I woke up to a quiet, ordinary morning.
Sunlight slipped through the curtains in gentle bars. The bulb in the corner glowed steady and harmless. No flickering, no floating girl, no strange shadows creeping across the walls. Everything felt perfectly, boringly normal.
I lay there for a minute, staring at the ceiling. *I wish I could talk to her more.*
The thought surprised me with how much it didn't surprise me. Somewhere in the last few nights, fear had quietly packed its bags and left.
I swung my legs out of bed and headed for the stairs. Halfway down, my parents' voices drifted up from the kitchen.
"Now we can finally go out without any tension," Dad was saying, sounding relieved.
"Yes," Mom agreed. "Jack seems completely fine upstairs. I think we don't need to worry about him anymore."
There was a short pause.
"But I still don't love the idea of leaving him home alone overnight," she added, softer.
Dad chuckled. "Come on, he told us himself he'd rather stay in than go out. The kid practically begged to be left behind."
So they really were planning something—a weekend away, maybe, or at least a proper date night.
They were going to leave me alone in the house.
The thought didn't scare me at all.
In fact, it made my pulse quicken for an entirely different reason.
That evening dragged. I kept glancing at the clock, pretending to scroll on my phone while counting down the minutes until bedtime.
"Dinner's ready!" Mom called eventually.
I ate faster than usual. When I stood to clear my plate, Mom looked surprised.
"You're heading up already?"
"I'm just… really tired tonight," I said, hoping I sounded convincing.
She smiled warmly. "All right, sweetheart. Good night."
"Good night."
I took the stairs slowly this time, heart thumping louder with every step.
*I really want to talk to her.*
I closed the bedroom door behind me, flicked on the small bedside lamp, and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the familiar corner.
For a long while… nothing.
No flicker. No sound. Just quiet.
Then the bulb blinked once.
Twice.
She appeared gently this time—no dramatic entrance, no upside-down drop, no creepy shadow play. Just a soft shimmer in the air, and there she was, floating a foot above the floor.
I couldn't help smiling. "You didn't do the full half-hour light show. And no jump scare."
She shook her head, drifting a little closer. "I couldn't wait to talk to you."
My heart did a ridiculous flip. "Oh… yeah," I managed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Same."
A shy pause.
Then I remembered the conversation I'd overheard.
"My parents… they're planning to go out soon. Like, leave the house for a night or maybe longer."
Her face fell instantly. The lights dimmed until the room felt like it was holding its breath.
"So…" she said, voice small, "you're going with them?"
"No," I said quickly—too quickly. "I'm staying here."
The lights brightened again, soft and flickering like candle flames. "Really?"
I nodded. Then, before I could chicken out: "Would you… be sad if I did go somewhere? If I left for a while?"
She looked down at her translucent hands, twisting them together.
"Yes," she whispered. "I'd be lonely again. Just like before."
The words hung in the air, simple and heavy.
I swallowed. "Well… I'm not going anywhere."
We talked after that—really talked.
About nothing important and everything important.
She listened like every story was brand new, laughing in all the right places, asking quiet questions that made me keep going.
Hours slipped by unnoticed.
When I finally glanced at the clock, it read 2:00 A.M.
I groaned. "I should sleep. If I don't, I'll be a zombie at school tomorrow."
She floated closer, hovering just above the bed.
"Will you leave me and go?" she asked again, barely above a whisper.
I shook my head. "No. I'm right here."
I lay back against the pillow. The room was bathed in the steady, warm glow of the lamp—no flickering, no dimming, just calm light.
"I'm here," I said softly, more to her than to myself.
She settled gently beside me, not quite touching the mattress, but close enough that the air felt warmer.
For the first time since we'd moved in, the night didn't feel dark or empty at all.
It felt like company.
It felt like home.