The House on Gator Cove

A Morning Walk

(Ai used for some scenes)

The first rays of the Florida morning sun spilled through the front windows of Gigi's house, painting warm streaks of gold across the hardwood floor. Outside, birds chattered from the palms while a gentle breeze stirred the hanging plants on the porch.

Sunlight caught the glass picture frames and living room windows, scattering tiny reflections that danced across the walls. It promised another bright, warm day in Gator Cove. The morning light was perfect, the kind photographers hoped for before the Florida sun climbed too high and turned everything harsh.

Gigi zipped her camera bag closed, making one last check.

Camera.

Notebook.

Phone.

iPad.

Perfect.

Lena stood near by ready for their adventure.

"Ready?" she asked.

Gigi smiled.

"Always."

Lena glanced at the camera bag.

"I still can't believe the town wants to encourage more walking trails but hasn't done anything about that roundabout."

Gigi nodded.

"People use that crossing every day. Walkers, runners, cyclists..."

"And golf carts."

Gigi sighed.

"That's why we're there."

Lena smiled.

"If a few pictures and one article convince somebody to slow down, it'll be worth the walk."

Adrian looked between them.

"So... we're basically superheroes."

Grace laughed.

"I don't think reporters are superheroes."

"They're close enough."

Kris smiled.

"Just don't expect a cape."

Luke hurried to the front door, already knowing exactly where they were going. His tail wagged so hard his whole body swayed.

A few moments later, Grace, Kris, and Adrian stepped inside.

Adrian proudly held up a bottle of water.

"I volunteered as Hydration Officer. If anybody forgets to drink water, I'm filing a complaint."

Grace laughed.

"I don't think that's a real job."

"It is today."

Kris smiled.

"I think you just wanted an excuse to carry a whistle."

Adrian sighed dramatically.

"I forgot the whistle."

"You can still yell."

"I suppose that'll have to do."

Everyone laughed.

***

The six of them started down the walking path.

The younger three naturally drifted ahead while Gigi and Lena settled into conversation behind them. Luke stayed close beside Gigi, occasionally glancing back to make sure everyone was still together. It had become one of his favorite routines.

The trail wound through palm trees, ponds, and quiet neighborhoods.

Lena looked around.

"I don't know why people keep speeding through that roundabout. It's supposed to slow traffic down."

"Hopefully today's article reminds people to pay attention," Gigi replied.

Lena nodded.

"I hope so."

The younger three wandered farther ahead, their laughter carrying back on the warm Florida breeze.

Lena glanced over at Gigi.

"How's Michael doing?"

Gigi was quiet for a moment.

"He sleeps a lot now. Some days I have to wake him just to see if he wants breakfast."

Lena listened without saying a word.

"Some days that's all he has the energy to do."

Gigi sighed.

"I miss sitting on the porch with him. Even if we weren't talking much... we were still together."

Lena gently reached over and took Gigi's hand.

"I'm sorry."

Gigi smiled sadly.

"I know."

For a few moments they simply walked together.

Finally, Lena gave Gigi's hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

"He'd fuss at us if we forgot why we came out here."

A small smile returned to Gigi's face.

"You're right."

Lena nodded toward the trail.

"Come on. Let's get this article finished before Adrian starts another imaginary job."

Gigi laughed softly.

"The Hydration Officer?"

"The very same."

"I hear he's very strict."

"Oh, absolutely. He'll probably write us both up."

The two women laughed as they continued down the trail, following the sound of Grace, Kris, and Adrian talking ahead.

***

Ahead of the others, the younger three enjoyed setting the pace.

Adrian glanced over his shoulder.

"I think we lost them."

Grace laughed.

"We did not."

"They're way back there."

"They've been talking for ten minutes."

Kris smiled.

"They're reporters."

"Oh."

Adrian nodded dramatically.

"That explains everything."

Grace giggled.

"I think they call that working."

"I thought working looked less fun."

Grace pointed toward the pond.

"Look! There's a turtle."

All three stopped.

Kris shaded her eyes.

"I only see a log."

Grace smiled.

"It was a turtle."

Adrian stared at the log.

"If that log moves, I'm running."

"It won't."

"You don't know that."

Kris laughed.

"You were just making fun of us for walking slow."

"I can run fast if a log starts chasing me."

Grace laughed so hard she nearly dropped her phone.

"You are impossible."

"I've heard that before."

Kris smiled.

"About five minutes ago."

"I get reminded a lot."

***

When they reached the roundabout, the group naturally spread out.

Gigi and Lena crossed toward the opposite sidewalk.

Lena pointed toward the roundabout.

"I want one picture right here. You can see the golf cart crossing behind me."

Gigi lifted her camera.

"Perfect. Hold that pose."

Luke sat beside Gigi, quietly watching the people pass through the crossing. Suddenly he lifted his head toward an approaching golf cart. His ears perked for a moment before settling back down.

Across the road, Grace smiled.

"Kris..."

"What?"

"Go stand by the pond."

"Why?"

"Because the light is pretty."

Kris looked toward the water.

"I suppose that's a good reason."

Grace grinned.

"I always have good reasons."

"That's debatable."

"Smile."

"I am smiling."

"Less suspicious."

Kris laughed.

"Better?"

"Perfect."

Grace snapped another picture.

"See?"

Kris walked over to look.

"...That one actually is nice."

"I know."

A few yards away Adrian stood on the sidewalk looking back toward them.

He waved.

"Hey! Hurry up! You two are going to make us late."

Grace laughed.

"We're already here."

"Then you're making us late for leaving."

Grace laughed.

"That doesn't even make sense."

"It does if you're melting."

Kris looked at him.

"You've been outside twenty minutes."

Adrian dramatically fanned himself with one hand.

"I'm dissolving."

Grace smiled.

"You're so dramatic."

"I prefer heat-sensitive."

Kris shook her head, laughing.

"You're impossible."

"I've heard that before."

Adrian grinned.

"I have excellent company."

He turned toward the golf cart crossing.

From the far side of the roundabout, an older, heavyset man approached in a golf cart, moving far too fast. One hand loosely held a can of beer while the other barely kept the golf cart pointed down the road. Beer cans clinked and rattled across the floorboard with every bump. The cart drifted lazily, wider than it should have, its tires kissing the painted lines.

Adrian took one casual step toward Grace and Kris, still smiling, completely unaware.

The sound of the engine suddenly grew louder.

The golf cart jumped the curb without warning.

Its tires slammed onto the sidewalk.

For one terrible, stretched-out second...

Everything froze.

Adrian looked up.

His smile faltered.

"ADRIAN!" Grace screamed.

The golf cart slammed into him with a sickening thud, throwing his body violently across the pavement like a rag doll.

Time seemed to stop.

Grace's phone slipped from her fingers, striking the sidewalk as she instinctively ran toward Adrian.

Kris stood frozen, her mouth open in silent horror.

Across the road, Gigi dropped her camera.

"Lena!"

Both women sprinted toward him.

Luke barked wildly and shot ahead, his paws pounding against the pavement.

Nobody laughed anymore.

The peaceful morning shattered in an instant.

The only sounds left were Luke's frantic barking...and the hollow rattle of empty beer cans rolling across the sidewalk.

Lazy Morning

Loud Lunch Part Two An Unwelcome Guest

The girls were still gathered around the dining room table enjoying mugs of herbal tea while Michael and Ophelia watched Maya the Bee.

“I still think it was a swamp ape,” Tilly insisted.

Grace laughed.

“I thought you said it was a gator.”

“I changed my mind.”

Kris smiled.

“I’m just glad we didn’t have to outrun either one.”

Across the room, Gigi and Lena had returned to their conversation about newspaper deadlines.

Without warning, the front door flew open.

“Hello! Hello! It’s me! Lady Di!”

Diane marched into the house without knocking.

“Where’s my employee? Kris! I need those cat boxes cleaned today! You’ve ignored every one of my text messages!”

The room fell silent.

Diane spotted Tilly.

“Well, there’s the blonde girlfriend.”

Tilly smiled.

“Possibly.”

Diane frowned.

“What?”

“We use couples’ coupons for coffee.”

Grace burst into laughter.

Diane rolled her eyes before looking at Grace.

“And who’s the new pet?”

“Our best friend,” Tilly answered.

Then quietly added,
“Professor Phallic.”

“What was that?”

Before Tilly could answer, Gigi stood.

“Diane.”

The room became quiet.

“You don’t walk into my home without knocking.”

“I came for Kris.”

“You came into my house yelling.”

“I’ve been texting her all morning.”

“And Kris has every right to enjoy her day off.”

“I pay her.”

“For pennies,” Gigi replied. “You act like you’re paying her a fortune.”

“Pete gets home tomorrow. Those cat boxes need cleaned.”

“Then ask one of your sons.”

“They’re busy.”

“So is Kris.”

Diane folded her arms.

“If I had a daughter, she’d have been raised better.”

“You have two sons,” Gigi answered without missing a beat.

Lena quietly stepped beside Gigi.

She didn’t need to say anything.

Diane looked at both women and dramatically rolled her eyes.

“Oh, wonderful. Backup.”

