Page 13

EVE

The road back to Alton Creek was narrow and winding, the kind of road that led to nowhere. The moonlight spilled through the canopy in shards, lighting my way as I turned onto the gravel road that was once familiar to me.

The house came into view, and my chest tightened.

It was smaller than I remembered, but that was probably just my childhood memories playing tricks on me. The two-bedroom bungalow sat hunched against the trees, its once-bright exterior faded with time. The white siding was streaked with dirt and mildew, the roof sagging slightly on one side.

The red door we’d painted together was still there, though the paint had peeled so much it barely held its color.

My mom had joked about how it had matched her hair, but now it was just as faded as my memories.

The wind chime still hung from the porch—rusted, missing pieces—but it rattled faintly in the breeze.

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening on the steering wheel.

The last time I’d seen this house, I’d been seven years old, rushing to my mom’s sedan in the dead of night. She’d taken me to Louise’s and left me with empty promises that she wouldn’t be gone long.

But she never came back—not once in the last twenty years.

You could leave, I thought. Just turn around and forget this place ever existed.

But something held me in place. Maybe it was Serenia’s words, or maybe it was just the pull of the veil or whatever she called it.

Whatever it was, it wouldn’t let me go.

“There’s nothing here but scary memories,” I told myself, gripping the wheel tighter. “You’re not a child anymore. You can do this.”

I let out a shaky breath, shoving the car door open. Unease prickled in my gut as I approached the house. The porch creaked under my weight, the sound loud in the oppressive quiet.

The door was unlocked, swinging open to reveal an interior that was frozen in time.

I reached for the light switch out of instinct, but the bulb overhead stayed dark.

The hallway stretched ahead, long and narrow, just as I remembered it.

The wallpaper, once a cheerful pattern of flowers, was now faded.

Dust coated every surface. I stepped inside cautiously, my boots leaving faint impressions on the wooden floor.

The air was stale, heavy with the scent of mildew, but everything else looked painfully familiar.

I moved forward slowly, each step a test. The living room opened up on my left, and I turned toward it, the layout etched into my memory.

The couch was still in the corner, the fabric worn and sun-bleached, its cushions sagging with age. A mug sat abandoned on the coffee table, its surface coated in grime. A thin layer of dust covered the television, the screen reflecting the faint light like a dull mirror.

My gaze caught on the mantle above the fireplace, where a single picture frame stood among the dust and emptiness. My breath caught as I stepped closer, my fingers brushing against the glass.

The photo inside was faded but intact. My mom held me in her arms, barely two years old. She was smiling—gently but uncertain—as if she hadn’t expected to find herself in that moment.

My hand hovered over the frame, hesitating. I’d burned all the photos of her when I was a teenager. It felt right at the time—a way to purge the anger I’d kept bottled up and hidden from everyone. I’d regretted it almost immediately afterward.

But something inside me said I couldn’t leave this one behind.

I was careful pulling the photo from the frame, sliding it into my jacket pocket.

For a moment, I thought about my mom, about all the times over the years that I’d wondered if she was still alive. If she was out there somewhere or if she really was…

I shook the thought away. I’d never asked Louise if she’d called the police after my mom disappeared, if there had been an investigation. I’d combed through missing persons reports when I was old enough, but there was no sign of her. It was like she simply ceased to exist.

I froze in the kitchen doorway. It looked exactly the same, like it had waited for me. The counters were the same cheap laminate, the edges chipped from years of wear. The old wooden stools still stood at the breakfast bar, though one was missing a leg and leaned precariously to the side.

I could almost see her standing there, her red hair tied back with a scarf, flipping pancakes on the stove while I sat cross-legged on the counter, eating all the chocolate chips before she could bake them.

The memory hit hard, sharp and bittersweet.

But the warmth of it was gone now.

The air in the kitchen was colder than the rest of the house, and something sharp and metallic lingered on the edge of each breath. I rubbed my arms, trying to shake the tension creeping into my shoulders, but it wouldn’t budge. The silence in the kitchen changed. Not louder—just heavier. Watching.

I moved around the room slowly until something crunched underfoot—a sound too wet, too soft.

My foot slipped out from under me and I hit the floor hard, the impact jarring my elbow as a cold, sticky sensation seeped into my leggings.

“Shit,” I muttered, wincing as I sat up, cradling my arm.

I glanced down at my hands, my stomach twisting at the sight of the dark liquid staining my palms.

“What the…” My voice faltered as my gaze followed the trail of liquid spreading out across the cracked floorboards toward the body. The woman couldn’t have been much older than me, her lifeless eyes staring at me.

My stomach lurched, and I scrambled backward. My hands were slick on the counter as I hauled myself to my feet.

This can’t be happening.

“You always did like to sneak around in kitchens.”

I snapped my head toward the voice, every instinct screaming at me to run, but I couldn’t.

A woman was standing in the doorway, cloaked in shadows.

She was tall and lean, her frame almost unnaturally still.

Long, dark hair spilled over her shoulders like liquid ink.

Her painted lips curved into a smile, but it wasn’t kind.

It was the kind of smile a cat gives a mouse just before the killing blow.

“And to think,” she said, her tone syrupy sweet, dripping with mockery. “I didn’t even need to set a trap.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

Her smile widened, the light catching on unnervingly sharp teeth.

“I’m Arachnia,” she purred, stepping forward. “And I’m so glad you decided to come to me.”