THE HOUSE OF WHISPERS

The bus rolled into the school parking lot as the golden hues of the evening sun dipped behind the horizon. The air buzzed with the chatter of Clara's classmates, their laughter and excitement filling the space. Clara sat silently near the back, her head leaning against the cold glass of the window. She could hear them talking, but none of their words were directed at her. 

It had always been like this. Clara wasn't the one people sought out, not the friend others wanted to sit with or laugh with. She was "weird," "different." And after what she had just been through in the forest, she felt even more distant from them. 

The bus jolted to a stop. Students gathered their bags and hurried off, eager to greet their parents. Clara trailed behind, her heart heavy. 

She spotted Evelyn immediately, her foster mother standing stiffly by the car with her arms crossed. Evelyn's eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on Clara. Her expression didn't soften. 

"You're late," Evelyn snapped as Clara approached, her voice cold. 

Clara lowered her gaze. "The bus was delayed," she said softly. 

"Excuses," Evelyn muttered, shaking her head. "Get in the car." 

Clara obeyed, sliding into the backseat. Alan, her foster father, was in the driver's seat. He turned to her with a warm smile. "Welcome back, Clara. Did you have a good time?" 

"It was fine," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Alan nodded, his eyes filled with the kind of kindness Clara rarely saw from Evelyn. "Well, it's good to have you home." 

Evelyn scoffed from the passenger seat. "Home? She hardly helps out. It's more like a boarding house for her." 

Clara winced but didn't respond. Alan's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Evelyn, that's enough." 

"She needs to hear it," Evelyn retorted, glaring at Clara through the rearview mirror. "The world doesn't cater to dreamers." 

The Quiet Storm at Home

By the time they reached home, Clara felt drained. She headed straight to her room, her sanctuary in a house that rarely felt like one. She dropped her bag by the door and collapsed onto the bed. 

The events of the forest haunted her. The shadows, the creature, the power that now pulsed through her veins—how could she ever return to normal after that? 

Clara stared at her hands, half-expecting them to spark or glow. She had felt the power surging earlier, raw and untamed. What was it? Where had it come from? 

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. 

"Clara?" Alan's voice was gentle. 

"Come in," she said, sitting up. 

Alan stepped inside, his kind eyes scanning her face. "You've been quiet. Is something wrong?" 

Clara hesitated. She wanted to tell him everything, to spill the truth about the forest, the creature, and the power she now possessed. But she suddenly heard a voice in her head: "You must not tell anyone."

"No, I'm fine," she lied, forcing a smile. 

Alan sat on the edge of her bed, studying her carefully. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything." 

"I know," Clara said, her heart aching. She wanted to believe him, but something deep inside told her that her secret had to remain just that—a secret. 

Alan nodded, though he didn't look convinced. He patted her shoulder gently before leaving the room. 

A Tense Dinner

Dinner was as tense as ever. Evelyn's sharp remarks cut through the silence, directed at Clara as usual. 

"You could have at least called," Evelyn said, her tone accusatory. "I shouldn't have had to wait around for you." 

"The bus was late," Clara repeated, her voice barely audible. 

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "Excuses, excuses. Honestly, Alan, you baby her too much." 

Alan frowned. "She just got back. Let her breathe, Evelyn." 

"She's sixteen," Evelyn snapped. "Old enough to stop acting like a helpless child." 

Clara stared down at her plate, her appetite gone. She couldn't understand why Evelyn treated her this way. She loved her parents dearly, but Evelyn's disdain felt like a knife that never stopped twisting. 

After dinner, Clara retreated to her room again. She sat by the window, staring out into the night. She could hear Evelyn's voice downstairs, sharp and bitter, as she complained to Alan about Clara. 

"She doesn't belong here," Evelyn said. "She's always been... strange. I don't know why we're wasting our time." 

Clara's chest tightened. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, blinking back tears. 

 Glimpse of the Power

As Clara's emotions swirled, something strange happened. The lamp on her nightstand flickered, then burst, sending shards of glass across the floor. 

Clara gasped, stumbling back. Her hands trembled as the tingling sensation she had felt in the forest returned, stronger than ever. 

"No," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Not again." 

The energy inside her surged, wild and uncontrollable. She clenched her fists, willing it to stop, to go away. Slowly, the sensation subsided, leaving her breathless and terrified. 

Clara stared at the broken lamp, her mind racing. She didn't understand what was happening to her, but one thing was clear: she couldn't let anyone find out—not Evelyn, not Alan, not even Emily. 

She took a deep breath and made a silent vow to herself: she would keep her secret, no matter what. But as the shadows danced across her walls, Clara couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.