“No,” Gigi replied calmly. “Company.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Diane gathered the decorative wrap from around her shoulders and dramatically flipped it over her forearms.

“This family is unbelievable.”

She lifted her chin, pointed her nose toward the ceiling, and swept toward the door like she expected cameras to follow her.

The front door closed.

Silence.

Tilly looked toward the door.

“She leaves every room like she’s accepting an award.”

Grace giggled.

“I think she walks into every room expecting an opening applause.”

Even Gigi laughed.

“Well,” Tilly said, standing. “I think that’s our cue.”

She looked at Kris.

“We should probably head home before lunch rush traffic hits the round abouts.”

Kris nodded.

“Thanks for having us.”

Gigi hugged her daughter before she and Tilly headed out the front door together.

Grace stayed behind.

“I’ll help clean up while I wait for Mom.”

She gathered the empty tea mugs and carried them to the kitchen sink.

Lena smiled.

“You’re a thoughtful young lady.”

Grace grinned.

“I like helping.”

As Grace rinsed the cups, Gigi began wiping the dining room table.

She suddenly stopped.

“Lena…”

“What is it?”

Gigi stared at the center of the table.

A baby bottle.

Beside it sat several carefully arranged rocks.

Neither of them had been there a few minutes earlier.

Lena looked toward the front door.

“No one came through here.”

“No.”

“The windows?”

Gigi slowly shook her head.

“The Milk Stalker.”

A chill settled over the room.

Lena rested a reassuring hand on Gigi’s shoulder.

“We’ll figure this out.”

Neither woman noticed Grace quietly turn from the sink.

She looked from the bottle…to the rocks…then back to Gigi.

For the first time, she realized the strange stories Kris had mentioned might not be stories at all.

Lazy Morning Part One

Gigi and Lena sat comfortably on the wicker sofa enjoying the quiet morning while Michael and Ophelia watched Bee Movie in the living room.

Lena smiled as she watched Kris, Grace, and Tilly head toward the front door.

“I’m really happy those three have become such good friends so quickly.”

Gigi nodded.

“So am I. Tilly has been a wonderful influence on both Kris and Grace.”

The three young women waved to the two women before heading down the sidewalk together.

The neighborhood walking path wound past shady trees and a small pond.

Tilly suddenly stopped.

“Wait…”
Kris looked around.

“What?”

“I thought I heard something.”

The three stood quietly for a second.

A splash echoed from the pond.

Grace looked toward the water.

“Was that a gator?”

“Maybe,” Tilly whispered dramatically. “Or a swamp ape.”

Grace blinked.

“What’s a swamp ape?”

“Florida’s version of Bigfoot.”

Grace’s eyes grew wide.

“We have Bigfoot?”

“We might.”

Kris immediately held out both hands.

“If a gator or a swamp ape comes after us, we’re running together.”

Grace grabbed one hand.

Tilly grabbed the other.

The three friends continued walking hand in hand, laughing as they headed farther down the trail.

The Florida heat and humidity finally convinced them to head back to Gigi’s house earlier than planned.

As soon as they stepped inside, Tilly clapped her hands.

“Nobody sits down yet.”

Grace laughed.

“Why?”

“My mom owns a yoga studio, and she says stretching after a walk helps keep your legs from cramping.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Kris agreed.

Tilly gathered everyone into a circle.

“Okay…everyone grab hands.”

The three joined hands.

“Repeat after me.”

“No gators after us!”

“No gators after us!” Kris and Grace repeated.

“No leg cramps!”

“No leg cramps!”

The three dissolved into laughter before dancing in a circle and making up silly stretches of their own.

Gigi had already placed mugs of herbal tea on the dining room table.

“I figured you girls would be thirsty.”

“We are!” Grace smiled.

The three gratefully sat down to cool off with their tea.

Meanwhile, Michael had switched the television from Bee Movie to Maya the Bee.

Ophelia smiled.

“It’s Bee Movie Day.”

Michael chuckled.

“I noticed.”

Lena opened her notebook.

“So…about those recent golf cart accidents.”

Gigi nodded.

“I’ve been following them. Two wrecks around the roundabouts in just a short time.”

“And both involved alcohol,” Lena added. “Between golf carts, bicycles, and cars, people aren’t yielding anymore. Everyone seems to think they have the right of way.”

“I think it’s time we write another community safety article,” Gigi said.

“I agree.”

Lena smiled.

“Changing subjects…has Kevin shown any more interest in my sister, Ziva?”

Gigi laughed.

“I certainly hope not. Kevin changes relationships like most people change underwear.”

Michael looked away from the television.

“He’s got a new favorite every week.”

Gigi smiled.

“See? I told you. I’m glad Ziva hasn’t called him.”

The three adults laughed before returning to their discussion about upcoming newspaper articles.

Behind them, the girls had started another round of stretches.

Tilly demonstrated a leg pull.

“Balance is important!”

Grace copied her.

Kris tried to copy Grace.

“So far, so good,” Tilly announced proudly.

She lifted one leg higher.

A second later she lost her balance and toppled sideways into both Grace and Kris.

The three friends burst into laughter.

“I meant to do that,” Tilly declared.

“Sure you did,” Kris teased.

Grace laughed so hard she nearly lost her balance too.

The room filled with laughter as Gigi glanced over from the sofa and smiled.

Some mornings weren’t about solving mysteries.

Some mornings were simply about enjoying good friends.

The Beauty of the Beast

The Florida heat pressed down like a heavy, damp blanket.

By the time Kris reached the mall after walking from the group home, sweat had soaked into her coral hoodie and her hair clung to her face.

She still wore the hoodie.

Most people thought it was odd to wear one during a Florida summer, but the mall’s air conditioning always hit her like ice water, making her arms ache and her muscles stiffen. The soft, familiar fabric helped. It was one of the many little things that made the world feel more manageable.

She adjusted the strap of her little coffin-shaped purse, a habit she hardly noticed anymore whenever she felt uncertain, and headed deeper into the mall toward the bookstore.

The bookstore opened directly into the mall. Tall shelves lined the walls while display tables invited shoppers to stop and browse. The comforting smell of paper, ink, and old books drifted through the air.
Kris wandered quietly between the shelves.

A gardening book sat tucked between two murder mysteries.

She smiled to herself.

Someone had clearly been distracted.

Without thinking, she slipped it back into the gardening section before continuing through the store.

Then she stopped.

Her eyes settled on a familiar red hardcover resting neatly on a display table.

The Beauty of the Beast.

Her heart beat just a little faster.

For several seconds she simply stood there.

She had searched for the book everywhere. She’d checked bookshelves at home, boxes in the closet, beneath the sofa cushions, and places she knew she’d never leave a book.

Yet somehow…

Here it was.

A bookstore clerk with long brown hair noticed Kris standing beside the display and walked over with a friendly smile.

“Can I help you?”

Kris looked up.

“I think so.”

She carefully picked up the book and opened the front cover.

“My name is written inside.”

The clerk leaned closer and read the neat blue handwriting.

Kris gently handed her the book.

“It disappeared from my house a few weeks ago.”
The clerk looked surprised.

“I’d like to show this to the owner, if that’s alright.”

“Of course.”

The clerk carried the book over to the owner. The two women quietly looked through the first few pages together and spoke in low voices while occasionally glancing toward Kris.

Kris waited patiently beside the display table.
She wrapped her fingers around the strap of her purse.

Routine.
Predictable.
Comforting.

“Kris!”

She turned.

Grace hurried toward her with a bright smile, her excitement impossible to hide.

A few steps behind her came Ziva, Grace’s aunt, her vivid pink hair making her easy to spot anywhere in the mall.

“Hi,” Kris said.

“What are you doing here?” Grace asked.

Kris nodded toward the owner.

“I think they found my missing book.”

“The one that disappeared from your room?”
Kris nodded.

“It somehow ended up here.” Grace’s eyes widened.

“I hope it’s really yours.”

“So do I.”

Ziva glanced toward the shelves.

“I’m going to look around while they figure everything out.”

“Okay.”

She wandered toward the mystery section, occasionally pulling out a novel to read the back before carefully returning it to the shelf.

Grace stayed beside Kris.

“Kris… can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“I read your blog.”

“You did?”Grace nodded eagerly.

“Mhm.”

“I like it.”

Kris smiled.

“Thank you.”

“You help people make friends.”

“I try.”

Grace smiled proudly.

“I want to do that someday.”

“You do?”

“For people with Down syndrome.”

Kris’s smile grew a little wider.

“I think you’d be really good at it.”

“My mom says I can talk to anybody.”

Kris laughed softly.

“I’ve noticed.”

Grace giggled.

“Is that good?”

“It’s very good.”

For Kris, conversations often felt like puzzles with too many missing pieces.

Grace was different.

She said exactly what she meant.

She smiled when she was happy.

She asked questions because she genuinely wanted to know the answers.

Talking with her felt easy.

A few moments later, the bookstore owner walked toward them carrying the red hardcover.

She smiled kindly.

“I’ve been hoping someone would come looking for this.”

Kris looked up.

“When we opened it and saw your name inside, we realized it had accidentally been mixed in with a donation box. I’m very sorry for the confusion.”
She placed the book gently into Kris’s hands.

