Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 6)

The bells continued to ring, their metallic chimes threading through the icy air, growing sharper, closer, unstoppable. Evelyn’s breath came in uneven bursts as she stared at the clock.

7:34 p.m.

Eight minutes.

Eight minutes to choose between staying or fleeing. Eight minutes before… whatever the letter warned her about.

Her fingers clenched the doorknob so tightly it hurt.

The house felt alive with tension — every board groaned under shifting temperatures, every gust of winter wind made the walls tremble. The warmth she usually loved felt suffocating now, like the house itself was urging her to move.

Outside, the parade rehearsal continued, lanterns glowing through the snowfall. Laughter echoed faintly from the participants — a stark contrast to the dread curling inside her chest.

But the hooded man…
He wasn’t laughing.
He wasn’t rehearsing.
He was still walking.

Slow. Intentional.
Step by step toward her house.

Evelyn’s throat tightened.

Her phone buzzed suddenly, vibrating on the table. She jolted, grabbing it, praying it was Marcus calling her back.

Unknown Number.

She hesitated.

The ringing continued, insistent, vibrating through her palm like a pulse.

She answered.

A soft breath on the other side. Then a voice — distorted, low, almost whispering:

“Evelyn. Leave. Now.”

Her blood turned cold.

“Who is this?” she demanded.

No answer.

“Did you write the letters?”

Silence.

Then:

“Seven minutes.”

The line disconnected.

Her hands trembled as she lowered the phone. She felt like she was moving through a nightmare — and the nightmare was gaining speed.

Evelyn rushed to the window again. The hooded man was much closer now, only a house away. His head was slightly turned, as if he were watching her through the window.

She stumbled backward.
Her breath hitched.
This was real. This wasn’t paranoia.

Her instincts screamed at her.

Go.

She shoved her phone into her coat pocket, grabbed her keys, and unlocked the front door.

7:36 p.m.

The cold slapped her face as she stepped outside. Snowflakes clung to her hair, her coat, the tips of her eyelashes. The bells echoed louder now, bouncing off the brick walls of nearby buildings.

She glanced down the street.

The parade group turned at the intersection, drifting away from her block — leaving her street suddenly quiet, dim, and empty.

Except for him.

The hooded figure had stopped walking.

He stood perfectly still, only a few meters away, facing her.

Evelyn froze on her front step. The snow muffled everything — even her heartbeat seemed too loud.

He didn’t move.
He didn’t speak.
He only watched.

Her mind raced.
Why wasn’t he coming closer?
Why hadn’t he tried to force his way in?
Why was he waiting?

The answer hit her:
7:42.

The letters didn’t warn her to escape him.

They warned her to escape the house.

Her house.

A new fear clawed up her spine.

Was something about to happen inside?
Something timed?
Something planned?

She backed away from the door and stepped onto the sidewalk. The hooded figure didn’t follow. He simply turned his head slightly — as if he were checking the windows behind her.

Then he lifted his arm and pointed.

Not at her.
At the second-floor window.

Evelyn’s stomach dropped.

She turned, squinting up through the snow.

At first she saw nothing.
Then —
A flicker.

A shadow passed behind the curtain.
A tall shape.
Inside the house.
Inside her house.

Her mouth went dry.

She had been alone… or so she thought.

She took a step back.
Then another.
Her boots slipped slightly on the icy pavement.

7:40 p.m.

Two minutes.

The hooded man lowered his arm slowly and stepped back into the shadows, merging with the dark like he had never been there.

Evelyn didn’t wait to see where he went.

She turned and ran — down the street, past the glowing lanterns abandoned by the parade, past the snow-dusted cars, past the block she once called home. Her breath burned, her legs ached, but she didn’t stop running until she reached the corner.

She turned back, panting.

The house stood quietly under the snowfall — still, silent, deceptively peaceful.

Then the lights flickered.

Once.
Twice.

And at 7:42 p.m. exactly…

The entire second floor went dark.

Evelyn clapped a hand over her mouth.

Someone was in there.
Someone who didn’t want her home.
Someone who had waited for that exact minute.

And someone else —
the hooded figure —
had tried to save her.