"Are you sure you heard that voice?" Cynthia asked, her expression a mix of disbelief and hesitation.
That afternoon, the three of them—Susan, Cynthia, and Suzi—sat at a table in the crowded campus cafeteria, lunch trays in front of them.
Susan had just finished recounting her experience from the night before, but instead of concern, Cynthia's doubtful stare greeted her.
Susan frowned. "Seriously? Why would I lie about something like this?"
She wasn't joking. She wasn't exaggerating. She knew what she had heard.
Cynthia and Lucy exchanged a glance.
It was brief, but Susan caught it.
A silent conversation.
They don't believe me.
Lucy was the first to speak. "It's not that we don't believe you," she said carefully, pushing her food around with her fork. "It's just… you've told us so many times that you keep experiencing something in that house, but honestly? None of us ever has."
Beside her, Cynthia nodded in agreement.
Susan's stomach twisted.
At first, when she had shared her terrifying encounters, everyone in the house had been spooked. The atmosphere had shifted—residents grew uneasy, whispers spread, and people avoided walking alone at night.
But then, as time passed, as nothing happened to anyone else, the fear started to fade.
And now,…Now, it had turned into doubt.
Susan could see it in their faces. They were starting to question if she was imagining it. If she was making it all up. And that realization was somehow more terrifying than the thing that had been haunting her.
"Why is it only her?"
That was the question that had started it all.
At first, the whispers were quiet—just murmurs exchanged in hushed tones among the other boarding house residents.
"Why is she the only one being disturbed?"
"Why don't any of us see or feel anything?"
"Could it all just be her imagination?"
"Or… is she making it up?"
Susan had no idea these doubts had begun to circulate behind her back.
She didn't know that fear had slowly shifted into skepticism—that people were no longer worried about what lurked in the shadows, but instead, were questioning if there were ever shadows at all.
She only realized something was off when Suzi suddenly moved closer to her at the cafeteria table, her voice quieter than before.
"San," Suzi said gently. "I know someone."
Susan blinked, caught off guard.
"She is my aunt. She has some kind of stuff… You know… sixth sense." Suzi stops a while, looks like she is considering want to continue or not.
"I had some kind of similar experience at my home last time, when my grandmother passed away, and my aunt helped me to find a solution." A heavy pause.
Susan's stomach tightened.
"If you need… I can arrange for you to meet her," Suzi continued, watching her carefully, as if afraid of how she might react.
Susan's throat went dry. Am I crazy? Do I need a psychic? How far should I fall?
"According to my aunt, sometimes 'weird' things happen because of spirit, sometimes because of trauma, sometimes because of our depression, who lead to imagination." She stopped a while. "She could help you to find out the root cause, and after you find the root cause, you can get a perfect treatment." She hesitated.
"That's what happened to me when my grandmother died. I thought I would always see my grandma, but after my aunt checked, it is only a deep feeling of hurt because I was left behind. I'm very close to my granny anyway". Silence settled between them.
And in that silence, Susan felt the weight of what Suzi was implying. She must think it's because she could not release her grief after her father passed away.
"But this has nothing to do with my father," Susan said, her voice firmer than she expected.
She wasn't grieving. She wasn't hallucinating.
What she had experienced was real.
The singing—
That eerie, haunting melody—
It was still there, lingering in her ears like an imprint she couldn't shake.
Suzi sighed. "I don't know why what you're experiencing is different from mine. I'm not an expert, but I'm sure my aunt can figure it out."
Susan exhaled slowly, pressing her lips into a thin line. There was no point arguing. They didn't believe her.
The discussion ended when Susan, exhausted and cornered, promised to think about.
But deep inside, she already knew she never would.
Because, since that day, she had made a decision, she would never tell them anything again.
The pain of people looking at her like she was crazy, like she was making it all up, was far worse than the fear of whatever was haunting her.
So, she decided to bury it.
"I have to make peace with this," she whispered to herself. Even though deep down she knew this "thing" would never make peace with her.
For the first time in weeks, she felt like she had taken control.
And as time passed, her fears began to fade. A month slipped by without incident. The singing never returned—not in the house, not in her ears, not even in the deepest corners of her mind. She no longer felt the invisible weight pressing down on her shoulders.
She could be alone during the day without glancing over her shoulder, without expecting to hear that voice in the stillness.
It was as if… nothing had ever happened.