“It belongs with you.”

Kris accepted it with both hands.

She opened the cover.

There it was.

Her name.

Still written in the same blue ink.

The tight knot she’d been carrying since the book disappeared quietly loosened.

Her fingertips drifted gently across the page.

She remembered evenings curled up reading the story again and again.

Familiar books were comforting.

They never changed.

They waited patiently until she was ready to visit them again.

She had wondered if she’d ever see this one again.
Now it was home.

She closed the cover and hugged it gently against her hoodie.

“Welcome home,” she whispered.

Grace smiled.

“I’m glad it came back to you.”

“So am I,” Kris replied.

Just then Ziva returned carrying another novel.
She looked at Kris, then at the book tucked safely in her arms.

A grin spread across her face.

“Looks like the case is closed.”

Kris smiled.

“For once.”

The three women laughed.

Together they started walking toward the mall exit.
Grace looked over at Kris.

“How are you getting home?”

“I was going to walk.”

Grace immediately looked at her aunt.

“Aunt Ziva… can Kris ride home with us?”

Ziva didn’t hesitate.

“Of course she can.”

“You don’t mind?” Kris asked.

“Not at all,” Ziva said. “I’d rather spend the drive talking books than let you walk home in this heat.”
Kris smiled.

“I’d like that.”

As they stepped outside, the heavy Florida air wrapped around them again.

Grace laughed at something Ziva had said.
Kris laughed too.

Holding The Beauty of the Beast safely beneath her arm, she climbed into Ziva’s car.

Somehow the ride home felt much shorter than the walk to the mall.

Grace looked out the car window wondering who the figure in olive green trench coat was at the mall. It was a really hot day for such an outfit.

Breath on the Glass

At the dining table, Gigi and Ziva worked on notes for the next edition of The True Crime of Gator Cove, the investigative section of the Gator Cove Times.

Gigi, in retro striped pants and a black top, typed on her laptop while Ziva—bright pink hair unmistakable—flipped through photographs and scribbled margin notes.

Most days their work centered on small-town mysteries, odd local happenings, and gossip that somehow grew legs and sprinted across town. Today, though, Gigi found herself glancing toward the crowded living room more often than her notes.

The house felt unusually full.

Mia, cheerful with her long lavender hair, had organized the gathering after hearing about Kris’s recent illness and exhaustion. Everyone wanted Kris to know she wasn’t alone.

Kris sat on the couch beside her best friend Tilly. Both wore their familiar noise-canceling headphones as they chatted comfortably with the group. Nearby, Tilly’s sister Millie joined in whenever she could get a word in.

Mia had also invited Adrian, who arrived in one of his signature bright pink rollerblading outfits despite leaving the skates at home. He and Mia had only recently become friends but had already developed a talent for arguing about absolutely nothing.

Adrian had mainly come to support his best friend, Grace—Lena’s daughter. Grace was a sweet young woman with Down syndrome who genuinely loved helping people. She had heard all about the autism blog Kris had built for the local community and hoped one day to create something similar for people with Down syndrome.

Also present was Natalia—known to almost everyone as Nat. She had met both Adrian and Mia at the local skating rink and had quickly become part of their friend group. Her two-tone pink dress covered in darker pink lipstick-print patterns made her impossible to miss. Adrian stubbornly called her “Natalia” despite repeated protests. According to Adrian, proper names existed for a reason. According to Nat, Adrian was annoying.

The debate remained ongoing.

Laughter drifted through the room. Conversations overlapped. The television murmured in the background, ignored by almost everyone.

Eventually Gigi pushed back from the table.

“I need a break.”

Ziva waved her away.

“I’ll make sure we don’t accidentally accuse the mayor of being a swamp monster again.”

Gigi laughed.

“Again?”

“Again.”

Leaving the paperwork behind, Gigi joined the others.

Grace noticed immediately.

Without hesitation she excused herself from the group and crossed the room. Lena—a blonde woman dressed head to toe in pink—smiled as her daughter approached Gigi.

“Gigi, I’d like you to meet Grace. She’s been wanting to meet you.”

“Really?” Gigi asked.

Grace nodded enthusiastically.

“I want to help people.”

“That’s a good reason to write.”

Grace glanced toward Kris.

“Kris helps autistic people find friends and talk to each other. I want to do that too. For people with Down syndrome.”

Gigi’s expression softened.

“I think that’s wonderful.”

Grace brightened.

“Can I tell you something?” Gigi asked.

Grace nodded.

“Your hair is beautiful.”

A grin spread instantly across Grace’s face.

“My hair looks just like yours.”

Gigi laughed.

“It does.”

“I think we’re gonna be best friends.”

“I think so too.”

Across the room, Adrian and Mia had somehow launched into another argument.

“Rollerblading is an art form,” Adrian announced.

“It’s literally shoes with wheels,” Mia replied.

“That attitude is why you’ll never achieve greatness.”

“I can skate backwards.”

“Anybody can skate backwards.”

“You fell into a hedge last week.”

Adrian pointed dramatically.

“That hedge attacked me.”

Nat nearly choked laughing.

“The hedge attacked you?”

“It came out of nowhere.”

“It was a bush, Adrian.”

“It was an aggressive bush.”

Tilly laughed so hard she nearly knocked one side of her headphones loose.

Millie shook her head.

“You know what? I believe him.”

Adrian looked relieved.

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t say I believed the bush was aggressive. I believe you’d lose a fight to a bush.”

The room erupted.

Adrian clutched his chest.

“I am being bullied.”

“Correct,” Nat said.

Grace giggled from across the room.

“I like your friends.”

“They’re terrible,” Adrian informed her.

“We know,” Mia replied.

Grace smiled.

“You’re all weird.”

“That’s why we’re friends.”

Another round of laughter rolled through the room.

Tilly leaned toward Kris.

“You know what’s missing?”

Kris immediately smiled.

“Professor Phallic?”

Tilly nodded solemnly.

“Professor Phallic.”

Kris snorted.

“Don’t summon her.”

“Too late.”

Kris shook her head.

“She’ll start explaining how the couch is a fertility symbol.”

Tilly immediately dissolved into giggles.

“What are you two laughing about?” Adrian asked.

“Nothing,” Kris and Tilly answered together.

“That sounded suspicious,” Nat said.

“Absolutely nothing,” Tilly replied.

The laughter gradually faded.

Adrian remained standing near the couch, hands in his pockets.

“Hey, random question.”

Mia groaned.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“The last time you started with ‘random question,’ we ended up discussing whether rollerblades should be considered a protected class.”

“They should.”

“They absolutely should not.”

Adrian ignored her.

“I was thinking about going to the Pulse memorial blood drive this weekend. It’ll be ten years. Hard to believe.”

The room grew quieter.

Even after all this time, the tragedy still felt close to home for many Floridians.

“I thought maybe I’d donate blood,” Adrian said. “Just to honor the people we lost.”

For a moment nobody spoke.

Then Grace smiled.

“I’ll go with you.”

Adrian smiled back.

“Thanks.”

“I can’t donate blood, but I can come.”

“I’d like that.”

“I’ll go too,” Mia said.

Nat folded her arms.

“Somebody has to make sure you don’t start an argument with the nurses.”

“I have never argued with a nurse.”

The entire room stared at him.

“Okay,” Adrian admitted. “Not recently.”

The laughter returned, softer this time.

From across the room, Gigi smiled.

It was a small thing. A simple act of kindness. Sometimes those mattered most.

For the first time in days, Kris felt herself relax completely. The noise no longer felt overwhelming. The conversations, the laughter, the teasing, the easy acceptance—it all settled around her like a warm blanket.

These people cared.

Outside, dusk had given way to darkness.

The windows had become mirrors, reflecting the bright living room back at itself.

Inside, nobody noticed.

Nobody saw the shape move silently across the porch.

Nobody noticed the figure pause beside the front window.

Inside there was warmth, laughter, and friendship.

Outside there was only darkness.

The figure stood motionless beyond the glass.

Watching.

A faint cloud of breath appeared against the window before slowly fading away.

Inside, Grace was still talking excitedly about writing. Gigi listened with genuine interest. Mia laughed. Adrian gestured dramatically as he defended himself against accusations involving nurses and bushes.

Kris smiled.

For the first time in days, she felt safe.

Outside, the figure remained perfectly still.

Watching.

Listening.

Waiting.

Counting Cats

Kris sat on the sofa watching the morning weather report, already dreading the sound of the horn.

For weeks now she had been cleaning Diane’s house. At first she’d felt sorry for her. Diane’s maid of fifteen years had finally quit because of the cats and the allergies. Kris had imagined helping with some light chores and the occasional litter box.

She had been painfully naïve.

Diane kept at least eight litter boxes for her twenty-five cats. Five new ones from a recent hoarding rescue had already destroyed parts of the sunroom and upstairs hallway. Kris suspected there were actually more than twenty-five. Diane had a habit of acquiring cats that looked nearly identical to the ones she already owned, making it almost impossible to keep count. Even Kris wasn’t sure of the real number anymore.

