Mine Until Death

The car jolted to a stop, and I pressed my face against the cold window, my breath fogging the glass. The house loomed ahead, big and unfamiliar. It was a modern thing, too sharp and square for my liking, its grey bricks cold and unwelcoming. Elizabeth Cockwallace, the woman who brought me here, turned and smiled at me. It was the kind of smile you give a dog when you think it might bite but you’re trying to convince it not to. I didn’t trust it.

 

“You’re going to be just fine, Luca,” she said in a voice that sounded like she was trying to be comforting, but it didn’t feel like it. There was a strange, tightness in her words, like she was trying to convince herself more than me.

 

I didn’t say anything. I just stared at the house, feeling the knots in my stomach twist tighter. My hands clenched on my lap, and I didn’t even notice until I saw the blood in my knuckles. I tried to relax them, but they were already shaking. This wasn’t where I wanted to be. This wasn’t home.

 

“Come on, Luca,” Elizabeth said, opening the door. The wind rushed in, biting at my face, but I didn’t want to move. The seat felt so much safer. But her voice—her voice was like a crack of thunder. “We’ll go in together.”

 

Her hand reached for mine, and it felt icy. I pulled away from her, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her hand stayed outstretched, and I felt that horrible prickling sensation at the back of my neck. The kind you get when something’s wrong when something’s watching you.

 

“Go on then, boy,” she insisted, her grip firming as she tugged at me. “You’re safe here.”

 

I didn’t feel safe. I didn’t feel anything but the cold, the fear, and the tightening in my chest. I swallowed hard, stepping out of the car and onto the gravel driveway. The crunch beneath my feet felt too loud, too echoey, and I was sure the whole neighbourhood could hear it.

 

The house was huge, bigger than anything I’d ever seen. Too big. Too empty. It made me feel small, and that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the way the windows stared at me, cold and blank, like eyes without souls.

 

Elizabeth knocked at the door, and I stood there, rooted to the spot. A voice came from inside.

 

“Coming!” a man’s voice called. It wasn’t warm. It was stiff, forced.

 

The door creaked open, and a tall man with a stiff jaw and wide shoulders appeared. He looked down at me, his face unreadable, and for a moment, I thought maybe he didn’t see me at all. I shrank back, hoping to disappear.

 

“This is Luca,” Elizabeth said, her tone bright but wrong. “Luca, these are your new parents, Shawn and Jennifer.”

 

The man—Shawn, I guessed—stared at me for too long before stepping aside. “Come in, Luca,” he said, his voice as cold as the house.

 

I didn’t want to go inside. I wanted to run, to hide. But I couldn’t. There was nowhere to run, and the house was too big. The door closed behind me with a thud that rattled my bones.

 

The air was thick inside, the smell of something sharp and metallic, like old furniture or dust. A woman—Jennifer—was standing in the hallway, her hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She smiled, but it was more like a grin than a welcoming gesture.

 

“Luca,” she said, stepping forward. “Welcome to your new home.”

 

Her voice didn’t sound like a welcome. It sounded forced, like she was trying too hard to be nice. I didn’t want to be here. I wanted my mum. I wanted Avril.

 

But Avril wasn’t here. I could feel her watching me, though. I could feel her anger creeping in like ice on the back of my neck. I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the tremble in my body.

 

Shawn crouched down in front of me, trying to make eye contact. “We’re going to take good care of you, Luca,” he said, his voice gruff. “No need to be scared.”

 

I nodded, but I didn’t feel better. I didn’t feel safe. Not here. Not with them.

 

Elizabeth stood back, her arms crossed, observing us both with a strange smile. “They’ll be good to you,” she said, but the way she looked at me… It wasn’t the smile of someone trying to help. It was the look of someone who’d seen things they shouldn’t have.

 

I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell them I didn’t belong here, but my throat felt thick, and my words were stuck.

 

Jennifer reached for my hand, but I jerked back. I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready to touch them. I could still feel Avril’s presence, still feel her anger, and I knew she didn’t want to share me. She didn’t want me to be with them.

 

“Don’t worry, Luca,” Shawn said, his voice firm, but his eyes flickered. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking past me.

 

That’s when I saw it. A shadow, moving, dark and fluid, just at the corner of my vision. I turned quickly, but it was gone.

 

I blinked, trying to convince myself I was just tired. That maybe I was imagining things. But deep down, I knew I wasn’t.

 

“Luca, honey,” Jennifer said again, her tone softer now, but I could hear the strain in it. “Come sit with us. Have some dinner.”

 

But I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to eat with them. I didn’t want to be here. I wanted my mum, I wanted Avril, to hold me, to make everything right again.

