Chapter 1
“Oh my gosh, what a surprise,” I heard my mom say.
Someone had come over.
For a moment, squinting, I tried to remember if we were expecting anyone. The only person who might visit me is my friend Sara, but Mom’s reaction definitely ruled her out. Sara might as well live here—her visits were no surprise. Realizing it wasn’t for me, I ignored the visitor and went back to painting. I looked at the painting, trying to remember which color I was supposed to choose, when I heard.
“Hello, Auntie.”
The paintbrush fell from my hand. I shuddered, and a wave of fear ran down my spine. Swallowing hard, I felt tears welling up in my eyes. This couldn’t be true. My lips began to tremble, and a strange numbness took hold of my entire body.
My own home, my beloved place, would never be the same again. I knew it, and I felt a huge lump form in my throat. I looked at the painting. With a heavy heart, I admitted that I wouldn’t finish it anymore.
I picked up the brush from the floor and placed it in a jar of water. I straightened my spine; the voices from the hallway laughed and then fell silent, which gave me pause. I waited to hear my name. For now, there was still calm—on the outside, because inside, a typhoon was tearing at my insides. I tried to breathe normally, to calm down, and certainly not to panic—I couldn’t panic.
I walked over to the window. It was already dark. The neighborhood was shrouded in darkness. Streetlights illuminated the area around them. A light was on at every stairwell entrance. I looked at the apartment building across from mine. Some of the windows in the building were covered, others weren’t. The lights in the windows illuminated the interiors of the apartments; you could see people cooking, cleaning, or sitting at tables. There weren’t many people outside. Every now and then a car drove by; someone was coming home from work. Just an ordinary day. For me, the last normal one.
I was afraid that this view was the last quiet and peaceful moment of my life. I wanted to remember it well. The monster that came to my home this evening had already taken many things and places from me. I thought—or rather, I hoped—that it would at least leave me this place.
I was wrong.
He wanted to take everything from me. Until that moment, I was deluding myself. Although with the experience I had, I should have been more serious, and yet here I am, standing at my bedroom window, feeling just like the first time.
You can’t get used to evil; it always takes you by surprise, even when you know it’s right outside the door.
