Chapter 13 - The Stranger at the Bakery
The news of my mother’s illness changed the atmosphere in our house. It was no longer a cold, distant threat locked behind steel bars; it was a ticking clock. If the state granted her compassionate release, she would be free to spend her final days on the outside. And Eleanor Vance was not a woman who would spend her final days resting quietly.
Megan became hyper-vigilant. She stopped working at her desk near the window. She moved her drawing supplies into the windowless basement, claiming the lighting was better, but we both knew the truth. She didn't want to be visible from the street.
I began checking the locks three, four times a night. Every creek of the wooden floors, every whistle of the autumn wind through the eaves, made us freeze.
On Saturday morning, in an attempt to claw back some normalcy, I volunteered to walk to the bakery to get fresh pastries for breakfast. Lily wanted to come.
"Pretty flowers!" she chimed, pointing at the dead, frost-bitten marigolds in our neighbor's yard as we walked down the sidewalk. She was holding my hand tightly, her small mitten-covered hand warm in mine.
"Yes, sweetie. Winter is coming, so the flowers are going to sleep," I said, looking scanning the street. A dark grey sedan was parked half a block down, its exhaust pipe releasing faint plumes of white smoke into the cold air. The windows were tinted. I couldn't see who was inside.
I quickened my pace, pulling Lily slightly closer.
The bakery was warm, filled with the rich, buttery scent of croissants and sweet sugar. There was a short line. I stood near the back, keeping my back to the wall, watching the glass entrance.
An elderly woman in a heavy wool coat stood in front of us. She turned around, looking down at Lily, who was busy staring at the colorful display of frosted cookies.
"What a beautiful little girl," the woman said. She had a kind, wrinkled face, but her eyes were sharp.
"Thank you," I said, offering a polite, tight smile.
"She looks just like her grandmother," the woman murmured.
My body went completely rigid. The warmth of the bakery vanished, replaced by a suffocating, icy dread.
"What did you say?" I asked, my voice dangerously low.
The woman smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Eleanor always spoke so highly of her family. She’s very proud of you, David. She wants you to know that she’s looking forward to seeing the baby. She says Lily has the Vance eyes."
I grabbed Lily, lifting her into my arms so quickly she let out a small cry of surprise.
"Who are you?" I demanded, stepping toward the woman. The other customers in the bakery turned to look at us. The cashier stopped counting change.
"Just a messenger, dear," the woman whispered. "She doesn't have much time left. Don't be cruel. Let her see her granddaughter before the end."
Before I could grab her arm, the woman turned and walked quickly out the door. I ran after her, pushing through the heavy glass door into the biting cold air, Lily clinging to my neck.
"Daddy, you're hurting me!" Lily whimpered.
I stopped on the sidewalk, loosening my grip, my chest heaving. I looked up and down the street. The woman was already getting into the passenger side of the dark grey sedan I had seen earlier. The car accelerated quickly, its tires screeching slightly against the cold asphalt, disappearing around the corner.
May you like
My hands were shaking. They knew. They knew Lily’s name. They knew where we bought our bread.
The monster didn't just have a key; she had an army of ghosts, and they were surrounding our house.
