The hatch was open this morning.
Not wide.
Just enough to see what I wasn't supposed to.
The stairs.
Again.
It was still raining. But the sky was brighter.
The wind moved through the cracks in the wood. It whispered things I didn't understand.
I sat near the edge of the hatch.
Looking down.
Not going.
Just looking.
The stairs were dusty, but not dark.
They curved gently, like they were waiting for me.Like they were alive.
At the very bottom, I saw part of the hallway.
Just the edge.
A corner of a picture frame.
A wall lamp flickering.
And…
Something else.
There was a shadow.
Not Mama.
Too tall. Too still.
It didn't move.
I stared for a long time.
Then it did.
Only a little.
Just enough to make me freeze.
I blinked.
And it was gone.
I called out: "Mama?"
No answer.
I didn't move.
Not even when my foot started to fall asleep.
I just stayed.
Watching the stairs.
Something's changed.
Mama never forgets the hatch two days in a row.
And Mama never lets the hallway show itself.
In my notebook, I drew what I saw.
The stairs.The light.The corner.And the shadow.
I wrote underneath it:
"Maybe I'm not the only one who lives here."
Before bed, I found something under my pillow.
A key.
Old. Rusted. Warm to the touch.
There was no note. No voice. No explanation.
Just the key.
I looked at the hatch again.
Still open.
Still waiting.