Twenty-four years ago…
The night was heavy with dampness.
A siren wailed out from afar into the darkness as thick clouds cloaked the moon. The street was narrow and cracked, shimmering faintly from puddles left by yesterday's storm.
In the dimly-lit kitchen of this worn apartment, a young woman slowly moved along, one hand resting on the curve of her rounded belly; the other stirred a pot of something warm, yet comforting and nondescript. It was all she was able to manage tonight. Fatigue weighed upon her like the dampness sticking to the walls.
The power flickered and danced across the peeling cabinets, casting a momentary shadow. The air was thick with the smell of kerosene, old newspapers, and wet clothes that had not dried.
Then, the scream pierced the night.
It wasn't a child's scream or any scuffle. This was different.
It cut through the walls like a knife, high-pitched and raw, as if something deep inside of someone had just snapped.
She let go of the spoon without another thought and, in her bare feet and with a swollen belly, she ran toward the sound. The corridor outside was dark, the hallway light buzzing weakly. At the far end of the block, something was glowing very softly.
She turned around the corner and froze. There she was.
A woman on fire.
Her body was a silhouette of flames, writhing and crumbling against the concrete, her screams echoing into the bones of the building. Neighbors screamed, water was thrown, but it was too late. The fire wasn't just outside; it had already started inside of her.
She stood there, paralyzed, her hand resting on her unborn belly. She couldn't scream or run. All she could do was stand and watch the horror scene unfold in front of her.
Then, the woman turned.
Through fire and smoke, her eyes met hers.
And in a voice that no flame could drown out, she whispered, "I will take care of your baby."
The young woman stumbled backwards, clutching her belly in a firm grip, not out of fear, but something deeper. Like a recognition?
But she didn't know her. Had never seen this woman before. Yet… her presence lingered like an old lullaby. Like a half-forgotten dream.
The fire should have consumed her, but it didn't. It swallowed the body completely, but not her essence.
And then she was gone. The hallway grew quiet.
Neighbours would insist there had been no one there; it was just some old wire that had caused the fire. Grief could play tricks on the mind.
But she knew better.
Someone had come that night, someone not altogether of this world, and a promise had been made.
* * *
Present Day
The rain started well before dawn, tapping softly against the rooftops of Eldermere.
When Niah Esme Viremont reached the bookstore, the cobblestones were slick with puddles, and the cold had crept into her sleeves.
She didn't mind, though. She loved the rain, the way it dulled the buildings, mellowed the cacophony of car horns and chatter.
The bell above the door rang its normal tired jingle as she stepped into Greenbell Bookstore. Really, it wasn't much: two cramped floors, with shelves leaning slightly from age and a stubborn leak near the travel section. To Niah, though, it was the only place that ever felt peaceful.
Maria was already at the counter, her thick glasses sliding down her nose as she flipped through invoices as if they had personally offended her.
"You're late," Maria muttered, not looking up.
"It's raining," Niah replied, shaking the water off her coat.
"It rained yesterday, too", Maria countered.
"And I was late yesterday, too."
That earned a faint smile from Maria, quick, but real.
Niah hung her coat and scarf, tucked herself behind the counter, and started sorting the returns. Her fingers moved on autopilot while her thoughts didn't.
Sometimes it did. A smell, a sound, or just… nothing. And suddenly, she was back there.
When she was just fourteen.
A hallway full of police.
A neighbor whispering something she wasn't meant to hear. A burnt match on the floor.
An uninhabited house.
And then, silence. Not just around her but inside her.
"Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?" Maria asked suddenly.
Niah blinked. "Just thinking."
"That's worse."
She tried for a smile but couldn't manage it. "Do we need to restock the children's shelf today?"
Maria rolled her eyes. "If I don't, the fairies will do it, right? Yes, we do."
Niah stood and stretched, then went back to the backroom, where boxes waited, unopened. Her boots thudded softly on the wooden floor, the sound echoing faintly. She liked that sound; it felt real.
* * *
She didn't remember when the voice started following her. Maybe it had always been there.
Maybe she had imagined it.
But one thing was etched deep in her memory: the first time it ever spoke to her directly, neither in her dream, nor in her imagination, but in real life.
"I will take care of you."
She was too young to understand what it meant, but too old to forget it.
Even now, on some nights, she'd wake up sweating, her heart in overdrive, with no recollection of any dream, only the presence, as though someone had been standing by her bedside just watching her sleep. As though it was waiting for something to happen.
The presence was just there, all the time. But she didn't know why?
She carried a box of books back toward the children's section, passing the old reading corner by the fireplace.
A mother and son were seated there; she hadn't even noticed them enter.
The boy read aloud in a sing-song voice. The mother was half-listening, half-scrolling through her phone, humming to the tune.
Niah stopped only for a second.
Again, that same longing feel reached the surface, which was small and buried deep inside her heart.
Would her mother have sat with her like that?
Would she have stayed long enough to tell her how stories end?
Niah turned away before the boy could look up and catch her staring.
Behind her, Maria called out, "Niah, you're taking lunch today. And I don't want to hear any arguments."
Niah sighed but didn't argue.
She sat down on the window upstairs with a sandwich she wasn't hungry for and watched Eldermere drift by. The town was always shrouded in fog at this time of year, and the old ruins on the hillside looked like fragments from another world.
Resting her forehead against the cold glass, she closed her eyes for a moment.
And in that moment-she heard, just a whisper. "You're not alone."
Startled, Niah opened her eyes, looking everywhere but found nothing.
No one.
Just the rain.
* * *