 

But Avril wasn’t here. I felt it. I felt her rage inside me, wrapping its cold fingers around my heart. I couldn’t escape it. And I couldn’t escape the house, either.

 

As I was led to the table, I felt a sharp tug at my wrist, not from Jennifer, but from something deeper, something darker. It was Avril. She was angry.

 

Don’t you dare let them take me away from you, Luca.

 

The voice was sharp, cold, and it sent a chill down my spine. I froze, but no one seemed to notice. The shadow in my vision flickered again. Just outside the window. I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t help it.

 

And there, staring at me through the glass, was my mum. Her eyes wide and empty, her face twisted in fury.

 

Her face didn’t move, not even when I blinked. It stayed pressed against the glass like she’d melted into it, her mouth stretched in a silent scream. My heart slammed so hard I thought it would split my chest open. I jerked my head away, but when I looked again, she was gone. Nothing there. Just the dark outside and the faint reflection of the kitchen lights.

 

“Luca?” Jennifer’s voice snapped through the fog in my brain. She was setting a plate in front of me — spaghetti, red and thick and too bright, like blood on snow. “You like spaghetti, right? Every kid likes spaghetti.”

 

I didn’t answer. I stared at the plate. It smelled sweet and tangy, and for a second it reminded me of home — of my real home — but then the sauce moved. It swirled like something was crawling just under the surface. I blinked again, and it was just sauce. Just dinner.

 

Shawn sat down across from me, chewing loudly. His fork scraped the plate. “You’ll get used to things,” he said with a mouthful. “It’s just nerves.”

 

But this wasn’t nerves. This was her. I could feel her, just behind me, breathing down my neck. The air was too cold. The house too quiet. I hadn’t even heard the heater click on, and the lights above buzzed like they were struggling to stay awake.

 

I picked up my fork, but my hand didn’t feel like mine. It was like it belonged to someone else, someone far away. The metal felt heavy. My fingers were stiff. And when I looked down, there were small scratches across my skin, thin red lines I didn’t remember making. My breath caught.

 

“You okay, sweetheart?” Jennifer’s voice tried again. This time it was softer, like she was trying to be a mum. But she wasn’t. She never could be.

 

I nodded, but inside, everything screamed no.

 

The chair creaked beside me. Empty. No one there. But I heard it. I felt it.

 

Mum was sitting with us.

 

The light above flickered once. Then again. Shawn looked up, annoyed. “Great. Already something’s wrong in this bloody house.” He stood up to check the switch, muttering under his breath. Jennifer gave a forced laugh.

 

“Oh, old wiring probably. It’s an older build. Just needs a few fixes.”

 

But I wasn’t listening. I was staring at the empty chair.

 

The fork slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the plate. It echoed too loudly, like it had hit a canyon, not ceramic.

 

“You don’t want to eat?” Jennifer asked. “That’s alright. You’re probably tired.”

 

I shook my head slowly, but I wasn’t saying no to food. I was saying no to her. To Mum.

 

I could feel her looking at me. Judging me. Her voice was a whisper only I could hear.

 

Why are you sitting at their table, Luca? Why are you letting them feed you?

 

I swallowed hard, but it stuck halfway. My throat burned.

 

Shawn came back into the room, but the lights kept flickering. He hit the switch twice, frustrated.

 

“Damn thing.”

 

And then it happened.

 

Every bulb popped.

 

Darkness slammed into the room so fast, so thick, I thought I’d gone blind. Jennifer gasped. Shawn cursed.

 

And I felt a hand wrap around mine. Not Jennifer’s. Not Shawn’s. Cold. So cold it burned.

 

I screamed.

 

Jennifer grabbed me, her arms tight around my shoulders. “Luca! What is it? What’s wrong?”

 

But I couldn’t speak. I just kept staring into the dark, trying to see her. Mum.

 

She was there. I knew it. I could smell her — roses and cigarettes and old rain. I could hear her, even though her mouth didn’t move.

 

You’re mine. I died for you. You don’t belong to them.

 

Shawn fumbled for a flashlight, the beam cutting across the room like a sword. But it found nothing. No broken windows. No shadow. No figure. Just us three.

 

Jennifer pulled me close to her chest, rocking me like she thought it would help. But all it did was make Mum angrier. The air thinned. I couldn’t breathe.

 

I closed my eyes and whispered in my head, Please, Mum. Don’t do this.

 

But she was already inside. I could feel her pressing against the edges of my mind, like water seeping in through cracks.

 

Jennifer brushed my hair back, murmuring things I didn’t hear. I was somewhere else now. Somewhere between this house and the one I left behind. Somewhere between now and the night everything broke.

 

And from that place, I heard her say it again.

 

Don’t let them love you. Don’t let them take you. You’re mine, Luca. Only mine.

