The ancient tome Erin had borrowed from the library pressed like a leaden secret against her side as she returned home, the day’s light fading into early evening shadows. She opened the front door to find the hallway strangely dim, an unsettling peculiarity that had recently taken hold of her home. No matter how brightly she set the new bulbs, they only cast a feeble glow, as though the very atmosphere absorbed the light. Gone was the comforting chaos of family life; in its place hung a palpable tension, the air thick and stifling, as if the house itself were holding its breath.
From the shadows, Emily appeared, clutching her wubby tightly against her chest. Her sprint was not of excitement but of desperate relief, her small body colliding into Erin’s legs with a force that spoke more of fear than of affection.
“Mommy, you’re home,” Emily murmured, her voice muffled against Erin’s coat.
Erin lifted her daughter, peering over the child’s curly head to scan the living room. Mark was slouched on the sofa, his face drawn, dark circles under his eyes like bruises. The other four children were scattered about, their postures weary, each sunk into their own corners of quiet unease.
“That was a long walk,” Mark said, his voice devoid of its usual warmth.
“Longer than you’d think,” Erin replied, setting Emily down but keeping one hand firmly on her shoulder. The house felt different—charged with a silent, creeping dread.
Dinner was a mechanical affair. Emily’s favorite, basghetti, which was usually devoured, lay untouched as forks moved over plates with listless motions. The children’s eyes darted around the room, never settling, always skittish.
“So, I stopped by the library during my walk today,” Erin said, attempting to stitch some normalcy into the fraying evening.
“Library?” Mark’s response was half-hearted, his focus fading back to the untouched food.
“Research,” Erin murmured, her thoughts on the locked-away book filled with its dark lore. “I was looking for answers, maybe even a solution.”
Her eldest son, Ryan, suddenly pushed his chair back, the scrape against the tile sharp in the tense air. “May I be excused?”
Without waiting for an answer, he stalked off toward his room. Erin watched him go, her maternal instincts tingling with alarm. She excused herself and followed, pausing at Ryan’s closed door. Soft, urgent whispers seeped through the crack.
“Please, you have to stop,” Ryan’s voice trembled. “I don’t like it when you do that.”
Erin’s hand pressed against the cool wood, her heart pounding. She pushed the door open. Ryan—drenched in sweat, pulled his t-shirt down to cover his exposed abdomen—spun around, his face flushing with anger and embarrassment.
“Mom! What the heck?”
Erin’s eyes darted around the room—no phone, no computer. Just Ryan and a palpable swirl of tension. “Who were you talking to?”
“Nobody! Just leave me alone, okay?” His voice cracked, a mix of teenage indignation and something else—fear, perhaps.
Erin retreated but not before casting a lingering glance over the room. Everything seemed normal; yet, the normalcy felt like a veneer, thinly veiling something far more troubling.
The rest of the evening passed in strained silence. The children retreated to their rooms early, their goodnight hugs perfunctory. As Erin lay beside Mark later, the house’s usual nocturnal creaks seemed to whisper secrets. In the stillness, the house seemed to breathe uneasily, as if bracing against an unseen storm.
Erin closed her eyes, and the echoes of Ryan’s whispered pleas, You have to stop. I don’t like it when you do that, haunted the edges of her sleep.
Not. The. End.
MADD FICTIONAL 