t haunted in the ghostly sense. It was haunted by lies.

The police had already combed the scene. Everyone agreed it was an accident. Mrs. Eleanor Price, wealthy widow and owner of Waverly House, had fallen down the stairs and broken her neck. Tragic. End of story.

But Milo knew better.

He stood at the bottom of the wide staircase, staring up at the third step from the top. The wood looked freshly scuffed. He bent down, running a finger along the edge. Smooth. Someone had filed it down.

He glanced over his shoulder. “You see that?” he asked Officer Lane, who was taking notes nearby.

Lane shrugged. “Could’ve been like that for years.”

“Yeah, maybe.” But Milo didn't believe that.

The family had been quick to fight over Eleanor’s will. Her two daughters, both from different marriages, hated each other’s guts. Her late husband’s brother, a snake of a man named Mr. Howser, hung around like a vulture, waiting to get his hands on the property.

And then there was Rosie , Eleanor’s live-in nurse. Quiet, careful Rosie, who had more patience than anyone Milo had ever met.

Milo decided to start with her.

Rosie sat stiffly on the edge of a worn out sofa in the sitting room. She clutched a cup of cold tea like it was a life raft.

“I just want the truth,” Milo said gently. “Mrs. Price trusted you. Don’t let her down now.”

Rosie’s eyes darted to the staircase, then back to Milo. Her voice trembled. “It wasn’t an accident. I heard them arguing.”

“Who?”

She hesitated, then whispered, “Camilla and Mr. Howser.”

Camilla Price, Eleanor’s younger daughter, and her step-uncle. An ugly alliance, if it was true.

Milo leaned closer. “What were they arguing about?”

“Money. The house. Mr. Howser said he could fix it so Camilla would get her share faster. If Eleanor wasn't in the way.”

Milo felt a chill, despite the stuffy heat of the room.

“Did you tell anyone else?” he asked.

Rosie shook her head. “I didn’t think anyone would believe me.”

“Good,” Milo said. “Let’s keep it that way for now.”

That night, Milo stayed in Waverly House. Alone. He set a small camera facing the staircase and sat in the corner, waiting. If Camilla and Howser were desperate enough, they might try to cover their tracks.

Hours passed. The house creaked and groaned around him. He almost drifted off until a faint light flickered at the top of the stairs.

Two figures. Whispering.

Milo stayed perfectly still, heart pounding.

One of them crept down to the third step, Camilla, and rubbed something against the wood. Sandpaper. The other figure, Howser, stood lookout.

Trying to erase the scuff marks, Milo thought.

He waited until they turned their backs, then clicked a photo with his phone. The faint shutter sound made Camilla jump.

“Who's there?” she hissed into the dark.

Milo stepped out of the shadows, badge in one hand, gun in the other.

“Detective Milo Crane. Looks like you two have a lot of explaining to do.”

They tried to run, but Milo was ready. Within minutes, the police had them both cuffed and in the back of a squad car.

The next morning, Milo met Rosie again in the sitting room.

“It’s over,” he said simply. “They’re confessing.”

Rosie started to cry, covering her face with her hands.

“You did the right thing,” he told her. “You stood up for Mrs. Price.”

Waverly House still stood crooked and hollow, but something about it seemed lighter now, like it could finally breathe.

Milo tipped his hat and stepped out into the misty morning. Another house full of secrets, finally at peace.