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How did I even get here?

The kitchen was colder than before.

I didn’t remember leaving the back door open, but there it was—ajar, just barely, like someone had slipped through quietly.

I sat at the edge of the wooden chair, arms wrapped around myself. The table in front of me still had that old lace cloth Mom used to be obsessed with. It was stained now, dark at the corners, maybe wine, maybe time. I let my fingers trace it, grounding myself in texture, in memory.

I kept hearing the voice in my head.

“Missed me, little sister?”

It had been two years.

Two years since I left.

Two years since the house stopped being a home and became something else.

I should have never come back.

I stared out at the garden. The roses still looked so beautiful. And just beyond them, beneath the twisted branches, there was something. A shape. Small. Watching.

I blinked.

Gone.

My phone buzzed once in my pocket—battery low:2%.No messages. No signal.

I stood up and walked to the sink. My hands trembled as I turned the faucet, letting water pour over them like it could somehow wash off the past. The pipes groaned behind the walls like something alive was dragging itself through them.

And then I saw it.

In the fogged-up window above the sink—a reflection. A man, standing behind me. His head tilted slightly like he was curious. His skin was pale, almost grey. Lips chapped. Eyes dark and wide.

But when I spun around, he wasn’t there.

I backed away slowly, the breath in my chest tight, my limbs stiff.

The silence in the house shifted. It was no longer empty. It waswatching.

And then there was music, the same lullaby started to play.

Soft at first. Then louder.

Coming from upstairs.

That damn melody.

I moved toward the stairs without realizing it. Halfway up, I paused. The hallway at the top was washed in that same yellow light.

The music led me to the end of the hall.

My old bedroom.

The door was wide open.

I couldn’t move.

But something—something—was pulling me in. Like itwantedme inside.Neededme.