Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 4)

Evelyn barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the man’s silhouette pressed against the window, his hand against the glass, his face hidden in shadow.
Even after he disappeared into the snowfall, she sensed him lingering in the air, like the afterimage of a nightmare.

By sunrise, she was exhausted — but determined.

Fear could paralyze her, or it could sharpen her.
She chose the latter.

With a steaming mug of tea warming her frozen fingers, she stood in the middle of the living room and said aloud:

“Something in this house connects all of this. I just have to find it.”

Her voice echoed faintly through the hallways.

She started with her mother’s room again, going through drawers, boxes, and shelves. But everything felt deliberately ordinary, as if someone had intentionally removed anything that might mean something.

It wasn’t until she pulled open the bottom drawer of the bedside table that she noticed something unusual — a thin layer of dust covering the drawer… except for a perfectly clean circle in the center, as if something had been placed there recently.

Something missing now.

Her stomach tightened.

She checked under the bed. Nothing.
Behind the dresser. Nothing.
Inside the wardrobe. Nothing but old coats and forgotten scarves.

But when she closed the wardrobe doors, she froze.

There were scratches on the inside of the left door.
Thin, sharp… deliberate.
Four horizontal marks, one vertical — the universal tally symbol.

Five.
Someone had marked five.

Why five?
Five days? Five signs? Five warnings?

Evelyn traced the marks with her fingertips. They were fresh — not years old. Not even months.
Someone had carved these recently.

Her lungs tightened.

She backed away and moved to the hallway, where the old floorboards creaked under her feet. The sound felt louder today, as if the house was reacting to her presence.

She stopped at the guest room — a space no one had used in years. Dust coated everything, untouched and thick.

She pushed the door open.

Cold air rushed out like a held breath finally exhaled.

The window was locked. The curtains were still. But the room felt wrong — like it had been disturbed without anything physically moving.

Evelyn stepped inside slowly.

Nothing seemed out of place: the bed, the dresser, the faded wallpaper. But the silence was oppressive, dense.

Her gaze drifted to the wall behind the bed.

A tiny piece of wallpaper was peeled back at the corner. Barely noticeable unless someone looked closely.

She reached out and tugged it gently.

It tore away — revealing something underneath.

A message.

Written directly on the wall.

In thin, uneven handwriting:

“HE WAS HERE FIRST.”

Evelyn staggered back, a quiet gasp escaping her lips.

“What does that mean?” she whispered.

Her mother never allowed writing on walls. She was meticulous, careful, almost obsessively tidy. If she found something like this, she would have repainted the entire room.

Which meant one thing:

Her mother never saw this.
Someone else wrote it.
Someone who had been inside the house without her knowing.

Her heart hammered as she stepped closer.

Beneath the sentence was a date.

December 1.
Yesterday.

“He was here first…”
Her mind raced.
The footprints.
The man at the café.
The shadow at the window.

He wasn’t just watching her.

He was ahead of her.
Always one step before.
Always arriving first.

A sudden noise shattered the silence — a soft thud from downstairs.

Evelyn’s heart leaped into her throat.

She moved to the doorway, listening.
Another sound.
Something shifting.
Something moving.

The house was supposed to be empty.

Her fingers tightened around the doorknob.
She forced herself to speak.

“Who’s there?”

The answer was silence.
A silence that felt… intentional.

She stepped into the hallway.

Another sound came — this time from the living room.

Slowly… cautiously… she descended the stairs.

The living room light was off. The box sat on the table exactly where she left it.

But something new was there.

A second envelope.
Yellowed.
Burnt at the edges.
Placed neatly on top of the box.

Her name was written on it again.

Evelyn.

Her knees weakened.

This one had a new date.

December 4. Today.

The third sign had arrived.