Page 17

Wrapped in one of Charlie’s winter coats, Eve trudged down the muddy driveway, Shylo in tow. As far as she was concerned, she’d never be setting foot in that godforsaken house again. Of course, convincing Charlie they needed to sell something they had just bought was going to be a battle, but… she’d worry about that later.

As she approached the final bend, she halted. Beyond the trees, down on the road, Charlie’s pickup idled. But the sight brought little relief. The family’s truck was pulled up alongside, Thomas leaning out the window, face filled with concern as he spoke. Whatever he was saying to Charlie, Eve couldn’t hear, but he looked like a solemn teacher telling a parent about their troubled child. Charlie, partially obscured by windshield reflections, was nodding slowly, taking it all in. Taking it all very, very seriously.

A swell of worry rose in Eve’s gut, egged on by Mo: Thomas is feeding Charlie a skewed version of events. He’s going to make you sound unstable, unhinged. Then you’re never gonna be able to convince her to sell this place and you’ll be stuck here forever and—

Eve fought the urge to scramble down there and defend herself. It would only make her look worse: the more one tried to prove their sanity, the more insane they appeared. She took a deep breath, held back, and observed. It’s fine, she told herself. This is fine. Charlie will see through their bullshit. She knows me better than anyone, right?

Thomas, done talking, gave Charlie a grim smile and a quick nod. He rolled up the window and drove off through the slush. A few moments passed, then Charlie’s pickup lurched to a start. It slipped behind a rocky outcrop, rounded onto the driveway, then slowed to a stop. Eve, heart thudding, surged forward, nearly slipping more than once until, finally, she yanked open the passenger door, ushered Shylo inside, and followed suit.

“Eve…” Charlie regarded her with wary eyes. “Are you—”

“I’m great, just”—Eve pulled the door shut, glanced around, paranoid—“can we, uh, can we get out of here?” Eve smiled, and— No, not like that, you look crazy. She stopped smiling.

Charlie narrowed her eyes. “?‘Get out of here’? Is everything—”

“Everything’s great, just…” Eve peered over her shoulder, back to the road, then up to the house. The peak of its roof was just visible through the distant trees. Somehow, the structure looked vaguely alive, as if it were standing on tiptoes, craning its neck to listen.

Charlie prodded. “Thomas said you hit your head and—”

“Can we…” Eve fidgeted in her seat. “Can we just—get off the driveway?” Eve could barely think with the house in her line of sight.

Charlie shifted into reverse, backed down the driveway, and pulled to a stop beneath the Heritage Lane sign. She killed the engine. “Okay, what’s going on, Eve?”

“Why did you leave me alone with them?”

Charlie blinked. “I woke you up, told you I needed to meet the Realtor. You gave a thumbs-up, fell back asleep.”

Eve started to respond, but stopped short. A vague half memory surfaced. It wouldn’t have been the first time something like that happened. Still, she drew a long breath, unsure what to say next, where to start. Through the dirtsmeared windshield, she watched as the family’s truck continued lumbering off—gnarled branches snagging to its side, snapping free in its wake. Above, a bluish glow bled through gray clouds as the sun contemplated setting.

Eve’s gaze remained fixed on the family’s truck, those two red lights shrinking away. At last, she managed, “I— I can’t go back to the house.”

In Eve’s periphery, Charlie gave a slow, uncertain nod, then said, “Okay… Is this about the person in the attic?”

“No, well, yes—but…” Eve trailed off. “What else did Thomas tell you?”

Charlie hesitated. “A lot…”

“Just…” Eve sighed. “Just tell me exactly what he said.”

Charlie continued, careful, measured. “He claimed you’ve been acting strange… since this morning. That you wandered over to the neighbor’s and, when you came back, you seemed distressed. You went to the attic, then, you started screaming. Pounding on the door. When they opened it, you tumbled down, hit your head, and when you came to, you said you’d seen someone up there. A woman? He said he checked the attic himself and didn’t find anything, but—”

“Okay, okay—that’s enough,” Eve relented. Everything Thomas had said was technically true, but… “I’m going to ask you something, and I need you to answer me straight, okay? Yes or no.”

“Okay…”

Eve cleared her throat. “Is there a stained glass window in the upstairs study?”

Charlie quirked an eyebrow. “What…?”

“The window in the upstairs study, is it stained glass?” Eve repeated.

“Uh, yeah… the apple tree.”

The answer brought Eve a miserable kind of relief: If I’m going mad,at least I’m not going it alone. “It’s not there.” Eve crossed her arms. “Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s just a plain old fucking window now.” Eve threw up her hands.

Charlie shook her head. “The study? The empty bookshelf room?”

“Yup. The window changed.”

Charlie scoffed. “No… That’s not possible.”

“Apparently, it is.”

Charlie gestured at the moving truck, now a speck in the distance. “So what, they just up and stole our window? Installed a new one?” She smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe that was their plan all along…”

A sharp laugh escaped Eve’s mouth, but not a funny “ha-ha” laugh, more of a “reality is meaningless” cackle. Perhaps she really was losing her mind after all. She collected herself and murmured, “It— It looks like this new window’s always been there.”

“Right…” mused Charlie. She absentmindedly clicked her teeth, a rare tell that signaled rising stress levels. And of course, the unspoken elephant lingered between them: this whole changing-house thing was exactly what had happened to Alison. Allegedly.

Charlie, reading the room, rested a hand on Eve’s shoulder. “We’ll spend the night somewhere else, okay?”

