My grandmother di:ed three years ago and left her house to me. Not long after, my father remarried and suddenly decided to move back in. He didn’t ask. He informed me.
His new wife took things further. She tossed my belongings into trash bags like clutter she couldn’t wait to erase.
“I live here now,” she said with a satisfied smile. “This place needs to meet my standards.”
I smiled back.
I had never heard a sound like that before.
The scream slices through the house at exactly 2:17 a.m.—violent, unhinged, primal. I’m already awake when it happens, my body tight with awareness. I sit up in the dark of my old bedroom, the one they relegated me to as if I were an afterthought, while they claimed the rest of the house room by room.
