Horror

The kitchen filled with the smell of scrambled eggs and buttered toast. Morning light streamed through the windows, catching on the clean countertops and casting soft shadows across the floor. Edgar moved easily through the space, humming as he worked, sleeves rolled up, hair still a little damp from his shower. He set the table with care—plates, forks, napkins folded into neat triangles. Two settings on one side. Two on the other. He placed his father’s chipped green university mug at the usual spot, and his mother’s floral teacup just beside it. ...

The computer was a bust. Even if someone had read her message—if it even sent—she hadn’t known the address. No street name. No house number. Just trees. Just nowhere. It was a long shot. It was always a long shot. Okay. She couldn’t stay. That much was clear. She was not sleeping in a house with three corpses. One of whom thought they were dating. She moved to the window. ...

The light clicked on. Nicole startled—visibly—but Edgar smiled as he stepped into the room. “Sweetie,” he said gently, “you forgot to turn on the light.” She was sitting at the desk, blinking at the screen like she’d been caught doing something mildly embarrassing—ordering shoes, maybe. Or checking work emails on vacation. “Oh,” she said, her voice tight. “Yeah—I just… couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d check in on work stuff real quick.” ...

As soon as Edgar stepped out and the door clicked halfway shut, Nicole jumped up and locked it. The deadbolt slid into place with a quiet, merciful thunk. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, then laughed—soft and nervous. “Thank god he wants to sleep in different rooms,” she whispered. “Like I’m getting any sleep tonight.” Her hands were shaking. She pressed her palms hard against her thighs. Like pressure could force the fear back in. It didn’t. ...

Edgar stood slowly, brushing nonexistent crumbs from his slacks. “You two don’t worry about cleanup tonight,” he said, nodding warmly to his parents. “I’ll take care of it later.” He collected the used plates—his, Nicole’s, and the still-full ones across the table—and stacked them gently in the sink, careful not to clink them too loudly. His father hated that. He turned back toward the dining room. “Don’t stay up too late, okay? Early morning tomorrow.” ...

Nicole froze. Edgar’s parents were dead—undeniably, grotesquely dead. They sat perfectly still—hands folded in their laps, clothes neatly pressed, faces waxy and wrong in a way her brain refused to name. They looked like a memory someone had dressed up and posed. “Dad, Mom,” Edgar said, smiling warmly, “I’d like to introduce Nicole. The girl I’ve been telling you about.” He gestured toward her as if they were simply hosting guests. ...

Nicole didn’t bring it up right away. She’d sat with it for a few days—let it tumble around her brain like clothes in a dryer. Sometimes it felt like a warning. Other times, just a sad kind of mystery. Her conversations with Julia hadn’t clarified much, except for the shared sense that something didn’t add up. But it wasn’t just about Edgar anymore. It was about whether the story he told matched the life he lived. ...

Nicole hadn’t seen Julia since Thanksgiving, but now that winter break had rolled around, her younger sister had chosen the city over the suburbs. “More fun,” she’d said, tossing her duffel onto the couch like she lived there. “Also, Mom’s already doing the Ethan Wilson sales pitch.” Nicole snorted. “Ah yes, Deloitte’s finest.” “Exactly,” Julia said, dropping onto the cushions. “Hard pass.” Now the two of them were sprawled in joggers and oversized comfy socks, wine in hand, half a pizza cooling on the coffee table. Julia’s glass was mostly for show. ...

Nicole had been looking forward to this day for weeks. Which was strange, really—who looked forward to meeting someone’s parents? But with Edgar, it was different. The way he spoke about them—his mom’s sweet lunch notes, his dad’s quiet wisdom, the Sunday baseball games—it all sounded so warm, so easy. She couldn’t help but fill in the rest. Honestly, it felt… ideal. They were halfway to his place now, winding through two-lane roads that cut between low hills and dense trees. Nicole sat curled slightly toward the window, watching the scenery shift. ...

Nicole held the phone to her ear with one hand, a half-zipped overnight bag in the other, as she kicked the front door closed behind her. “I made it,” she said, adjusting her grip on the handle. “No snow, no traffic, and only one minor crisis involving my sister’s passive-aggressive texts.” On the other end of the line, Edgar’s voice softened. “Glad you got there safe.” She smiled, setting the bag down by the staircase. “I like how you actually care whether I arrive alive. That’s rare.” ...