The next morning, Evelyn woke to silence. The air was unusually calm, carrying a deceptive sense of peace. She went through her routine as always, yet the faint scraping of knives in her mind lingered, whispering at the edges of her thoughts.
She was rinsing a plate when it happened soft, deliberate chopping sounds drifted up from the basement. Her body stiffened. The phantom knives in her head suddenly roared louder, pounding like a warning. A dizzy spell washed over her, and the dish slipped from her trembling hands, shattering against the sink with a sharp echo.
Her eyes darted to the basement door. Wide. Unblinking. The sound seemed to pulse from behind it, drawing her in. She stepped forward, each footfall hesitant, her hand rising toward the doorknob. It hovered there, shaking, but she couldn't bring herself to touch it. Panic surged through her chest. She spun around and fled upstairs.
In her room, she threw open the window, desperate for air. The cool breeze brushed against her face, but her relief was short-lived. Across the street, a pair of hazel eyes stared back at her.
The boy. The one from before. He sat by his window, a book resting casually in his hands, yet his gaze was locked firmly on her.
Evelyn's heart skipped. She tried to look away, but his eyes didn't waver. Then slowly he raised a hand and pointed at her.
Her stomach twisted. Startled, she met his gaze again, only to see him give a small, almost uncertain wave. Hesitantly, with her pulse hammering in her throat, she lifted her hand and waved back.
The silence between them stretched, heavy and strange.
Finally, Evelyn spoke up, her voice unsteady.
"I… I just moved here."
The boy tilted his head, studying her, before his lips curled faintly.
"Isn't it obvious?"
She blinked, confused. "Huh?"
Before she could say more, his window slammed shut. The sudden noise jolted her, and she frowned, frustration mingling with unease.
The rest of the day passed in restless fragments. She couldn't focus. Every creak of the house seemed louder, every shadow heavier. But what gnawed at her most was the basement.
By evening, her curiosity broke past fear. She went downstairs and stood before the door again, holding her breath. She pressed her ear against the wood.
Silence.
Then, faintly, tap… tap… tap.
Her stomach dropped. She stumbled back, nearly tripping over herself.
Moments later, her phone buzzed. Unknown number. She opened it with trembling fingers.
"Don't go into the basement."
Evelyn's skin prickled. She looked out the window, half expecting to see the boy, but his window was closed. Curtains drawn.
Her thumb hovered over the screen. Who is this? she typed, but before she could send it, the number vanished. Deleted. Gone.
That night, she couldn't sleep. The storm outside didn't help; thunder cracked against the glass, rattling her room. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw stairs stretching into blackness, knives flashing in the dark.
At some point past midnight, unable to bear it, she sat by her window. To her surprise, the boy's curtains were open now, faint lamplight spilling through. He was sitting at his desk, bent over a notebook. He looked… normal. Almost harmless.
And yet, something gnawed at her.
Evelyn tapped lightly on the glass. To her shock, he looked up instantly, as if he had been waiting. Their eyes met across the rain-smeared street. After a long pause, he leaned closer, unlatched his own window, and pushed it open.
"You shouldn't be awake," he said softly, his voice carrying faintly through the storm.
Evelyn hesitated. "Neither should you."
That earned her a half-smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Fair point."
She took a deep breath. "Earlier… the basement. You sent me that message, didn't you?"
He looked genuinely confused. "Message?"
Her pulse quickened. "Don't lie. Someone told me not to go down there."
"I didn't text you," he said firmly. He even turned his phone toward her, showing a blank screen. "Besides… why would I know what's in your basement?"
The sincerity in his tone unsettled her more than if he'd admitted it. Because if he wasn't the one warning her, then who was?
Lightning flashed, illuminating his face. His eyes were steady, though a flicker of unease shadowed them. "But if I were you," he added slowly, "I'd listen."
Her throat tightened. "Why?"
He leaned against the frame, thoughtful. "That house it's been empty for a long time. Nobody stays long. They always move out. Fast."
The storm swallowed the silence between them. Evelyn gripped the sill to steady herself. "Why?" she pressed again.
His eyes darkened. "Because of the basement."
Her stomach twisted. She wanted to ask more, but before she could, thunder shook the street. The boy glanced over his shoulder, then back at her. "I don't know what's down there. I just know I don't want to."
Then, almost reluctantly, he closed his window again.
Evelyn stood frozen, rain pounding against the glass.
She was alone again.
When she turned back toward her room, a sound drifted up from below.
Not chopping this time. Not tapping.
But footsteps.
Slow, deliberate, climbing one stair at a time.
Her breath hitched. She glanced at the basement door from the top of the stairs. It stood closed yet the footsteps were growing louder.
Closer.
Right beneath her feet.