Night pressed heavy against the Moore house. The curtains were drawn tight, but it felt as if the world outside leaned in, listening.
Lucy sat at the kitchen table with a glass of untouched wine. Her fingers traced the rim, round and round, her eyes bloodshot from nights without sleep. She muttered under her breath, fragments that made no sense. "It's starting again… it never left… always her, always—"
The back door creaked.
She flinched, clutching the glass like a weapon. But it was George, stepping inside, shoulders stiff, tie loose from the day. He carried the smell of cigarettes though he never smoked—it clung to him now, like shadows did.
"You're drinking again," he said flatly.
"Would you rather I scream?" Lucy snapped. She shoved the glass away, the red liquid sloshing. "Children are vanishing, George. Parents stand outside this house, whispering that it's her. And you—" her voice cracked into a laugh, sharp and broken— "you just glare them down like a wolf at the door."
George leaned on the counter, looming. "Because that's what keeps them out."
Lucy rose to her feet, trembling, pointing a shaking finger at him. "And what about what's inside, George? What about our daughter? Don't tell me you don't feel it every time she walks into a room. That cold. That silence. She—she's—"
"Enough." His voice boomed, rattling the wineglass against the table.
But Lucy didn't stop. She staggered closer, tears streaking her cheeks. "She looks at me like she knows everything. Like she remembers that night. You can bury it all you want, but it's there. It's always been there."
A sound cut her off.
From the top of the stairs came the faintest creak of a floorboard.
Both their heads turned.
Gemma stood in the dimness, her face half-shadowed. Barefoot, pale, eyes reflecting the faint light. She hadn't made a sound—not really. But she was there. Watching.
Lucy's breath hitched. Her lips formed words she didn't mean to say aloud: "She's listening."
George's jaw tightened. "Go to bed, Gemma."
Gemma didn't move. Her gaze flicked to her mother, and Lucy recoiled as if struck. Then, slowly, Gemma turned and vanished back into the dark hall.
The silence she left behind was worse than any scream.