Listen, Children ... Listen!

The old man has been dead for months, but every night Maw climbs the stairs to the attic and listens. She swears she hears his wagon on the road, the jangle of trace chains. Her two grandchildren watch their grandmother dissolve into obsession, staring into a mirror that reflects nothing back but her own desperation. Then the children start hearing it too. Set in the rural South during the early twentieth century, this is a horror story about how grief becomes a kind of possession. The supernatural here isn't a ghost or a monster. It's the way loss warps reality until the living cannot distinguish between memory and hallucination. West writes with spare, chilling precision, building dread through suggestion rather than spectacle. The family dynamics feel painfully authentic: the children's helplessness, the creeping dread that something terrible is happening to Maw and there is nothing anyone can do. This is psychological horror at its most unsettling, a tale about what happens when love and grief collide and no one wins.