Kris was convinced those five rescue cats were what finally broke the maid. Pete’s own maid refused to touch any of Diane’s areas. According to Diane it was generational loyalty. Everyone else knew it was because they couldn’t stand her.

Kris’s phone buzzed.

Diane.

Of course.

The horn blared outside—once, twice, three times, each longer than the last.

Kris grabbed her gloves and headed out.

The ten-minute drive was pure Diane.

“The problem with men is they mistake confidence for competence,” she declared, not looking at Kris.

“Okay.”

“Pete wants another television. As if a bigger screen will fix his inadequacy.”

“Okay.”

Diane adjusted her sunglasses with a dramatic sigh.

“The entire consumer electronics industry is one giant phallic compensation mechanism. Pathetic, really.”

Kris stared out the window and said nothing. Arguing with Diane was pointless; she only heard the sound of her own voice.

When they pulled up to the house, Diane spread her arms wide as if she’d built it with her bare hands.

“Look at it. All of this is mine. The fence was my idea—Pete wanted something boring and practical. Men always do.”

She laughed, sharp and self-satisfied.

“I finally married a bank account. Pete knows exactly why I chose him. Your mother married for love, poor thing. Though I’ll admit your father is nice to look at.”

Kris’s jaw tightened.

“Diane…”

“What? It’s true. Beauty is decorative. Wealth is useful.”

Inside, the smell assaulted them immediately.

Stale urine.

Ammonia.

Old cat food.

Patchouli oil.

The scents fought each other for dominance and somehow made everything worse.

The windows were closed despite the heat. Air fresheners sat plugged into nearly every outlet. Litter tracked across the floors. Scratches marked several doorframes. One corner of the sunroom carried the unmistakable stain of repeated spraying.

Kris slipped in her earbuds without a word.

The litter boxes were disgusting.

Overflowing.

Crusted.

Some clearly untouched for days.

Kris worked in silence, double-bagging waste while gray dust coated her skin and settled in the back of her throat. Her eyes burned. Her head already ached.

Meanwhile Diane wandered the house taking photographs of herself and her possessions, laughing at her own captions.

Kris heard her upstairs.

Then the clicking of heels returning down the staircase.

“I posted the plum opalescent Fenton cat,” Diane announced, glowing with satisfaction. “One hundred and forty-two likes already. And the smaller purple one beside it—both Fenton. They look so much better here. Gigi only bought them as a little self-reward after she finished school because they matched her birthstone. How quaint. She was always so jealous of my taste, so I helped myself to them. She never appreciated them the way I do anyway.”

Kris’s stomach twisted with fresh anger.

Those two purple Fenton glass cats had been Gigi’s proud self-gift after graduating—a small celebration of her own hard work. One was plum opalescent and one was deep purple, chosen because they matched her birthstone and reminded her that she had accomplished something important entirely on her own.

Diane had been jealous and simply taken them, turning a meaningful personal reward into another piece of her curated collection.

Kris kept scooping, gripping the scoop so tightly her knuckles whitened.

Her phone buzzed.

Tilly.

For a few minutes the normal, kind messages from her best friend were the only thing keeping her sane.

By late morning the dizziness arrived.

The smell had soaked into her clothes, her hair, her pores.

Every breath tasted metallic and sour.

Her shirt clung to her with sweat and litter dust.

Diane appeared suddenly, phone in hand.

“Pete said he might have you over for dinner. He’d make something keto—apparently he noticed you’re watching your weight.”

She looked Kris up and down and wrinkled her nose.

“Though after today you’ll probably need it. You smell revolting. Like actual cat piss. We should get you home before you ruin my upholstery.”

She didn’t ask how Kris felt.

She didn’t offer water.

She simply wanted the help gone before it became an inconvenience.

The drive back was quieter, but Diane still managed to complain about how exhausting it was to manage a house like hers with so many cats that “needed her special touch.”

Kris said nothing.

Her head throbbed too badly to speak.

When they reached Gigi’s house, Kris climbed out slowly, legs shaky.

The contrast hit immediately.

Clean air.

Normal smells.

Safety.

Gigi opened the door, took one look, and stopped.

“Oh, honey… shower first. I put new everything in the bathroom for you.”

Tilly wrinkled her nose dramatically as Kris stepped inside.

“Jesus. Twenty-five cats?”

“Twenty-five cats,” Kris rasped.

After the long shower and the new dress, she felt almost human for ten minutes.

Then the room tilted.

Her head exploded with pain.

Her throat burned.

Nausea slammed into her so hard her knees buckled.

Gigi and Tilly caught her.

Michael’s voice cut through the spinning.

“I’m calling 911.”

Laura arrived minutes before the ambulance, calm and professional, asking questions Kris could barely answer.

She ended up complimenting Laura’s shirt instead.

The world felt very far away.

Hours later in the hospital bed, the doctor delivered the verdict.

“You were already running yourself too hard,” he said. “Then you spent hours cleaning dozens of litter boxes in a poorly ventilated environment. The dehydration, physical exertion, stress, dust, poor air quality, and ammonia exposure all added up.”

He glanced down at the chart.

“None of those things by themselves would necessarily send someone to the hospital. Together, though, they absolutely can make someone collapse.”

“So I’m not dying?” Kris asked weakly.

The doctor smiled.

“No. But your body was telling you very clearly that it had enough.”

Michael folded his arms.

“That wretched cat house.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow.

“How many cats are we talking about?”

Kris hesitated.

“At least twenty-five.”

“At least?”

“Diane keeps getting cats that look alike. Nobody actually knows how many there are anymore.”

The doctor stared at her for a moment.

“Well, I’m going to strongly recommend you avoid spending extended periods in that environment.”

Michael looked ready to drive back to Diane’s house himself.

“You’re not going back there.”

“Michael…”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Back home that evening, Kris lay on the Witcher sofa beneath a blanket, still pale.

Tilly sat curled beside her.

Gigi kept bringing tea.

Michael hovered nearby, pretending he wasn’t worried.

Tilly took a photo.

Kris groaned.

“I look awful.”

Tilly smiled softly and showed her the screen.

“No. You look loved.”

No sarcasm.

No jokes.

Just the quiet warmth of people who actually cared.

Kris closed her eyes and sank deeper into the cushions.

Home smelled like safety.

Diane’s world smelled like poison.

I had placed her on a Barbie Extra, but now after the random break— I think I would like to try a MTM curvy or a tall one? Any recommendations thank you!! I have been looking around but no luck finding charts. 💗

Watching Milk

Gigi pointed the remote toward the entertainment center. The television sat between the two tall JBL speakers.

They hummed softly to life.

A second later YouTube filled the screen and “Highway Tune” exploded through the house. Greta Van Fleet.

Gigi smiled as the opening guitar riff thundered through the living room, vibrating faintly under her feet. Sunlight poured through the front windows, bouncing off the glossy pink refrigerator.

She walked over and fixed Michael’s navy blue blanket where it had slipped crooked across the white chair near the window. Carefully, she folded it back into place the way he liked it before turning toward the kitchen.

At the sink, Gigi grabbed a cleaning rag from the counter and started wiping things down, singing a few words quietly under her breath. Not loudly—just enough to enjoy herself.

Every now and then she swayed with the music.

Small movements.

Barely dancing.

Just enough to feel alive.

As the chorus hit, she turned from the sink and did a small spin toward the refrigerator, singing along.

“Oh mama…”

She caught the handle to steady herself, then went back to wiping fingerprints like nothing had happened.

Luke watched the entire thing from the hallway, unimpressed.

Gigi laughed softly under her breath and steadied herself against the counter.

“Mind your business,” she told him, still smiling.

She carried the rag to the kitchen sink, rinsed it under warm water, and hung it neatly over the divider. Greta Van Fleet rolled from one song into another—loud guitars, fast drums, music that pushed everything else aside.

In the dining room she caught the edge of Michael’s dusty work boot with her foot.

“Oh for heaven’s sake.”

She grabbed the back of the chair before she could tip. Michael’s jacket still hung over it exactly where he’d left it. He’d kicked off the work boots, pulled on his Harley boots, and gone riding with Kevin—forgetting, as usual, to put anything away.

Gigi nudged the boot aside and kept moving, her thoughts already drifting to the stack of handwritten pages waiting on the dining table.

Kris had been trying lately.

Working part-time.

Writing more.

Talking about college again.

Gigi’s mouth tightened at the thought of Diane, but she pushed it aside.

A job was a job.

Progress was progress.

The heavier thoughts came anyway—John, Faith, tuition, bills, the strain buried under John’s voice every time he called.

Gigi stopped moving.

The familiar weight tried settling onto her shoulders.

No.

She closed her eyes and took two slow breaths.

“Not today,” she whispered.

Luke barked once toward the front window.

“Leave those cats alone,” she called automatically.

Through the glass she saw movement near the magnolia tree.

Neighborhood strays, probably.

By the time she settled at the dining table with Kris’s pages spread out, the playlist had shifted to slower songs.

Sunlight spilled warmly across the wood.

Luke lay nearby, watching her.

Gigi adjusted her reading glasses. Kris’s handwriting slanted unevenly across the pages in dark pencil, some words pressed so hard they nearly tore through the paper.

