The Eviction Notice

"The Eviction Notice," Gary said, smoothing the paper against the front door with a meaty, trembling hand. He didn't look like a man in charge. He looked like a man who was about to drown.

It was Friday morning. The sky was a bruised purple, heavy with the threat of rain that never seemed to fall. I was standing on the porch, my arms crossed, watching my landlord tape a piece of paper to my door.

"You can't do this," I said, my voice steady despite the frantic drumming of my heart. "I have a lease."

"Clause 22," Gary muttered, not meeting my eyes. "Unauthorized subletting. You have someone living in the garage."

"That's Marcus," I said. "He's my boyfriend. He visits."

"He's living there," Gary insisted, slapping another piece of tape onto the wood. "I have proof. Witnesses."

"What witnesses?"

"The neighbors," he said vaguely. "And... Ms. Vance."

Elowen. Of course.

"So she's your property manager now?" I asked. "Or is she just your debt collector?"

Gary froze. His hand hovered over the tape. He turned slowly to look at me, his eyes wide and bloodshot.

"What did you say?"

"I know about the money, Gary," I said. "I know about Vance Capital. I know you owe her fifty grand."

He licked his lips. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I saw the bank statement," I lied. "In the attic."

"You were in the attic?" His voice rose to a squeak. "I told you to stay out of there! That's my mother's stuff!"

"It's Maya's stuff," I said. "And the attic isn't for storage. It's a surveillance post."

Gary took a step back, nearly tripping over a potted plant Elowen had placed there yesterday. "You're crazy. You're... you're evicted. You have twenty-four hours to vacate."

"Or what?"

"Or I call the sheriff," he said, puffing out his chest. "And I change the locks again. For real this time."

He turned and practically ran to his truck. He peeled out of the driveway, his tires screeching against the asphalt.

I ripped the eviction notice off the door and crumpled it in my fist.

Twenty-four hours. That meant Saturday morning.

One day before the open house.

One day before the evidence was gone forever.

I walked inside. The house was silent. Marcus was still gone. Jordana was at the library, digging into the permit history of the property.

I was alone.

I unfolded the eviction notice. It was standard boilerplate legal jargon, but at the bottom, there was a handwritten note.

*Get out, Thea. Before she comes back.*

It was Gary's handwriting. But it wasn't a threat. It was a warning.

He was scared. He was terrified of Elowen.

I walked to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water. My hands were shaking. I needed to focus. I needed a plan.

I looked at the counter.

Sitting next to the coffee maker was a small, black object.

It looked like a USB drive.

But it wasn't mine. And it wasn't there ten minutes ago when I went out to confront Gary.

I picked it up. It was warm.

I plugged it into my laptop. A single video file.

* attic_feed_10_20_26.mp4 *

I clicked play.

The video showed the attic. It was dark, illuminated only by the faint light coming through the vents.

But I could see the sleeping bag. The laptop. The pee bottles.

And I could see Elowen.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at a monitor. The monitor showed *my* bedroom. Me, sleeping.

She was eating a granola bar. Chewing slowly, rhythmically.

Then, she looked up. Directly at the camera.

She smiled.

"I know you're watching, Thea," she whispered.

The video cut to static.

I slammed the laptop shut.

She knew. She knew I had found the attic. She knew I had seen the feed.

And she was taunting me.

I looked around the kitchen. Was she watching me right now? Was there a camera in the smoke detector? In the microwave?

I grabbed a chair and dragged it to the center of the room. I stood on it and ripped the smoke detector off the ceiling.

Empty. Just wires and a battery slot.

I went to the living room. I checked the vents. Nothing.

I checked the bookshelves. The lamps. The TV.

Nothing.

I was spiraling. I was paranoid.

Or was I?

I went back to the kitchen. I looked at the USB drive.

Where had it come from?

The back door was locked. The windows were shut.

Unless...

Unless she was already inside.

I grabbed the steak knife again. I walked to the basement door.

It was closed.

I put my ear against the wood.

Silence.

Then, a faint sound.

*Drip. Drip. Drip.*

Water?

Or something else?

I opened the door. The stairs descended into darkness.

"Hello?" I called out.

No answer.

I flipped the light switch.

The bulb popped and went dark.

Of course.

I turned on my phone flashlight and started down the stairs. The air grew colder with each step. The smell of "Clean Linen" faded, replaced by the damp, metallic scent of the crawlspace.

I reached the bottom. The concrete floor was wet.

I shined the light around. The furnace. The water heater. The stacks of old paint cans.

And in the corner, a pile of rags.

