Bab 83: Chapter 83
Evan sat in the kitchen, his hands on the table, fingers tapping lightly against the wood. He stared out the window, watching the bare trees in the yard sway under the weight of a wind that felt too cold for October. The pale light of early evening cast long shadows inside the house, and the floor creaked in a way that didn't feel natural. But it was only the house. It was only the house, wasn't it?
His parents were still talking in the next room. They never took him seriously anymore. It had started as a whisper—something he said when he was younger about the woman who came at night.
His mother had smiled, patted his head, and told him it was just a bad dream. But he knew better. He had seen her. Seen her standing at the edge of his bed, her face half-hidden in the darkness, her cold fingers brushing against his cheek.
"Evan, come on! What's wrong with you?" His dad's voice broke through his thoughts. "This nonsense about ghosts. Just stop it."
His father always sounded frustrated these days, like his patience was worn thin, ready to snap. They didn't believe him, and they never would. Even when Evan tried to explain the things she did—how the woman would leave marks on his arms, cold and red like fingers, or how she whispered his name when no one else was around—his parents just dismissed it. Told him he was imagining things. Told him he needed to stop thinking about it.
But Evan knew. She was real.
"Don't you think it's time to let this go?" His mother's voice was sharp, almost tired. She sounded the same as his father, as if she didn't have time for his childish fantasies anymore.
"I'm not lying." Evan's voice came out in a whisper, weak and small. He didn't like how they looked at him when he said things like that—like he was broken, like there was something wrong with him.
"But Evan," his father's voice softened. "You're growing up now. It's time to let go of these... stories. Okay? You don't need them anymore."
Evan shook his head. His chest ached, the tightness in it almost suffocating. He didn't want to give her up. He didn't want to lose the only person who had ever been there for him. The only one who had cared.
She was his real mother. Not the woman who sat across the table, pretending to be concerned for him, pretending she cared.
The wind outside howled, louder now, slamming against the windows like it was trying to break through. Evan stood up suddenly, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. He felt a coldness run through him, a chill that had nothing to do with the air outside. It was her. She was here.
The light flickered, and the room seemed to dim for a moment. His heart raced as he turned toward the hallway, the familiar sound of creaking floorboards coming from the darkness at the end of it. His mother didn't notice. His father didn't notice.
They never did.
Evan backed away from the kitchen, slowly, trying not to make a sound. His feet were heavy, but the pull of her voice was stronger. He could hear her now, calling his name, soft and distant, like it was coming from the other side of the wall.
"Evan... come to me."
He turned, rushing down the hallway, his hands shaking as he gripped the walls to steady himself. She was waiting in the kitchen now, her pale, thin figure barely visible in the doorway. Her hair was a mess, wild and tangled like it had never been brushed, but Evan could see her face clearly—those hollow, empty eyes staring at him, her lips twisted into something almost like a smile.
She didn't look kind anymore. She didn't look like his mother.
The last time he had seen her, she had been standing at the foot of his bed, brushing her fingers through his hair, her cold breath on his neck. But now she was different, darker, like the very air around her had bent to her will, making everything colder.
Evan's legs moved before he could stop them. He didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore except for the pull of her voice, sweet and cold at the same time.
"Mom..." he whispered, his voice shaking.
Her head tilted to the side, and her lips parted. "Yes, my darling. Come to me. You're mine, you've always been mine. They don't love you. They never did."
Evan wanted to scream. He wanted to shout, to tell her to go away. But the words stuck in his throat, trapped there like a fly in honey.
His mother's face twitched. She stepped forward, her feet making no sound on the floor as she crossed the room. The shadows of the kitchen seemed to stretch with her, reaching out like arms to grab him, to pull him into the dark. Her hand lifted, pale fingers curling toward him.
"Come, Evan. It's time."
His heart pounded, his breath came out in ragged gasps. But he couldn't stop it. He was so tired of fighting. He had nothing left. He stepped forward, toward her, his feet moving without his control.
As soon as his hand touched hers, everything went silent. The wind outside stopped, the house seemed to hold its breath. Evan felt his body go cold, colder than he had ever been, colder than when he had seen her before. He felt her pull him into the darkness.
His last thought, as the world around him seemed to swallow him whole, was that he was finally going to be with her. With the one who had always cared for him. With the one who had never lied to him. With his real mother.
The kitchen door slammed shut, and the lights flickered one last time before the house fell into an unnatural silence.
His parents never found him. They never found his body, never found any trace of him. The only thing they found was a faint outline on the floor, a cold, empty spot where he had stood just moments before. The house, like the world outside, carried on as if nothing had ever happened.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone