Maya's Room

"Maya's Room," I whispered, the name feeling heavy on my tongue. I was standing in the attic, the air thick with dust and the smell of old insulation, staring at the loose floorboard I had just pried up with a screwdriver.

Underneath was a small, leather-bound book. A diary.

I picked it up. The cover was worn, the corners frayed. I opened it to the first page.

*Property of Maya Bishop. If found, please return to 104 Hydrangea Lane. Or burn it.*

I flipped through the pages. The handwriting was neat, looping, identical to the inscription on the locket. Identical to the note Marcus had found.

*July 12, 2023: Gary stopped by again. He said he needed to check the water heater. He stayed for an hour. He kept asking about my job, my schedule. He makes my skin crawl.*

*August 4, 2023: I think someone has been in my room. My perfume bottle was moved. And I found a hair on my pillow that wasn't mine. It was blonde.*

*September 15, 2023: Met a nice lady today. El. She said she's a professional organizer. She offered to help me declutter for free. She said my energy was 'blocked.' She seems intense, but... maybe she's right. The house feels heavy.*

El. Elowen Vance.

I sat back on my heels, the diary trembling in my hands. Elowen hadn't just staged the house for me. She had been here before. She had "helped" Maya.

I turned to the last entry.

*October 14, 2023.*

The date she disappeared.

*I have a headache. It won't go away. El came over this morning to 'bless' the space. She brought lavender candles. She said they would help me sleep. I feel so tired. So dizzy. I'm just going to lie down for a minute...*

The entry ended there. A smudge of ink trailed off the bottom of the page, as if the pen had slipped from her hand.

Headaches. Dizziness. Tiredness.

Carbon monoxide.

My breath hitched. The CO detector. The missing batteries.

It wasn't just negligence. It was murder.

"Thea!"

I jumped, shoving the diary under my shirt. Marcus's voice echoed from the hallway below.

"I'm coming!" I shouted back.

I scrambled to put the floorboard back in place. I grabbed a random box labeled "Xmas??" and dragged it over the spot.

I climbed down the ladder, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm. I needed to get out of here. I needed to show this to someone. To the police. To anyone who would listen.

But as I stepped into the hallway, I saw Marcus standing by the front door. He wasn't alone.

Elowen Vance was standing next to him.

She was wearing a white pantsuit and holding a clipboard. She looked immaculate. Perfect. Terrifying.

"Thea!" she exclaimed, her smile wide and bright. "I was just telling your boyfriend how lovely your home is. Although..." She wrinkled her nose slightly. "The energy is a bit... stagnant."

I stared at her. She was wearing my watch.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice shaking.

"She says she's a friend of Gary's," Marcus said, looking between us. He seemed confused. "She said she's here to help us pack."

"Pack?" I repeated. "We're not moving."

Elowen stepped forward. She reached out and touched the sleeve of my t-shirt. Her fingers were cold.

"Oh, honey," she said, her voice dropping into a register of pure, condescending pity. "Didn't Gary tell you? The new tenants are moving in on Monday."

"What new tenants?" I demanded, pulling away from her touch. "We have a lease!"

"Gary said you agreed to vacate," Elowen said, glancing at Marcus. "Something about... unauthorized subletting?"

She looked at Marcus pointedly.

He flinched.

"I... I told her," Marcus stammered. "I told her I lived here."

"You told her?" I asked, turning to him. "When?"

"Just now," he said. "She asked who lived here, and I said 'we' do."

I looked back at Elowen. She was smiling. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a predator who had just found the weak spot in the fence.

"Unauthorized occupants are a breach of contract, Thea," she said. "Gary was very clear. He wants the property vacant by Sunday."

"Sunday," I whispered. "The open house."

"Exactly," Elowen said. "So let's get started, shall we? We have a lot of... clutter to clear."

She walked past me, heading straight for the stairs. Straight for the nursery.

"Wait!" I shouted. "You can't go up there!"

"Why not?" she asked, pausing on the bottom step. She looked back at me, her eyes glinting in the dim light. "Is there something you're hiding, Thea? Something... messy?"

I thought of the diary pressed against my skin. I thought of the CO detector in the kitchen. I thought of Maya.

"No," I lied. "It's just... messy."

"Perfect," Elowen said. "I love a challenge."

She started up the stairs.

I looked at Marcus. He was staring at the floor, looking ashamed.

"Do something," I hissed.

"What can I do?" he whispered back. "She works for Gary. If we make a scene, he'll call the cops. And if they find out I've been living here..."

He trailed off. He didn't have to finish. If the cops came, they would check my ID. They would find out about the eBay sales. They would find the "stolen" goods.

We were both trapped.

I ran after Elowen. I caught up to her on the landing.

She was standing in the doorway of the nursery. The room was empty again, stripped of the crib and the mobile. Just my desk and my chair.

But she wasn't looking at the furniture.

She was looking at the wall.

Specifically, at a small, dark stain near the baseboard.

It looked like red paint. Or...

"Did you spill something, Thea?" she asked, her voice soft.

She knelt down. She touched the stain with a manicured finger.

She brought her finger to her nose and sniffed.

Then she looked up at me.

"Blood," she whispered.

My stomach dropped.

"It's not blood," I said. "It's... wine. I spilled wine."

"Red wine," she said, nodding. "Of course. You seem like the type."

She stood up. She walked to the closet.

"Let's see what else you're hiding," she said.

She opened the closet door.

It was empty.

Except for one thing.

Sitting on the top shelf, pushed all the way to the back, was a small, wooden box.

I had never seen it before.

Elowen reached up and took it down. She held it in her hands, her expression unreadable.

"What is that?" I asked.

She turned to me. Her eyes were wet.

"It's a memory box," she said. "For my daughter."

"Your daughter?"

"Maya," she whispered.

She opened the box.

Inside was a lock of hair. A hospital bracelet. And a photo.

A photo of Elowen, holding a baby.

The same baby from the locket.

I stared at her. The pieces slammed into place with the force of a car crash.

Maya wasn't just a tenant.

She was Elowen's daughter.

And Elowen wasn't just a stager.

She was a mother looking for answers.

"She died here," Elowen said, her voice trembling. "In this room. Gary told me it was an accident. He said she fell asleep and didn't wake up."

She looked at the stain on the wall.

"But accidents don't leave stains like that."

She closed the box. She looked at me, and the mask of the Lifestyle Curator fell away completely.

In its place was something raw. Something dangerous.

"Get out," she said.

"What?"

"Get out of my daughter's house," she hissed. "Before I make you part of the clutter."

She reached into her pocket.

I expected a phone. Or a key.

But she pulled out a lighter.

She flicked it on. The flame danced in the dark room.

"I'm going to purify this place," she whispered. "Starting with the lies."

She dropped the lighter onto the carpet.

The flame caught instantly. The synthetic fibers melted and curled.

The fire spread fast. Too fast.

Like it had been prepped. Like the carpet had been soaked in something.

Something that smelled like lavender.

And gasoline.