I didn't sleep that night.
Not because of nightmares.
But because I didn't want to hear it again.
That sound.
That soft humming.
Low.
Broken.
But I did hear it.
At 3:11 a.m.
From beneath the floorboards.
Not loud.
Not angry.
Just… calling.
Lucas sat on the windowsill.
Back to me.
He was drawing something on the fogged glass.
Circles. Eyes. Crosses.
He didn't say anything.
"Was it her?" I asked.
He didn't turn around.
Just nodded.
"She's dead," I whispered.
He finally turned.
And said:
"So are parts of you."
I stayed quiet.
Let the cold crawl into my bones.
Let the darkness press against the window like it wanted in.
That morning, I walked to school like usual.
But everything felt… stretched.
Too bright. Too slow.
The kids too loud. The teachers too quiet.
Like I wasn't supposed to be there anymore.
Like I'd overstayed.
At lunch, I didn't eat.
I traced shapes on the table.
Circles.
Eyes.
Crosses.
When I got home, my mother asked if I was okay.
I nodded.
She smiled.
Then turned back to the stove.
She never saw my hands trembling.
That night, the humming came again.
Closer.
And Lucas?
He didn't sit near me anymore.
He stood at the corner of the room.
Staring at the floor.
I covered my ears.
Cried into my pillow.
Whispered to the dark:
"I'm sorry."
The floor creaked.
Lucas knelt beside me.
Whispered back:
"Then go to her."
"Finish what you started."
I didn't ask what he meant.
Because part of me already knew.