She opened a document on her laptop and cracked her knuckles lightly.

“Alright.”

Then she froze.

The notebooks.

She’d left the rest of the story in the Jeep.

“Oh darn it.”

Gigi pushed herself up, using the table for support, and headed toward the front door.

Luke followed immediately behind her.

The heavy Florida heat wrapped around her the second she opened the door.

The Jeep sat exactly where she’d left it.

The passenger door was cracked open.

And even from the doorway she could see the ruined notebooks piled across the seat beneath thick white clumps and streaks of spoiled milk.

Gigi stopped moving.

The smell drifted toward her slowly—sour, thick, rotting milk trapped in hot air.

The pages had swollen thick with moisture.

One peeled slowly loose from another with a wet tearing sound as the breeze shifted through the open Jeep door.

Milk dripped slowly onto the floor mat below.

Gigi stared at Kris’s ruined handwriting beneath the mess.

Every careful word the girl had finally dared to put down.

Somewhere inside the house, Greta Van Fleet drifted faintly through the open door.

“Someone’s always watching over…”

The lyrics sounded distant.

Wrong.

Gigi gripped the edge of the doorway until her knuckles whitened.

Luke pressed warm and solid against her leg, the way he always did when he knew she was slipping.

For the first time all morning, the heaviness she had been fighting settled fully onto her shoulders.

Cold Glass

The mall felt half-asleep, a vast, echoing chamber slowly shutting down for the night. Most stores were already down, their doors locked tight. The few remaining lights stretched across the polished tile in long, cold streaks like reflections on black ice.

Somewhere deeper in the corridor a cleaning machine hummed low and rhythmic, like machinery breathing underwater.

Gigi and Kris walked side by side toward the pharmacy. Gigi clutched Michael’s prescription paperwork so tightly the edges bit into her palm. Her purse strap kept sliding off her shoulder no matter how many times she hiked it back up. Every step felt heavier than the last.

Kris glanced toward the second level. “Sometimes they have to mix the medication. It might be a few minutes.”

Gigi sighed, the sound thin and worn. “Probably.”

“The bookstore upstairs might still be open. I’m gonna go look before they close.”

Gigi’s eyes flicked immediately toward the escalator.

The moving metal steps climbed endlessly upward beneath the fluorescent glare. Her stomach tightened hard.

“You could wait.”

“I’ll stay inside the mall.” Kris already sounded distracted, her thoughts halfway among shelves and clearance bins.

“Phone on?” Gigi asked quietly.

Kris lifted the little coffin-shaped wrist purse dangling from her arm and gave it a small shake.

“Yeah.”

Gigi still didn’t look happy. The worry sat on her face like an old bruise.

“I’ll be right upstairs, Mom.”

Kris headed toward the escalator while Gigi slowed several feet away from it, as if the machine might suddenly lunge forward and pull her in.

The mechanical clatter filled her chest with heat.

For one sick second she was six years old again.

Small hands slipping.

Knees smashing metal.

The bright shock of pain.

Blood.

And that awful split-second feeling that somebody had pushed her from behind.

Maybe nobody had.

Maybe she had simply lost her footing.

But Diane had laughed while she cried and strangers stared.

The memory tasted like copper and shame.

Gigi turned sharply away and forced herself toward the pharmacy entrance instead.

Inside the pharmacy, fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like dying insects. Cold air poured from vents near the floor, raising gooseflesh along her arms. She waited. And waited. The pharmacist discussed insurance and costs in a quiet clinical voice that somehow made everything feel even more expensive.

The medication needed mixing.

More waiting.

Gigi felt herself thinning out beneath the lights. Michael was sick at home. Kris was somewhere upstairs. Her shoulders ached. The exhaustion wasn’t just physical anymore. It was the deep marrow-level weariness of carrying fear for everyone all the time.

Upstairs, Kris stepped off the escalator and nearly walked into Lovena standing outside a darkened clothing store.

“Oh. Hey,” Kris said.

Lovena blinked slowly. “Hi.”

Something about her felt off tonight. Not dangerous exactly. Just disconnected somehow, like half her attention was somewhere else.

“Did you ever get more Milk Stalker texts? Or strange emails?” Kris asked.

Lovena frowned faintly. “What?”

“The Milk Stalker stuff.”

Lovena’s expression changed oddly then, not confusion exactly but distance.

“No,” she said quietly. “That’s not what’s happening.”

Kris hesitated. “What do you mean?”

Lovena leaned closer, lowering her voice.

“They swap heads sometimes.”

Kris stared at her. “What?”

“Bodies too,” Lovena whispered. “But the heads are easier.”

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

“Lovena…”

“You can tell if you look at the neck long enough.”
Kris felt the back of her neck prickle.

Was she off her medication again? Or was she acting? Sometimes Kris genuinely couldn’t tell anymore.

Before the conversation could go further, Kris noticed the bookstore lights still glowing at the far end of the corridor.

“Oh no, they’re still open.” She pointed quickly. “I wanna run in there before they close.”

Lovena just watched her silently.

Inside the bookstore the air felt quieter somehow, almost sacred. Dust and old paper hung in the stillness alongside the faint vanilla smell of aging glue. Used books leaned together on crowded the discount shelves like tired old friends.

The tension in Kris’s shoulders loosened almost immediately.

She drifted slowly through the aisles, fingertips brushing cracked spines and folded corners while her thoughts wandered inward. Somebody had shoved a gardening book into the horror section and Kris automatically stopped to put it back where it belonged before realizing she’d done it again.

Her phone vibrated once inside the little coffin-shaped purse hanging from her wrist.

She never felt it.

One shelf leaned crooked slightly lower than the others and the unevenness tugged at her attention until she finally nudged the books straighter with careful fingertips.

The smell of paper calmed her.

Dust.

Ink.

Aging glue.

Predictable things.

Safer than people most days.

Her eyes drifted across handwritten notes inside an old hardcover. Purple ink.

Not blue.

Not black.

Purple.

Kris wondered briefly who underlined entire paragraphs in purple pen and what kind of life they had gone home to afterward.

Her phone vibrated again against her wrist.

Nothing in her body registered it.

Lovena’s whisper still echoed faintly somewhere in the back of her thoughts.

You can tell if you look at the neck long enough.

Kris found herself glancing unconsciously at strangers passing the storefront outside before feeling stupid for doing it.

Then she saw it.

Half-hidden among several crowded stacks near the back table.

The missing book.

Everything inside her went still.

Downstairs, Gigi finally left the pharmacy with the prescription bag clenched tightly in one hand. She checked her phone.

No answer.

She texted.

Then called.

Still nothing.

The mall suddenly felt much larger than before.

The corridors stretched longer beneath the cold lights while distant storefronts darkened one by one.

Gigi headed automatically toward the staircase only to stop short.

Yellow tape blocked the entrance.

Fresh paint smell.

A crooked handwritten sign.

STAIRS CLOSED.

Her chest tightened instantly.

Escalator or elevator.

Neither felt survivable.

Panic started low beneath her ribs like electricity under her skin.

The memories came anyway.

The sick lurch of falling.

Metal teeth moving beneath her body.

Diane laughing.

People staring.

Helplessness.

Always helplessness.

Gigi walked blindly until she reached the closed flower shop at the very end of the mall court. She slid down the wall slowly and sat on the cold tile floor with the prescription bag crinkling in her lap.

Her hands shook badly.

The dark storefront glass reflected her back pale and frightened beneath the fluorescent lights.

She unscrewed the cold bottle of water with trembling fingers.

The nausea rolled through her hard enough she thought she might throw up.

Not here.

Please not here.

Her chest hurt.

The mall hummed around her in long empty corridors while somewhere far away another gate slammed shut with a metallic crash that made her flinch.

Then her phone chirped softly.

Kris’s alert tone.

Gigi grabbed for it so quickly the water bottle nearly slipped from her hand.

I am fine ran into a friend got to chatting be down in a minute no worries about the moving steps sorry mom

Relief hit too fast and too hard.

For a second she thought she might cry.

Instead she bent forward slightly, pressing one hand hard against her chest while she fought to steady her breathing.

In for five.

Hold.

Out.

Again.

The cold water bottle rested against the side of her neck while she closed her eyes.

Gradually the mall began loosening its grip on her mind.

The fluorescent hum faded first.

Then the smell of floor cleaner.

Then the endless mechanical clatter of the escalator somewhere behind her.

In its place came wind.

Strong steady wind pulling hard against a sail.

Gigi pictured the old sailboat leaning sharply across dark water, the deck tilting beneath her feet in that familiar way that always felt frightening for half a second before settling into rhythm again.

Cold salt spray burst over the bow and splashed against her face.

Back then she hadn’t feared things on the water.
Not with her father there.

The mast straps clicked softly overhead in the wind.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Water hissed along the hull while the sail pulled tight above them.

She could smell the ocean so clearly it almost hurt.

Salt.

Wet rope.

Fish.

Sun-warmed shells drying somewhere along the shore.

The heavy living smell of seawater and old wood baking in the Florida heat.

Her father stood near the ropes in his faded red polo shirt and white boat shoes, steady against the shifting deck like the wind itself couldn’t move him unless he allowed it.

