The scraping upstairs stopped with the knock on the front door.
Adrian jerked his head toward it, heart hammering. Nobody ever knocked anymore. They crossed the street. They whispered. They left notes telling him to leave.
But a knock? That was new.
He rose slowly, every step heavy as he moved toward the door. The smell followed him — old rot, wet wood, something sour. He pulled the curtain back a fraction.
A woman stood on his porch. Early thirties, maybe. Slim. Dark hair pinned neatly. She wore a plain dress, gray but clean, with a cardigan draped over her shoulders. A polite smile sat on her face, the kind that looked practiced, but her eyes… her eyes were too sharp.
Adrian opened the door halfway. "What do you want?"
"Good evening." Her voice was calm, melodic. "I'm Evelyn. I just moved into the neighborhood. Thought I'd introduce myself."
Adrian blinked. He almost laughed. "Introduce yourself?"
"Yes." Her smile didn't waver. "Isn't that what neighbors do?"
Adrian leaned on the doorframe. "Not around here. Around here, they whisper. They curse. They leave letters in my mailbox."
Her brow lifted slightly. "Letters?"
He held up the crumpled note still in his pocket. "This. 'Leave.' That's what I get."
Evelyn studied it, then looked back at him with a tilt of her head. "And yet… you're still here."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "This is my house."
"Of course." She nodded. "May I come in?"
Adrian hesitated. He glanced past her — empty street, no one watching. But the smell behind him was stronger, as if the house exhaled.
He muttered, "You don't want to come in here."
"Why not?" Her eyes flicked past his shoulder into the darkness of the hall.
"Because it stinks. Because it's rotten. Because…" He trailed off.
Her smile softened. "I don't mind a little smell. I've lived in worse."
Adrian studied her. Her calmness unnerved him more than hostility would have. Finally, with a grunt, he stepped aside. "Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you."
She slipped past him with quiet grace.
Inside, Evelyn looked around without flinching. The peeling wallpaper, the sagging ceiling, the sour stench — none of it seemed to faze her.
"You've been here a long time?" she asked.
Adrian shut the door. "Too long."
Her eyes lingered on the staircase. "It has… character."
Adrian barked a laugh. "That's a kind word for it."
She smiled faintly. "I like houses with history. They keep secrets well."
Adrian narrowed his eyes. "You say that like you know mine."
She turned toward him, expression unreadable. "Do you have secrets, Mr. Cole?"
He stiffened. "Everyone does."
Silence stretched. The fridge hummed. The pipes moaned. Upstairs, something creaked faintly.
Evelyn tilted her head as though she heard it too. Then, smoothly, she changed the subject. "I brought something." She held out a small tin.
Adrian frowned. "What's that?"
"Bread. Fresh. I baked this morning."
He didn't move. "Poisoned?"
Her lips twitched. "Would I poison a man I just met?"
"Yes," Adrian said flatly.
Evelyn laughed, low and soft. "Suspicious. I like that." She placed the tin on the table. "You don't have to eat it. But it's here."
Adrian stared at it, then at her. "Why are you really here?"
"I told you," she said gently. "I'm your new neighbor."
"No." Adrian stepped closer. "Neighbors don't knock on my door. They run from me. They spit when I pass. They curse my name. So why are you different?"
Her gaze met his steadily. "Maybe because I don't believe curses are contagious."
Adrian barked a laugh, sharp and bitter. "Then you're a fool."
"Or maybe," she said softly, "I've seen worse things than whispers."
For a moment, the house felt heavier, as if leaning in to listen.
Adrian rubbed the back of his neck. "So what do you want from me? Pity? Gratitude?"
"Neither." She smoothed her cardigan. "Just company."
He stared. "Company?"
"Yes. You look lonely."
Adrian laughed again, but it was hollow. "You don't know the half of it."
Her voice lowered. "Then tell me."
Adrian swallowed. The words almost rose — about Ella's laugh upstairs, about the smell that never left, about the whispers — but he bit them back.
Instead, he muttered, "You should go before the neighbors see you here. They'll add you to their curses."
Evelyn's smile returned, faint but firm. "Let them. Their curses don't scare me."
Adrian shook his head. "You're strange."
"So they tell me."
Silence again. She didn't move toward the door. Instead, she glanced once more at the staircase. "You live here alone?"
Adrian's chest tightened. "Yes."
Her eyes lingered a moment too long, as though she didn't believe him. Then she nodded. "Then I suppose I'll leave you to your evening. But I'll come again, if you don't mind."
Adrian smirked. "What if I do mind?"
"Then I'll still come."
He blinked. "You're bold."
Her lips curved faintly. "Boldness keeps me alive."
She walked to the door. Adrian followed, watching the way she moved — deliberate, unhurried, like she owned her space.
At the door, she turned. "Goodnight, Mr. Cole."
Adrian muttered, "Goodnight, Evelyn."
She stepped out into the night. The door closed behind her.
Adrian stood in the silence, staring at the tin of bread on his table.
The house creaked above him.
And in the stillness, he swore he heard it again — laughter. A child's laugh.
Only this time, Evelyn's voice seemed tangled in it.