Evelyn woke to pale light stretching across the ceiling, her body heavy with exhaustion. She lay still for a while, blinking up at the cracks in the plaster, listening to the quiet hum of the house.
It was the kind of morning where she wanted to stay under the blankets forever, to let the world go on without her. But the ache in her stomach reminded her she hadn't eaten since the soggy slice of pizza last night. With a groan, she pushed herself up.
Her body always felt heavier in the mornings. Not in weight, but in spirit. Like all the loneliness she tried to bury during the day crept back into her bones overnight.
She slipped into her sweater, the cuffs stretched out from years of use, and padded to the kitchen.
Breakfast was simple: a slice of toast, a boiled egg, and tea she steeped too long. She ate slowly, staring at the wall, chewing as though she had to convince her body to take in the food.
For a few moments, it felt normal. She almost believed she was just another girl in a quiet house, in a quiet town, trying to build a life.
And then she heard it.
A sound from below.
She froze, her fork halfway to her mouth.
It came again. A steady, deliberate rhythm.
Chop.....
Chop...
Chop...
Her heart jerked in her chest. The toast turned dry in her throat.
It was too clear, too sharp to be her imagination.
She pushed her plate away, palms flat on the table. Her breath came faster, shallower.
The basement.
The sound was coming from the basement.
Her eyes flicked toward the plain white door at the back of the kitchen. It had looked harmless yesterday. Just a door. But now, it felt like it was watching her. Waiting.
Her chest tightened.
She thought of her father, who used to call her "crazy" when she tried to explain the knives in her head. Hearing things again, "Evelyn? You always want to be special."
Her stepmother's voice followed close behind: "Stop seeking attention. No one believes you."
Her throat ached.
Maybe she really was imagining it. Maybe it was all in her mind, the way people always said. But the sound was so real. So sharp.
She stood, her chair scraping the floor. Her knees trembled as she took a step toward the basement door.
Just check..... Just open it.....Just once.....
Her hand lifted before she could stop herself, fingers trembling inches from the knob. She swore she could feel the cold radiating from it.
The chopping stopped.
Evelyn froze.
The silence that followed felt alive. She swore she could hear her own pulse echoing off the walls.
She staggered back, one hand pressed to her chest. Her breath came fast, ragged.
Her first thought was to run....to bolt out of the house and never look back. But where would she go? She'd chosen this place, this house, because she wanted to start over. Running now would only prove everyone right: that she wasn't strong enough, wasn't stable enough, wasn't normal.
Instead, she forced herself to back away slowly, never taking her eyes off the door, until her shoulders hit the counter.
Her legs gave out, and she sank into the chair again.
She stayed like that for minutes maybe longer waiting, listening. The silence pressed in, heavy and suffocating.
When the tightness in her chest finally loosened, she shoved her feet into sneakers and fled outside.
The cold air slapped her skin, sharp and bracing. She stood on the porch, arms wrapped around herself, staring out at the quiet street.
That's when she saw him.
Across the road, the boy was raking leaves. His dark hair fell into his face, and his movements looked mechanical, as though his mind was elsewhere.
Evelyn's breath caught. For some reason, she had expected not to see him again, as though last night had been a trick of her tired mind. But there he was. Real.
Their eyes met.
Hazel locked with black.
The moment stretched, long and awkward. She wanted to wave, to say something anything but her throat tightened. The courage shriveled before it even formed.
And then, just as quickly, he looked away. His rake scraped across the grass in hurried strokes, his jaw tight.
Evelyn's stomach dropped.
Her hands twitched at her sides, wanting to reach out, but she stayed rooted where she was. Of course he wouldn't smile. Of course he wouldn't wave back. People never did.
She turned away, slipping back into the house.
Inside, the silence seemed heavier than before. She leaned against the closed door, eyes shut, trying to breathe through the weight in her chest.
She busied herself with cleaning, scrubbing counters, wiping dust, rearranging shelves. Anything to stay busy. But no matter how much she tried, her eyes kept drifting back toward the basement door.
By evening, when the sky turned a bruised purple, the sound came again.
Chop...
Chop...
Chop...
Louder this time.
Closer.
Her skin went cold. She stepped toward the door despite herself, her feet moving without permission.
When she stopped, her breath hitched.
Because the chopping wasn't drifting up faintly from the basement anymore.
It was right there.....on the other side of the door.