Calm.

Certain.

Safe.

Back then Gigi trusted the boat because she trusted him.

Trusted the water not to swallow her whole.

Trusted that if she stumbled he would catch her before she hit the deck.

On the water she didn’t brace for disaster every second.

For a little while she could just exist.

The sailboat cut steadily through the dark water while moonlight scattered silver across the waves.

No moving stairs.

No fluorescent lights.

No walls pressing down around her chest.

Only open water and wind and the slow breathing creak of the boat beneath her feet.

Her heartbeat gradually loosened its grip on her ribs.

The panic did not disappear all at once. It drifted back slowly like a tide pulling away from shore.

When Gigi finally opened her eyes again, the empty mall corridor returned piece by piece:

the dim overhead lights,
the dark storefront windows,
the lonely flowers locked behind the cold glass.

Still shaky.

Still embarrassed.

But breathing.

Gigi got up off the floor slowly and walked to go met Kris.

Flip-Flops and a Pirate Hat

The dining room smelled like fried food, ranch dressing, and warm soda. Pink plates and half-eaten desserts crowded the little table beneath the low yellow light while the dogs wandered hopefully beneath everyone’s feet looking for scraps.

Stacy talked with her hands.

“And then the entire back of the costume ripped open.”

Mary sighed, already shaking her head. “It did not.”

“It absolutely did.”

Gigi laughed softly into her drink. “The poor Bluey suit.”

Stacy pointed dramatically across the table. “Emily practically tackled him trying to hug him.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Kevin blamed a pirate.”

“He blamed three different things,” Stacy corrected. “First a cabinet. Then a motorcycle accident. Then a pirate attack.”

“That honestly sounds like him,” Gigi muttered.

The girls laughed again.

Near the wicker sofa, Kris sat curled beneath a blanket with one headphone over her ear and her tablet balanced against her knees. The glow from the screen reflected faintly across her face while she typed quietly to herself, only half listening to the conversation drifting through the room.

At the table, Stacy leaned farther forward.

“No, but Kevin’s house party was weirder.”

Mary let out a long groan. “Oh my God.”

“The basement thing?” Gigi asked carefully.

Stacy nodded quickly. “Anthony swore Kevin had a hidden room.”

“It was not a hidden room,” Mary said too fast.

“A murder room,” Stacy corrected.

Mary laughed nervously. “There was no murder room.”

Kris paused typing.

The laughter suddenly felt louder around her.

Outside the dark window beside the table, the backyard had disappeared into darkness. The glass reflected the kitchen back at them in soft yellow smears.

Stacy kept going anyway.

“And remember the donkey at your sixteenth birthday?”

Mary covered her face. “Please stop.”

“Kris,” Stacy laughed, turning toward the wicker sofa, “Kevin literally rode through the yard in flip-flops and a pirate hat screaming ‘WHERE IS THE BIRTHDAY WENCH?’”

Even Gigi laughed at that one.

“And the donkey destroyed the decorations,” Mary admitted reluctantly.

“And some biker guy cried because Anthony thanked him for singing,” Stacy added.

“That part was actually sweet,” Gigi said.

“Yeah, but it was also weird,” Stacy replied.

Kris slowly lowered her headphone.

The conversation drifted for another minute before Stacy suddenly looked toward her again.

“Hey.”

Kris glanced up from the tablet.

“Where’s your red book?”

The room quieted strangely after that.

Kris frowned and glanced beside her on the wicker sofa.

“What?”

“Your Beauty and the Beast book,” Stacy said casually. “You always carry it.”

Kris stared at the empty space beside the blanket. The tablet screen dimmed quietly in her lap.

“Oh.”

She set the tablet aside and began tossing the wicker sofa cushions one at a time. A small pink pillow slid onto the floor beside her headphones.

Nothing.

Her movements grew sharper, more frantic.

She checked beneath the blanket, then ran her hands along the wicker frame and across the floor beside the sofa, fingers sweeping the empty spaces as if the book might be hiding on purpose.

“That’s weird,” she muttered.

“The Milk Stalker stuff distracted you?” Stacy asked lightly.

Kris barely reacted. She kept searching, the easy rhythm of the room now broken by the soft thud of cushions and the faint scrape of her hands against fabric.

Gigi’s expression shifted as she watched. The laughter from earlier had faded, leaving a nervous silence in its place.

The dogs wandered through the kitchen again while the dark windows reflected the room back at them. Somewhere deeper in the house, a television played softly to nobody at all.

Hey yall! I just wrapped up a week of cat and house sitting for a family member who has two daughters- and they gave me full permission to play with any of their toys...so I did! This is my personal mini-me barbie modeling her favorite fits and accessories from the girls' toy boxes. Not pictured are the dolls that live here, who all got hair rescues. The horse also got a bath and brushout as he was covered in mystery smudges. Which outfit is your favorite?

What He Thought He Saw

They weren’t supposed to be in the house.
That much was clear.

Anthony moved first anyway, slipping ahead like a shadow that wouldn’t wait for permission.

“Just look,” he muttered. “The secret room’s down here. Give me a minute.”

Mary followed slower, already unimpressed. The basement air hung thick and stale, carrying the faint metallic bite of old tools and summers long buried.

“You don’t even know what you’re looking for,” she said.

“A knife,” Anthony answered. “And that room.”

Stacy lingered near the stairs, arms wrapped tight around herself like she was already bracing for the fall. “I don’t like this,” she whispered.

The basement held still around them. Not dark exactly—just quiet in that way that tightens the back of your neck and waits for you to make the mistake.

“There,” Anthony said.

The knife rested on a small chair, out in the open. Not hidden. Just there, like a dare in the half-light.

Mary stepped past him without hesitation and looked it over. “That’s a collector piece. You can tell.”

Anthony frowned. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do,” she shot back. “Gigi has stuff like this—yard sales, antique shops. Remember the Fenton glass? Same kind of thing.”

She pointed. Anthony didn’t move.

“It’s still a knife.”

Mary turned on him. “It’s still not what you think it is. You always do this. You decide something’s wrong and then you won’t let it go.”

Stacy hovered halfway on the stairs. “Why is it just sitting there?”

No one answered.

Anthony kept staring. Mary looked away first.

“Can we go?” Stacy said. “Let’s just go upstairs.”

Mary nodded. “Yeah. There’s nothing here.”

They started up.

Anthony followed, slower this time, and paused at the small basement window.

He leaned in.

At first, it didn’t make sense.

Just light moving where it shouldn’t.

Then—laughter.

Too loud.

Too sharp.

The pool lit the yard in a cold, artificial blue. Women crowded around it—some in the water, some draped over the edge like discarded dolls, pink cups in their hands, bottles passed around like nothing mattered anymore.

One tipped a bottle straight back, head tilted, throat exposed, not even laughing—just gone somewhere else entirely.

Another leaned against the poolside, trying to light something with unsteady hands, missing twice before it caught. Someone beside her laughed too hard at nothing.

A float bumped lazily at the edge where a blonde lay half-sprawled, one arm hanging off, hair tangled, face turned away like she’d slipped out of the moment completely.

Empty cans rolled near the patio. A bottle tipped, spun once, and settled.

Nobody was watching anything.

Nobody was stopping anything.

Anthony’s jaw tightened.

This wasn’t just a party.

It was… off.

Like something had already gone too far and nobody cared to notice.

“…poor Ziva,” he said under his breath.

“Wait.”

Stacy’s voice stopped halfway up the stairs.

Mary paused above her. “What?”

Tap.

Pause.

Tap… tap.

They all heard it now.

Faint.

Steady.

“Do you hear that?” Stacy asked.

Mary tilted her head. “…yeah.”

It came again—

wood against wood.

A scrape. Then a softer knock.

Not random.

Working.

Anthony stepped back from the window.

“That’s not—”

“Hey.”

All three froze.

The sound stopped.

“You three,” Kevin’s voice called out. “I can hear you on those steps.”

Mary turned.

Anthony didn’t.

“Come here a second,” Kevin said. “Don’t keep sneaking around.”

There was no anger in it.

Just knowing.

The girls exchanged a look.

Then slowly, they went back down.

The door at the end of the basement—the one Anthony had tried—was open now.

Light spilled out.

Clean.

Kevin stood just inside, one hand resting on a work table.

The room had changed.

What had felt hidden before was cleared out, organized. Tools lined the walls like instruments in a quiet surgery room. Wood stacked neatly. The air smelled fresh—cut wood, not dust.

In the center sat the dollhouse.

Not small.

Not delicate.

Solid. Painted. Nearly finished—its roof set, walls closed in, details already in place like someone had spent real time getting it right.

It wasn’t something just started.

It was something almost done.

Anthony blinked.

Mary stepped in a little farther, taking it in.

“That dollhouse—who are you making it for?”

Kevin glanced at it, then back at them. “For Emily.”

Stacy stayed near the doorway.

“She’s been asking for one,” Kevin added.

The room didn’t feel secret anymore.

Just used.

Kevin looked at them again.

“So,” he said, calm but clear, “what are you three doing down here?”

No one answered.