I walked toward it.

The rags moved.

I jumped back, raising the knife.

"Don't hurt me," a voice whimpered.

The pile of rags shifted, revealing a face.

It was Marcus.

He was curled up in a ball, shivering. His clothes were dirty, his face bruised.

"Marcus?" I dropped the knife. "Oh my god. What happened?"

He looked up at me, his eyes wide with terror.

"She found me," he whispered. "At the motel. She brought me back here."

"Elowen?"

He nodded. "She said I had to finish the job. She said I couldn't leave until the house was ready."

"Ready for what?"

"For the open house," he said. "For the new tenant."

"I'm the tenant," I said.

"No," Marcus said, shaking his head. "You're the sacrifice."

He pointed to the water heater.

"Look."

I walked over to the heater. I shined the light behind it.

There was a hole in the concrete floor. A small, square opening, leading down into the earth.

And next to it, a shovel.

"What is that?" I asked.

"It's a grave," Marcus said. "For you."

My blood turned to ice.

"She made me dig it," he sobbed. "She said if I didn't, she'd kill me too."

I stared at the hole. It was deep. Dark.

"We have to go," I said, grabbing his arm. "Now."

"I can't," he said. "She's upstairs."

"Upstairs?"

"She's waiting for you," he said. "In the nursery."

I looked at the stairs. The only way out.

"Come on," I said, pulling him up. "We're leaving."

We crept up the stairs. The house was silent.

We reached the kitchen. Empty.

We reached the front door.

I unlocked the deadbolt. I turned the handle.

It wouldn't open.

I pushed harder. It was jammed.

"She barred it," Marcus whispered. "From the outside."

I ran to the back door. Same thing.

The windows. All locked. All reinforced with security bars I hadn't noticed before.

We were trapped.

"The nursery," I said. "The window in the nursery doesn't have bars. I checked."

It was a risk. Elowen was up there.

But it was the only way out.

"Stay behind me," I told Marcus.

I picked up the knife from the floor.

We walked up the stairs. The hallway was dark.

The nursery door was open. A soft, yellow light spilled out onto the carpet.

And the sound of a lullaby.

*Hush, little baby, don't say a word...*

It was Elowen's voice. Humming.

I walked to the door. I looked inside.

Elowen was sitting in the rocking chair. She was holding the mannequin.

She was brushing its wig.

"Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird," she sang softly.

She didn't see us.

I signaled to Marcus. *The window.*

He nodded.

I stepped into the room.

"Elowen," I said.

She stopped humming. She turned her head slowly.

Her eyes were blank. Empty.

"Thea," she said. "You're early. The showing isn't until Sunday."

"We're leaving," I said. "Let us out."

"You can't leave," she said, standing up. She let the mannequin fall to the floor. "You live here now. With Maya."

She took a step toward me. She was holding a knife. A big one.

"Run!" I shouted to Marcus.

He bolted for the window. He threw it open.

"No!" Elowen screamed.

She lunged.

I stepped in front of her. I raised my steak knife.

She slashed at me. I ducked. The blade caught my arm, a hot sting of pain.

I shoved her back. She stumbled, hitting the crib.

"Go!" I yelled at Marcus.

He climbed out the window. "Come on, Thea!"

I turned to follow him.

But Elowen was fast. She grabbed my ankle.

I fell, hitting the floor hard. The knife skittered away.

She was on top of me in a second. Her hands were around my throat.

"You ruined it!" she screamed, her face inches from mine. "You ruined everything! It was perfect! It was clean!"

I clawed at her hands. I couldn't breathe.

"Maya... wouldn't... want this," I gasped.

Elowen froze. Her grip loosened, just for a second.

"Maya?" she whispered.

"She left you a note," I choked out. "In the diary. She said she was sorry."

It was a lie. But it worked.

Elowen's eyes filled with tears. "She... she wrote to me?"

"Yes," I said. "It's in the attic. Go look."

She let go of me. She stood up, looking toward the ceiling.

"The attic," she whispered.

She turned and ran out of the room. I heard the attic ladder creak down.

I scrambled to my feet. I ran to the window.

Marcus was waiting on the roof below. He helped me down.

We slid down the drainpipe. We hit the ground running.

We didn't stop until we reached the street.

"Where's your car?" Marcus asked, panting.

"Impounded," I said. "We have to walk."

We started walking toward the main road. The sirens were getting closer now.

I looked back at the house.

A light flickered in the attic window.

Then, a flame.

And then, a scream.

It wasn't a scream of pain. It was a scream of rage.

And then the whole roof exploded.