Chapter 4 The Drawing
By the time Eli leaves, the sky has turned a deep violet, bleeding into the darker blue creeping across my small neighborhood. He made me promise, twice, to lock every window, every door. And I did. I checked them all while he lingered on the porch like he didn’t trust the house to hold itself together once he stepped away.
I didn’t trust it either.
When his SUV finally pulled out of the driveway, I felt something hollow in my chest, like the air changed the second he was gone. Lighter in some ways. Heavier in others.
Maya shifts on the couch in a sleepy tangle of blankets and legs. I sit beside her with a soft smile, brushing her curls back gently.
“Mommy?” she murmurs, eyelids fluttering. “Is he gone?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. He had to go home.”
She nods slowly and buries her face into her panda again. I think she’s drifting back to sleep until her small voice slips out, muffled.
“He’s sad.”
My brow furrows. “Who?”
She lifts her head, eyes still hazy. “The man who came. Eli.”
Kids see too much. More than we want them to.
I press a kiss to her forehead. “You’re half-asleep, baby. Come on, let’s get you upstairs tonight.”
She yawns dramatically, stretching her arms out. I scoop her up and settle her against my hip. Her warmth grounds me more than I want to admit. As I carry her upstairs, she pats my cheek twice, absent-minded, comforting.
“Mommy?” she whispers.
“Yeah?”
“The lady wasn’t with him.”
A cold ripple slides beneath my skin. “What lady?”
Maya nuzzles into my shoulder. “The one with the pretty hair. The one from last night.” She exhales a little sigh. “She was outside earlier.”
My steps falter.
“Outside… where?”
“By the trees,” Maya mumbles, voice fading. “She was sad, too. But different sad.”
Different sad?
I swallow, tighten my grip on her, and push into her bedroom. Soft pink wallpaper. Stuffed animals are lined on shelves. The nightlight glows like a tiny guardian in the corner.
“Let’s get your pajamas on.”
She nods but doesn’t lift her head, already sliding toward sleep.
While I help her out of her clothes and into a cotton nightgown with tiny stars on it, Maya speaks again, so faint I almost miss it.
“She drew with me.”
My hands still.
“Who?” I whisper.
“The lady. She said she likes my drawings.”
The cold that floods me now is sharp enough to hurt. “When did she draw with you?”
“Last night,” she says, eyes drooping. “She said she was lonely.”
My chest tightens painfully. “What did she draw?”
Maya shrugs as I tuck her under the covers. “She said I should show you. It’s on my table.”
I turn my head slowly, heart pounding.
The small table in the corner, covered with crayons, coloring books, and scraps of paper, sits quietly under the soft glow of the nightlight.
One page is set apart from the others.
Face up.
Almost waiting.
I kiss Maya’s forehead. “Get some sleep, angel.”
She’s out before I finish the sentence.
I cross the room on legs that feel too light.
The drawing is… simple. Childlike. But the lines are too clean, the shape too intentional for a six-year-old. My breath hitches.
A tall woman with wild curls. A crescent-moon necklace drawn in thick yellow crayon. A painted creek behind her.
Kahlia.
And next to her…
Me.
Holding hands.
My hand covers my mouth. Tears sting my eyes before I can stop them.
My fingers brush the paper.
There’s something written at the bottom in a different hand.
Not Maya’s.
I’m sorry. - K
My vision wavers.
“Sera?”
The voice is so soft, so close, I spin around too fast, swallowing a gasp.
But it’s only my reflection in the window, the outline of my own fear staring back at me.
Nothing else.
No one else.
I grab the drawing, nearly crumpling it, and step out of Maya’s room. I pull the door halfway closed but leave it cracked so I can hear her. I walk down the hall in a daze until I reach my bedroom.
My fingers tremble as I click on the lamp.
The light splashes across the room, warm against the cold dread pressing through me. I lay the drawing on the bed and stare at it, heart racing so loudly it feels like it fills the room.
The hair. The necklace. The handwriting.
It’s her. It’s really her.
Or someone pretending to be her.
Neither possibility is comforting.
I collapse onto the edge of the mattress, bury my face in my hands, and breathe through the rising panic.
A soft vibration interrupts the silence.
My phone, still in my pocket.
I pull it out with numb fingers.
Eli: Are you sure the doors are locked?
I stare at the message. Something in me cracks open, a mixture of fear and relief and something else I’m not ready to name. I get up and close the door fully.
My thumb hovers only a moment before I type:
Me: Yes. Everything’s locked.
Three dots appear instantly.
Eli: Good. Try to get some rest. Call me if anything feels off.
Feels off...right.
Everything feels off.
Before I can stop myself, my fingers move.
Me: Why did you come back, Eli? Really?
I shouldn’t have asked. I don’t know what part of me pushed the question forward, fear, longing, something broken. The moment I hit send, regret coils deep in my stomach.
I put the phone down and stand up to pace the room, stopping to stare at the door and silently listening to hear if Maya wakes up.
The phone vibrates again.
I lift it slowly, almost afraid.
Eli: Because I never should have left you in the first place.
My breath stops.
For a long moment, I can’t inhale.
The house feels different. Warmer. Colder. More alive.
A creak sounds behind me.
I whirl around.
The bedroom door is open halfway now.
I know- I know- I closed it all the way before I picked up the phone. I’m certain of it. I stare at the gap, my pulse thundering in my ears.
A quiet gust of cold air brushes my bare arms.
The lamp flickers once.
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the instinct to run.
When I open them again, the hall is still.
But a feeling crawls over me, slow and certain.
I’m not alone.
Not in this house.
Not in this night.
My phone vibrates again in my hand.
Eli: I’m coming back. Don’t open the door unless it’s me.
I don’t reply.
Because I can’t move.
My gaze drifts to the drawing on the bed, the yellow crescent moon glowing faintly under the lamplight.
I’m sorry. - K
A tear slips down my cheek.
If this is a warning…
I’m already too late to understand it.