Mary tried. “We were just—”

“You were looking,” Kevin said.

She stopped.

Anthony shifted. “We just thought—”

Kevin shook his head once.

“It doesn’t matter what you thought.”

A quiet pause.

“You shouldn’t be sneaking around in here,” he said. Not sharp. Just steady.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, already dialing.

Kevin turned slightly away, bringing it to his ear.

“Hey John, I need you to come over and get your three oldest. Yep. They’re fine—just been sneaking in my house. Oh I know… yeah. See you in a minute. Bye.”

He lowered the phone.

The room stayed quiet.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go upstairs.”

They followed.

The living room felt smaller now. Quieter. Even with the distant noise drifting in from outside like something you couldn’t quite name.

“Just wait here a minute,” Kevin said.

Mary sat. Stacy beside her.

Anthony didn’t.

He stayed standing.

Kevin noticed but didn’t say anything.

Mary glanced toward the hallway again, softer this time. “She’ll like it.”

Kevin nodded once.

A small pause.

“And the knife,” she added, quieter now. “That’s just an old collector one, right?”

“Yeah,” Kevin said. “That’s all it is.”

Anthony looked down, then away.

“You could’ve just asked me,” Kevin said.

Anthony gave a small nod.

Didn’t speak.

Kevin moved toward the window.

“They’ll be here any minute.”

And they were.

Headlights slid across the walls like searching fingers.

The van pulled in fast.

The door opened. Low voices. Quick, quiet.

The kids moved out just as fast as they came in.

The door shut.

Kevin stood at the living room window, watching.

The van backed out.

Turned.

Pulled away.

Red taillights stretched down the road.

Shrank.

Faded.

Kevin didn’t move.

He let his hand fall, and the curtain dropped—closing out the world.

This is my whole Kenllection, they're celebrating they've managed to line-up their schedules and have a while to catch-up.

I'm happy with them, I love them all. There are some more that I'd like, but they're hard to find and expensive, so there's that😅 I'm looking forward for May's DOTM theme.

Who is your favourite Ken of this bunch?

She thought it was just another morning

Gigi sat at the table in her purple kitchen, iPad glowing beside her, MacBook open with tabs stacked like accusations across the screen. Half-finished notes waited for her return. She was dressed like she had somewhere to be, even though she didn’t — something decent, something put together. As if keeping the outside right might force the inside to follow.

She told herself she was fine.

She had been telling herself that all morning.

The article wasn’t even the kind that usually got to her. Just edits. Timelines. Cleaning up someone else’s messy wording so it read cleaner, made more sense. Nothing graphic. Nothing that should have stayed with her. One of her simpler tasks from the part-time work at the newspaper.

But her focus kept slipping.

Same line. Same paragraph. Over and over. The author had made a lot of mistakes.

She pushed back from the table and stood, deciding on tea like that might fix it — like it always used to.

It took more effort than it should have.

The kitchen light hummed faintly above her as she moved, familiar, steady, something she didn’t have to think about. The kettle, the cup, the motions came easy, automatic. Her hands knew what to do even if her mind lagged behind.

She poured the tea and stood there a second longer than she meant to, staring into the cup as if waiting for something else to happen.

Then she turned toward the fridge.

She didn’t think about it.

She just moved.

Then she reached for the milk.

Just a drop. That’s all she ever used.

Her fingers closed around the paper carton — cool against her skin, solid, normal.

She tipped it slightly—

—and stopped.

Nothing was wrong.

That was the problem.

The carton looked fine. The counter was clean. No smell. No mess. No sign of anything out of place.

But the sight of it — square, sharp edges, the weight of it in her hand — pulled something loose in her mind that refused to settle back where it belonged.

Milk.

Floor.

Chairs.

Table.

Windows open.

Her breath paused without her permission.

She stared at the carton a second too long, her grip tightening just enough to feel the cardboard give, as if proving it was real, as if it hadn’t simply appeared there.

It hadn’t.

She knew that.

She had taken it out herself.

Used it before.

Normal.

Everything was normal.

So why did it feel like it wasn’t?

Her breathing picked up.

Her eyes shifted without meaning to — counter, sink, window, back again — checking, rechecking, searching for something she couldn’t name.

They settled on the black curtain.

The thought didn’t sit right.

The Milk Stalker had come in this way.

Oddly, she had never unlocked that window. Neither had Michael.

Michael.

He should be resting. Not getting up again. Not dealing with—

Kris.

Lovena.

That phone.

Those messages — all broken and stacked, lines that didn’t match, numbers repeating until they no longer felt like mistakes.

Her breath came shorter now, catching before it could settle.

Ophelia.

The thought hit harder than the rest.

Gigi shifted her grip and moved to set the milk back, meaning to finish the tea, meaning to just move past it and return to the table.

But when she bent, the motion pulled something loose.

A wave of lightheadedness rose fast — not enough to drop her, but enough to make the room tilt in a way that felt quietly wrong.

She stilled, one hand catching the edge of the counter.

Too fast.

She had moved too fast.

Or maybe she hadn’t eaten.

The thought came and drifted away without landing.

Her legs felt weaker than they should have, strength thinned out without warning. She tried to straighten, but it didn’t come clean.

Her balance shifted before she could correct it.

Her grip loosened.

The milk slipped from her hand.

It hit the floor with a hard, hollow slap.

The sound echoed louder than it should have, sharp in the quiet kitchen.

The carton tipped once, dented at the corner, then settled on its side.

It didn’t spill.

It didn’t leak.

She pressed a hand to her chest, as if in prayer, silently thanking God the milk was still intact. The mere thought of a trip to the store would ruin her afternoon. Even the idea of going somewhere today made the edges of her vision blur.

The milk carton just stayed there.

Intact.

Too close.

Her hands started to shake. Not much at first — just enough to make her fingers curl in on themselves like they didn’t know what else to do.

Her breathing turned shallow and fast, catching on itself.

She swallowed, but it didn’t help. Her throat felt tight, dry.

She tried to move, to step forward, to pick it up, to fix it—

But her knee didn’t hold.

She caught the fridge door—

—and slid instead.

Not a fall. Not exactly.

Just lowering without control.

One knee hit the tile harder than she expected.

Then the other.

The room didn’t spin.

It just felt… wrong.

Michael’s footsteps came in from the other room, quicker now.

“Gigi?”

She didn’t respond right away.

“I’m fine,” she managed, but it came out thin, like it didn’t belong to her.

Michael stepped into the kitchen and stopped when he saw her — down on one knee, breathing wrong.

He crossed the space without hesitation and dropped down in front of her.

“Hey,” he said, low.

Gigi looked at him, but it took a second to focus.

He reached for her hand and took it, firm and steady.

“Babydoll… slow down,” he said. “Breathe. Deeper.”

She tried.

It didn’t come easy, but it came.

He stayed there with her, steady, not letting go.

“Yeah baby,” she said, voice uneven. “Lovena kept pushing that phone in our faces. The messages she was trying to show us were a jumble of one-line phrases or demands.”

Michael nodded once. “I noticed.”

His eyes stayed on her.

“But right now, I’m worried about you.”

Gigi looked at him. “It has.” Tears slipped down her face.

“Same digits all the way through,” she added. “Something about it feels familiar… and wrong.”

The words settled heavy between them.

“I don’t like that it’s been causing flashbacks to my childhood,” she said quietly.

Michael’s eyes flicked toward the hallway, then back. “What bugs me — and Kevin too — is Luke didn’t go off when the Milk Stalker hit. He didn’t bark at Lovena either.”

Gigi’s gaze shifted. “No… he didn’t.”

“He would’ve,” Michael said. “If it was someone he didn’t know.”

“Or if something wasn’t right,” she said.

Michael frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know.” Her grip tightened slightly in his. “It just… doesn’t feel right.”

He watched her a moment longer, then made his decision.

“I’m changing the locks,” he said.

Gigi met his eyes. “We’ve never needed to.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

A quiet settled between them, thick with things unsaid.

“We used to leave it open,” she murmured.

“Not anymore.”

Michael kept hold of her hand a moment longer, watching her breathing.

Then something in him shifted.

His jaw tightened slightly, his attention moving past her — to the door, the window, the dark beyond.

“We’re done playing this loose,” he said, voice still low, but set.

Gigi didn’t argue.

“I’m changing the locks. Every one of them.”

His thumb pressed once against her hand.

“And from now on, those doors and windows stay shut. Locked. I don’t care if we’re home.”

A beat.

“I’ll have Hunter come out. Get cameras up. Driveway, the Jeep… and our truck.”

Another pause.

“That’ll cover the doors too.”

His eyes came back to her.

“Not happening again.”

George and Luke were nearby.

Gigi didn’t move much.

She stayed where she was, low to the floor, Michael’s hand steady in hers, the weight of them around her keeping everything from slipping further.

The room still didn’t feel right.

But she wasn’t alone in it.

Michael didn’t let go.

As he lifted her, her left leg went numb beneath her, dead for a second before the needles and burning came rushing back, sharp enough to make her catch her breath.

He steadied her without letting go, one hand firm at her arm, the other at her back, keeping her upright.

Gigi leaned into him, her hand resting against his shoulder.