 

And I believed her.

 

Jennifer’s voice came from the hallway like a thread being pulled too tight. “Luca, sweetie, your bath’s ready.”

 

I didn’t answer. I just stared at the floor, counting the shadows between the tiles, watching them stretch and flicker like they were breathing.

 

“Come on, now. You’ll feel better once you’re all clean,” she added, a little too cheerful, like she was trying to speak over something whispering beneath her words. Like she was pretending everything was normal.

 

I didn’t move until she stepped into the doorway, her face stretched into that same smile, the one that never reached her eyes. “It’s warm, I promise.”

 

My legs carried me forward, even though every part of me wanted to stay planted. I followed her up the stairs, the carpet swallowing my footsteps. The hallway up here smelled different. Not like cleaning products or furniture polish, but like damp wood and something sour, like old milk. The bathroom door was open, and a thick cloud of steam poured out like the room was exhaling.

 

Inside, the tub was full. Too full. Water lapped over the edge in slow, lazy ripples. Jennifer must’ve poured half a bottle of bubble bath in, because it frothed like a stormy sea—white peaks hiding the bottom.

 

“I’ll be just downstairs, okay? Shout if you need anything.” She turned away too fast, like she didn’t want to be near this room longer than she had to.

 

I didn’t want to get in. The steam pressed against my skin like fingers. I hated how quiet it was. The faucet dripped, slow and steady, and each drop felt like a warning. I peeled off my clothes and stepped into the tub, my foot sinking through the foam, water hugging my skin like something alive.

 

I lowered myself in, shivering even though it was hot. The bubbles tickled my arms, but underneath the warmth, I felt something colder. Something waiting.

 

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. I tried not to think about her. I tried not to feel her.

 

But she was there.

 

I felt it in the water. It shifted wrong, not like a wave or a current. Like something moving beneath me, something that wasn’t me. I sat up straight, splashing foam over the sides, but nothing was there. Just water and white.

 

Then I heard it. A whisper. My name.

 

Luca.

 

It came from under the water.

 

My breath caught. I froze. Maybe I imagined it.

 

Luca, come home.

 

I looked down. The bubbles parted—slow, deliberate. The water turned darker in the center, swirling like something was winding up from the bottom.

 

A pale hand shot up.

 

It wrapped around my ankle so fast I couldn’t scream. Cold. So cold. Fingernails like cracked glass dug into my skin. I kicked, thrashing, but it yanked hard and I slipped under. Water slammed into my face, into my nose, my mouth. I tried to scream, but it filled me up instead.

 

Under the water, I saw her.

 

Avril.

 

Her face was twisted, eyes wide and black as holes. Her mouth stretched too far, lips moving, bubbles hissing from between her teeth.

 

Come with me. You don’t belong here.

 

She dragged me down, deeper than the tub should’ve gone. There was no bottom. Just blackness.

 

My lungs burned. I flailed, but her grip was iron. Her other hand reached up and stroked my cheek, tender, like a mother. Her face was split—half love, half rage.

 

They’re taking you away from me.

 

I shook my head, but I couldn’t speak. I was drowning. I was dying.

 

And still, she stared. Possessive. Hungry.

 

Then a sound broke through. A muffled slam. Jennifer’s voice, distant, yelling my name. The door banged open.

 

The hands let go.

 

I shot up, coughing, choking, vomiting water and bubbles all over the side of the tub. The air burned my throat. My eyes blurred with tears. Jennifer was beside me, grabbing a towel, her hands trembling.

 

“Oh my God—Luca! What happened?!”

 

I couldn’t speak. I could only stare at the water, at the way the bubbles slowly floated back together. Calm now. Like nothing had happened.

 

But I knew what I saw.

 

I knew who had tried to take me.

 

And I knew she wasn’t going to stop.

 

The house had gone quiet again. Too quiet. The kind of silence that buzzed in your ears and made your heartbeat sound like footsteps on creaky floorboards.

 

I was tucked into the bed Jennifer had made for me. It smelled like fabric softener and lavender, like it was trying too hard to be safe. She kissed my forehead and told me I was “so brave.” Then she turned off the light, left the door open a crack, and went downstairs.

 

I watched the gap under the door.

 

Nothing moved.

 

But I didn’t feel alone.

 

My skin still prickled where Avril’s fingers had touched me. My ankle ached, even though Jennifer said there were no marks. But I saw the bruises. They were there. I just don’t think Jennifer could see them.

 

The air in the room started to change. Not colder, exactly—heavier. Like the shadows were getting thicker, piling into the corners and stretching across the ceiling. My nightlight flickered. Once. Twice. Then off. The room plunged into black.

 

I sat up, breath caught in my throat.

 

There was a creak at the end of the hallway.

