Too Late

Lena was halfway down the stairs when her mother’s voice called from the kitchen.

“Come eat. Your pancakes are getting cold."


She yawned, rubbing her eyes. It was Sunday morning, and the house smelled like syrup and coffee. But just as her foot touched the bottom step, a hand shot out from the hallway closet and yanked her sideways.


“Shh! That’s not me. Go back upstairs. Now."


Before Lena could scream, the kitchen voice called again. louder this time, but like a recording stretched too thin.


“Lena? Don’t keep me waiting."


Her mother shoved her toward the stairs just as the kitchen door creaked open. Something shuffled forward, humming a lullaby Lena’s mother used to sing but the voice was unsettling. Lena bolted upstairs, locked herself in the bathroom, and crumpled to the floor. She unlocked her phone to call the police but then her phone buzzed. A text from her mom which read;


“Went to church. Didn’t wake you. You looked so tired last night. Be home by noon."


The house fell silent. Then, from downstairs, the thing whispered:


“ She should have taken you along with her."

Comments

  1. Oh my ! That sounds like a scary movie

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