Chapter 4
796 Words
ECHOES OF NORMAL
The morning sun peeked through the blinds of Amara’s old bedroom, warming the pale pink walls now dulled by time. Her eyes fluttered open slowly as she adjusted to the quiet stillness of her childhood home. The bed creaked beneath her as she sat up and looked around, letting the familiarity soak in. The posters she’d once loved were still faintly visible beneath the peeling corners. Her bookshelf leaned a little, still stacked with dog-eared novels and sketchbooks from another lifetime.
Downstairs, she could hear her dad humming.
She smiled. For a moment, it felt like time had never passed.
“Coffee?” he called up.
“If it’s instant, I’m leaving,” she joked, grabbing a hoodie and heading down.
Her father stood by the stove in his usual flannel shirt, frying bacon in an old skillet. A pot of real coffee steamed beside him, and the table was already set with pancakes, eggs, and toast.
“Okay,” she said as she plopped into the seat. “You’re showing off.”
“I had to bribe you somehow to come home.”They ate together, laughing between bites. He told her stories about the town how Mrs. Clay down the road had married her third husband, how the local mayor ran for reelection and lost to a twenty-eight-year-old TikToker.
They spent the day visiting familiar places: the bookstore where she once spent hours hiding from the world, the ice cream shop with the cranky old man who still remembered her order, and the park bench where she carved her initials with her best friend at fifteen. People waved as they passed. Some looked shocked to see her. Others whispered.
“That’s Amara,” she heard once. “She’s the one her mother left.”
By late afternoon, her dad pulled the truck over by the river.
“Still remember this spot?” he asked.
She nodded. “I used to come here and scream into the trees when I was mad at Mom.”
He sighed. “You never got over what she did, huh?”
“She didn’t just leave you,” Amara said, voice tight. “She left *me*. Like I was just… an afterthought.”
Her father didn’t answer. He just sat beside her, letting the silence speak. The river moved lazily, reflecting the early evening sun.
They drove home in the quiet comfort of shared memory. Amara hadn’t realized how much she missed this simple, honest moments that didn’t demand anything from her.But of course, the peace didn’t last.
That evening, while drying dishes, her phone buzzed.
*Unknown Number Calling.*
Her stomach dropped.
She answered reluctantly. “Hello?”
“Amara,” came her mother’s familiar voice—smooth and emotionless. “I heard you’re in town.”
She nearly dropped the phone. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Small towns talk. And I’d like to invite you to my engagement party this weekend. I want you there.”
Amara laughed bitterly. “Since when do you want me anywhere near you?”
“You’re still my daughter,” her mother said flatly.
“You left me. You chose a mansion over your own child.”
There was a pause. “It would be unwise not to come.”
The way she said it chilled Amara to her core.
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a fact.”
“I’m not coming,” Amara snapped and hung up.
She stared at the phone for a long time, then shoved it into the drawer like it might curse her.
Later that night, after saying goodnight to her dad, she curled up beneath her old comforter. The moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting faint stripes across her floor. Her room felt smaller than she remembered. Quieter. Too quiet.
Sleep came slowly.
And not gently.
It was close to 3 a.m. when she stirred.Her eyelids fluttered, her body heavy but alert. The room was dark except for the faint glow of the moon.
Something was wrong.
Her heart thudded without reason.
The air was colder. Still.
Then came the feeling unmistakable.
She was being watched.
Every nerve in her body screamed.
She tried to open her eyes fully, but they fought her. Half-asleep. Half-aware.
Then movement.
From the corner of her eye, the shadow by her closet door… shifted.
Her breath hitched.
Something *someone* stood in the far corner. Watching. Waiting.
And then the closet door creaked open… just an inch.
She sat up in bed with a jolt, but the room was empty again. Silent.
No one there.
No movement.
The closet door was closed.
Had it all been a dream?
Or had something already slipped back into the shadows?
She didn’t sleep again that night.
- Writer