Michael stayed close.

“I love you, babydoll,” he said softly. “You’re my world.”

Added more masterpieces in our gallery ♥️ need to make a proper museum setup!

“I told you.” Lovena grinned.

Twist & Shout

Kris stood near the sticky table, her so-called day off feeling like borrowed time. Headphones clamped tight, but they were useless against the tide—shoes scraping linoleum, voices bleeding into one another, and underneath it all… too many thoughts.

Across the corridor, Aunt Diane’s pet shop burned too bright.

Chloe stood behind the counter, braid straight down her back, movements clipped and precise. She smiled at a customer—polite enough not to get complaints, cold enough to keep her distance. Correcting, never comforting.

Their eyes met for half a second.

Kris looked away first.

“Kris, you look nice today,” Tilly murmured, voice low and careful. Her fingers brushed Kris’s arm. “But… something’s off. You okay?”

The touch grounded her.

Then it sharpened everything.

Kris exhaled slowly. “Lovena came by last night,” she said, the words coming out too fast. “Waving her phone. Wouldn’t stop. She showed us texts—from a number I didn’t recognize.”

Her fingers twitched, remembering the glow.

“It didn’t feel random.”

Her chest tightened.

“She said it was the milk stalker.”

The words settled between them.

Kris lifted her hands slightly, like she needed somewhere to put the feeling. “I don’t like it. The way she moved. The way her face didn’t match her words. It didn’t line up.”

Her thoughts stacked too quickly—

Phone.

Texts.

Lovena’s hands.

The way she wouldn’t stop moving.

And then—

The zeros.

Not letters.

Zeros.

Flashing in her mind like a sign that wouldn’t shut off. Bright. Sharp. Wrong.

She couldn’t remember exactly where she’d seen them.

Only that they didn’t belong.

Her breathing went shallow.

Tilly and Millie leaned in—not crowding, just close enough.

Kris focused on that.

Hands.

Familiar.

Safe.

She pulled in a breath. It caught halfway.

A small pause.

“Hey,” Millie said, lighter now. “I’m just glad you’re off today. I heard there’s going to be some new guys at the gym. My brother’s friends are going.” She tilted her head. “We should go. I can show them my chair dance.”

Kris didn’t answer right away.

Her mind was still half on the phone.

On the pattern that didn’t make sense.

On the zeros.

Millie reached over and nudged the little radio up. A slow jazz track slipped into the air—soft, steady, something to follow.

Not loud. Just enough.

Millie started moving first—shoulders, then her head, small motions building into something bigger.

Predictable.

Repeatable.

Kris watched.

Tilly smiled and joined in, softer, matching the rhythm.

Kris’s breath hitched—

then followed the beat.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Her shoulders dropped slightly.

The thoughts didn’t disappear—but they spaced out.

Not gone.

Just quieter.

Kris shifted her weight and let herself move with them.

“Okay… okay,” she said quietly.

Her arms felt stiff at first. Wrong.

But Millie laughed—not at her—and kept moving.

Tilly bumped her gently.

Kris tried again.

This time it came easier. Not smooth. Not perfect.

But real.

Her chest loosened.

The tight feeling didn’t disappear—but it shifted.

A small smile slipped through.

“See?” Millie grinned. “Better than stressing over it. Just dance a little.”

Kris let out a short laugh.

Soon they were all moving together, shoulders bumping, missing the beat and catching it again. The mall’s noise faded back into the background hum where it belonged.

For a few minutes, Kris didn’t have to solve anything.

She didn’t have to understand the phone.

She didn’t have to fix Lovena.

She just had to be there.

With them.

They leaned in close, still laughing, and snapped a couple quick selfies—faces too close, slightly off-center.

Just three girls at a sticky table.

Like nothing strange had touched the day at all.

But later—

Kris would remember.

Not the words.

Not the message.

Just the zeros.

Flashing.

Cold.

And how they didn’t belong.

White Noise

Gigi stands at the counter with a blue washcloth in her hand, wiping in small, practiced circles. The motion is automatic. Countertop first, then the edge, then the table. She moves things just enough to clean under them, setting each one back exactly where it belongs. Everything has a place. It always goes back.

The TV murmurs behind her, low and constant.

“…fuel prices expected to continue rising…”

She pauses.

Her eyes lift toward the window.

The old truck sits in the driveway, quiet and still. She doesn’t move closer, just looks at it from where she stands, doing the math without meaning to. Diesel near six. Over a hundred to fill it. Maybe more.

The thought settles heavy.

“Figures,” she mutters.

No one answers. Just the TV. The pets. The house.

She looks away first.

The cloth moves again. One more pass across the counter, slower now, like she’s finishing the motion instead of starting it. Her mind is already somewhere else—half in her work, half in the background noise filling the room.

She sets the cloth down, then picks it up again, wiping a spot that doesn’t need it.

Across the room, the sofa waits.

Gigi walks over and stops in front of it, looking it over. One purple pillow is off. She fixes it, then the other, pressing them into place until they feel right. The fabric creases under her hand and she smooths it out, slow and deliberate.

The two new cats are already there. One kneads into the other, slow and steady, their purring loud and constant, like two small engines running full throttle in a closed room. Gigi adjusts the pillows around them carefully, working around their weight instead of moving them.

That’s better.

Something on the floor catches her eye—a toy, out of place. Gigi nudges it back with her foot without looking down, sliding it where it belongs.

Good enough. Nothing in the room is out of place. It stays that way.

Gigi lowers herself onto the sofa, careful without thinking about it. Not all the way back. Just enough.

Her fingers find the edge of the pillow, brushing along the lace—back and forth, slow, absent. The cats shift closer, pressing into her, their purring still running steady and loud.

The TV keeps talking, but it doesn’t land.

For a second, her hands stop. Then they move again, tracing the lace. Something steady. Something to hold onto. It passes.

Her eyes flick toward the screen. The voices blur together, nothing sticking.

Gigi reaches for the remote and changes the channel.

“…authorities are still trying to determine the source…”

Different now. Sharper. Focused. Better.

She doesn’t stay sitting long. The sofa is too comfortable, and that feeling doesn’t sit right. The room is done. Settled. That means she’s done with it too.

Time to work.

The chair at the table is already waiting. A folded blanket rests on the seat, tucked where she’ll sit. She lowers into it carefully, adjusting once before going still. The table is set. MacBook Pro open. iPhone and iPad nearby. A cup of tea. Water. Snacks. Everything in place.

“…police believe these may be targeted incidents…”

Gigi pulls the laptop closer. Her hair slips forward, brushing across the keyboard, a few strands catching between the keys. One presses down softly. She leaves it there.

Her fingers start moving.

Typing. Stopping. Backspacing. Starting again.

The TV continues behind her.

“…unusual messaging activity… recipients report distorted numbers… repeating digits…”

Her hands slow, as she takes in the words from the TV.

Her hands stop.

The keys go quiet.

The cursor blinks once. Then again.

Steady.

That’s not right.

Gigi turns her head slightly toward the TV. She can’t see it clearly from here, but she doesn’t need to.

Zeros.

The same zeros.

Gigi’s hands lift before she thinks about it, fingers pressing lightly at her temples, pushing her hair back but not fixing it. Just holding. Like she can steady something inside her if she keeps enough pressure there.

Her chest tightens.

Zero.

The room slips.

Her mother’s voice—loud, slurred. “Zero the Hero.” Not funny. Never funny. Her brother moving fast, always fast, stepping in before it gets worse. Something in their mother’s hand—a coat hanger. He takes it. He always takes it. Gigi goes still. Small. Quiet.

Diane off to the side, dressed up, untouched, watching. “You’re the favorite,” her voice cuts in, sharp and cruel. “Only because you’re too ugly to be a model like me. I’ll be in magazines. You’ll be in a trailer park with pet roaches.” Their brother doesn’t choose. He protected. The yelling. The booze bottles. The noise. It had been too loud. Always too loud. Gone now. He’s gone. Their mother gone.

The words and pain aren't gone.

Her hands drop, then fold in close, crossing over herself without meaning to. Not tight. Not protective exactly. Just contained. Like she’s keeping something from spilling out.

The cursor blinks.

Gigi pulls in a breath. The room comes back—the table, the laptop, the steady drone of the TV.

“…no confirmed source…” the TV states.

Her hand tightens on the edge of the table.

She moves the mouse. Opens a new window. Then another.

Searching.

Background checks. Databases. Anything.

Nothing.

No name. No image. No starting point.

Just milk.

And zeros.

The cursor keeps blinking.

Her pulse starts to match it.

“This isn’t random,” she says quietly.

The search bar sits empty.

Waiting.

Her fingers hover, then press down.

If there isn’t a name, she’ll find one.

The house is quiet.

Still.

Exactly the same as before.

It doesn’t feel the same.

She keeps typing.

Something about the zeros doesn’t feel random.

Did you catch it?

I made this little video store over the past few months. It’s based on the old I ❤️Video store in Austin, Texas which I have many fond memories of. I modeled it and its parts in Blender and then 3d printed the elements, hand painted them, and assembled and wired it in my free time. I hope you enjoy!