 

Then another. Closer.

 

The floorboards moaned under slow, dragging footsteps.

 

I pulled the blanket up to my chin. It was too thin. It wouldn’t protect me. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that if I couldn’t see her, maybe she couldn’t see me.

 

But that never worked.

 

Something brushed my ear.

 

I yelped and looked.

 

Nothing.

 

Just the curtains swaying, even though the window was shut.

 

My closet door clicked.

 

Not flung open—not slammed—just that soft, horrible click, like a secret being unlocked. The door creaked open half an inch.

 

I stared at it, refusing to blink.

 

My mouth was too dry to call for Jennifer.

 

From inside the closet, I heard breathing.

 

Slow. Wet.

 

Like something that had drowned and kept breathing anyway.

 

I slid out of bed on shaking legs. My feet touched the floor and it felt wrong—too cold, like the wood had been soaked through. I took one step. Then another. I was going to run. Downstairs. Find Jennifer. I just had to get past the closet—

 

A pale foot stepped out from behind the door.

 

Then a second.

 

Her.

 

Avril.

 

Soaking wet, her white dress clinging to her body like skin. Her hair hung over her face in slimy ropes, and puddles formed where she stood, water dripping from her fingers. She lifted her head, and her eyes—

 

They were hollow. Like the sockets had been carved out and filled with water. Deep, endless, black water.

 

“You let her tuck you in?” she hissed. “You let her put you in my bed?”

 

I couldn’t breathe.

 

She stepped closer.

 

“I carried you for nine months. I bled for you. I died for you.”

 

She held out her arms. Bones cracked in her shoulders as they moved.

 

“You’re mine, Luca. You were always mine.”

 

I turned and bolted. Down the hallway. Down the stairs. But the house twisted. The stairs stretched too long, like I was running in place. The air turned thick—hard to move through. Like water.

 

I heard her behind me. Not footsteps.

 

Sloshing.

 

She was gliding across the floor like she was still in the bathtub, dragging water with her.

 

I screamed.

 

Jennifer grabbed me just as I reached the bottom. “What is it?! Luca, what happened?!”

 

I looked behind me.

 

Nothing.

 

The hallway was dry.

 

The nightlight upstairs flicked back on.

 

The closet door was shut.

 

Jennifer held me tighter. “Shh… It was just a bad dream, honey.”

 

But I could feel the wetness on my skin.

 

And in the corner of the living room, where the light didn’t quite reach, I saw a puddle.

 

Still dripping.

 

Jennifer carried me back upstairs, but I kept twisting in her arms, trying to see behind us. The puddle was gone now, or maybe it had never been there. But I saw it. I know I did. It even smelled real — like old bathwater and rotting leaves.

 

I wanted to tell her not to take me back to the room, to sleep with me downstairs, anywhere but there. But my throat was tight, like something was still wrapped around it. Her fingers. Avril’s fingers.

 

Jennifer tucked me in again, her voice too soft, too normal. Like nothing had happened.

 

“Maybe no scary shows before bed anymore,” she said, brushing my hair off my forehead. “Okay?”

 

I nodded, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when adults say things like that. They think you’re scared of shadows and creaks and make-believe monsters.

 

But I wasn’t scared of pretend things.

 

I was scared of my mum.

 

Jennifer turned on the hallway light and left the door cracked wider this time. I could hear her footsteps going back downstairs. The sound made me feel even smaller. Like I was being left behind. Or worse — offered up.

 

The silence came back. Like it was waiting for her to leave.

 

The nightlight flickered again.

 

I didn’t sleep.

 

I stared at the closet and tried not to blink. If I blinked, she’d move.

 

But I must’ve blinked at some point, because I didn’t see her leave the closet.

 

I just heard her breathing.

 

Behind me.

 

This time it was closer. Damp air brushed my neck, and I could feel her leaning in like she wanted to climb inside my skin.

 

“I watched you sleep,” she whispered.

 

I turned over so fast I nearly fell out of the bed, but she wasn’t there. The room looked normal again — if normal meant a room where ghosts watched you from puddles.

 

I pressed my palms together and whispered a prayer. One my nani used to say over me when I had bad dreams. The words were messy now, half in my head, half out loud.

 

“Lord, I place myself under your protection…”

 

The shadows shifted.

 

A hiss — not angry, but sharp, like steam escaping a kettle.

 

Then silence.

 

I don’t know how long I stayed like that, but when I opened my eyes again, the sky outside had started to turn grey. Early morning light. The safe kind. The kind that made things feel further away. Less real.

 

I thought she might be gone.

 

Until I looked at the wall above my bed.

 

Three wet handprints.

 

Large.

 

Adult-sized.

 

Right above my pillow.