Eve nodded with relief. “Thank you,” she said. “It— It’s just been a day.”

“Of course.” Charlie turned the ignition. “Want me to give the attic a once-over before we leave?”

“No, fuck that, let’s just— Let’s deal with it later.” Eve hesitated, feeling the weight of unsaid words. Hey, Charlie, you know that house we just put a huge down payment on? Let’s sell it. She needed to strategize more before broaching that. After all, Charlie would need more than a replaced window and a rumored squatter in the attic to be convinced the house was cursed—

“Something else up?” Charlie asked.

Too many things to count. Eve hadn’t even mentioned the stranger in the cabin, or what Heather had said about Thomas, but… “Let’s, let’s just go.” Those were stories for another day.

Charlie gave her a long, searching look. Then she leaned over, wrapped her arms around Eve, pulled her close, and kissed her softly on the forehead. For that brief embrace, Eve felt safe again, like everything was right in the world. Charlie settled back and met her eyes. “I’m here, okay?”

“Okay…”

Charlie shifted into gear, started toward the driveway, toward the house—

“Wait.” Eve frowned.

“I need to grab my stuff.”

“Charlie.”

“I’ll be in and out. You can wait in the truck. Okay?”

“Charlie,” Eve pleaded, “don’t.”

“Eve, if we’re spending the night somewhere else, I need my phone charger and my clothes smell like shit. I won’t go in the attic, promise.”

“Charlie, I’m not kidding, something—something’s seriously wrong with that house. There’s…”

“I get that. I do. I’ll be quick. Three seconds, all right?”

They went back and forth like this for a good while, until finally, Eve relented. Charlie was stubborn, and Eve’s tolerance for conflict was long gone. Eve let out an exasperated huff, crossed her arms, and leaned back in her seat. “Two seconds, okay?”

“Two seconds.”

After pulling up the driveway, Charlie parked in the alcove where the lawn met the gravel and kept the engine idling. She climbed out, looked at Eve. “Need anything?”

Eve shook her head.

“Your phone?” Charlie asked.

“Don’t even bother searching for it.”

“Toothbrush?”

“Just, hurry—please.”

“Got it,” Charlie replied. With that, she shut the door and trudged off toward the house. Eve leaned forward, eyes scanning the crooked porch, the windows, searching for any sign of life, movement. All was still. She glanced to the back seat. Shylo was peering out the windshield, nervous. As Charlie shuffled onto the porch, the dog let out a tension-filled wheeze. Charlie slipped inside and strolled into the foyer, leaving the front door open behind her. She ascended the stairs and disappeared from view. Shylo gave another nervous wheeze.

You and me both, bud. You and me both.

Eve continued to scan the house, her fingers tapping a jittery rhythm on the dashboard. Waiting. Watching. Upstairs, a light flicked on—the main bedroom. Charlie’s silhouette strode in, started rummaging through drawers, grabbing things, stuffing them into a backpack or maybe a suitcase.

Hurry.

Eve’s attention drifted up to that square attic window. The pale sky was reflecting off the glass, concealing whatever might be on the other side. Again, Shylo whined. Eve’s jaw tensed, a nagging ache forming in her neck. Hurry. Charlie was still meandering about the bedroom, pacing in and out of view as she packed her bag.

How much stuff do you need?!

A languid breeze emerged from the driveway, rolled over the yard, and nudged the front door shut with a muted CLICK. Charlie perked up. But, after less than a second, she returned to packing, unbothered.

“Hurry the fuck up,” Eve growled.

Charlie switched off the light, withdrew from the bedroom, and once again slipped out of view. Eve’s gaze bounced from window to window, only met by darkness, the reflected sky. After ten eternal seconds, the front door swung open, and Charlie emerged with a navy green backpack slung over her shoulder. Finally. Charlie locked the door, trod back across the yard, and climbed into the truck.

She handed Eve the bag and said, “The window changed.”

Again, Eve felt a miserable relief, not being alone in the absurdity.

Charlie shifted into drive. “They— They must’ve switched it out,” she said, sounding unconvinced by her own reasoning. Charlie, despite her stubborn rationality, was clearly spooked. A rare sight. Her eyes, a touch wider than usual, gave it away; she had just witnessed something that didn’t align with her understanding of reality. Did not compute. Either the house had magically changed, or they’d been robbed by a family of highly motivated window installers. Both scenarios were ludicrous, laughably so, and yet…

“Did you look at it up close?” Eve asked.

Charlie nodded slowly, shifted into reverse, and started a three-point turn. “They did a hell of a job making it look seamless, but…”

“Why, Charlie? Why would anyone go to all that effort?”

Charlie steered back onto the meandering driveway. “Maybe Thomas wanted a keepsake…?”

“Well,” Eve played along with her reasoning, “then we should call the cops—”

“And tell them what? A family replaced our window? Let’s just—let’s figure it out tomorrow.”

Silence hung in the air as they descended the driveway. Eve kept her gaze locked ahead, as if looking back might allow the house to sprout legs and give chase, but… as they neared the final bend, she peered over her shoulder.

She’d half expected to see some terrible sign of life. Perhaps a light snapping on or a ghostly specter looming on the porch. Instead, all she saw was an old house, static and meager in the woods, receding into the distance until it vanished behind a wall of shadowed pines. Again, she convinced herself: That was the last time you’ll ever set eyes on 3709 Heritage Lane.

As they lumbered down the frosty road, Mo surfaced: Good luck with that.