Over the following weeks, Margaret’s presence wrapped around our lives like ivy.
She followed Ethan everywhere — tasting the meals I cooked, interrupting every private moment, and knocking on our door each night under the pretense of saying goodnight.
Her voice was calm, but her eyes told another story — a look that was more possession than love.
I tried to tell myself I was imagining it. Until the night I heard soft crying in the attic.
The Locked Room
Continue reading…