People say that the city never sleeps. However, there are moments, like the heavy, dry hours between twilight and midnight, when silence should signify safety in certain rooms. Children's laughter used to linger in the air like dust motes, capturing light. Anna Cole used to believe that love could hold everything together, even as everything inside her was unravelling.
It started with Anna's voice, cold, short, full of rage and ancient wounds.
"You're never here, Mark!" Anna yelled into the phone, her voice shaking with fury.
"I am here," she went on. "I'm always here—with the kids, the bills, and the mess you leave behind."
She stood barefoot in the living room, one hand gripping her phone tightly. The other hand trembled slightly, still greasy from cooking plantains. The smell of oil clung to her clothes and sank into her skin. Her children, Gabriel and Sara, watched cartoons in the corridor behind her, half-asleep with blankets wrapped around their legs.
"You left, Mark! Don't you dare try to flip this on me. You lied. You packed a suitcase like another business trip, but you're with your mistress the whole time."
She returned to the kitchen, flipping the plantains in the pan while still yelling into the phone.
Suddenly, Sara spoke in a small voice from the corridor. "Mummy, I'm hungry."
Anna snapped, shouting at the top of her lungs, her voice sharp and angry. "Shut up!" "I'm already cooking!"
Anna's heart twisted slightly, and she turned from the stove, forgetting it was still on. A small blue flame still licked beneath the pan. Oil splattered gently, whispering of danger.
"How heartless are you?" her voice rose, sharp and raw. "You chose to leave your family, and you're happy living with your mistress."
Meanwhile, behind her, a quiet sound.
Tiny footsteps. A soft, rising voice.
"Mummy?"
Anna didn't respond.
"You think I won't notice?" she continued, pacing now, unaware of the slight scent creeping through the kitchen—plastic, then smoke. "You're off somewhere, playing Mr. responsible with your mistress and thinking I'll sit here and watch you maltreat us like you always do."
"Mummy?"
This time it was louder—Gabriel's voice.
Then Sara. "Mummy, see!"
The argument on the phone kept getting worse. Every word felt like a knife. Anna stepped outside, needing to get away from Sara and Gabriel's voices. She shut the door behind her. Mark's voice on the other end had turned into nothing but noise—taunts and twisted truths she refused to believe.
Meanwhile, back in the living room, the fire had spread from the kitchen and caught the curtains. Gabriel and Sara were terrified. Their faces were filled with fear as they screamed and called out for their mother.
Anna hadn't noticed the fire spreading through the house. Smoke had filled the rooms, but she was still caught up in her argument with Mark. It wasn't until a neighbour, alarmed by the smoke pouring out of the windows, shouted and pointed toward the house that she turned around.
She froze. Thick smoke was everywhere. The phone slid from her grasp as fear seized hold, and she rushed toward the house. When she flung the door wide, smoke spilled out, blinding her.
"Gabriel! Sara!" She cried, her voice breaking.
From inside, Gabriel's voice came through, weak and coughing.
"Mummy!"
Then—boom.
The fire hit the gas. An explosion erupted, throwing Anna backwards. She hit the ground hard outside, the force of it knocking the air from her lungs as the house roared behind her.
Anna slowly stood up from the ground, her clothes on fire, and flames licking her skin. She turned to see the house completely on fire. She screamed as she hurried towards it, but neighbours rushed in and held her back.
She fought back, thrashing and sobbing in an attempt to break free.
"My babies!" "Let me save them!" she pleaded, her voice hoarse with pain.
But the heat was so fierce that no one could go inside. The flames had consumed everything.
The neighbours tried calming her down, but their voices barely reached her through the noise. Finally, her strength ran out. She sank into their arms, screaming, shaking, and sobbing violently.
Anna snapped back to reality.
She was on the floor of her room, her back resting against the bed, her body trembling. Her face was pale, her eyes sunken, and it looked like she hadn't slept in days. She sat there, lost, empty, too tired to think, too haunted to rest.
Then the voice came.
Mummy…
It was faint, distant.
Anna jolted upright.
"Sara?" she whispered.
The voice called again from the hallway.
Mummy…
She stood up and proceeded cautiously towards it, her heart hammering. Her eyes widened as she walked into the corridor. She saw them—Sara and Gabriel—deep in the shadows.
But they weren't as she remembered. Their small bodies were burned, their skin blackened and blistered, like something plucked from fire. They stood motionless in the dark, staring at her.
Anna broke down.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry…"
She slumped to the floor, shaking, extending her arms out to them as tears flowed down her face. The children didn't move. Their charred figures just stood there, observing her.
From behind, Jill left her room and found Anna lying on the floor, crying and shouting their names.
"Anna? Are you okay?" Jill asked gently, walking toward her.
Anna didn't respond; she kept reaching out, repeating their names, and her voice broke.
"Anna, what you're seeing isn't real. It's Larry. He's messing with your mind," Jill said, her voice more urgent now. "Please… you have to pull yourself out of this. He's using your past to torment you."
Anna kept crying, shaking her head, refusing to let go of what she saw. When Jill tried to help her up, she pushed her away, sobbing harder, calling her children.
"Anna, listen to me!" Jill cried, desperate. "Larry is feeding off this pain! He's using it to control you!"
But Anna couldn't hear her. She was too deep in it—too far gone, drowning in her misery, as Jill stood helpless beside her, watching the past take hold.
Jill reached for her again, desperate to pull her back to reality, but Anna shoved her off with a sudden burst of rage.
"Don't touch me!" Anna screamed.
Jill stumbled back, stunned. That voice—it wasn't just grief. It was something darker.
Before Jill could speak, Anna turned and marched to the balcony. Her steps were hurried, her eyes wide with distress.
"Anna, where are you going?" Jill called, fear creeping into her voice.
Anna didn't answer. She flung the balcony door open, the cold wind rushing in. Jill's heart dropped. She knew what was about to happen.
"Anna, stop—please!" Jill cried, running after her.
But it was too late.
By the time Jill reached the balcony, Anna had already climbed over the edge—and was falling from a two-storey building.
Jill's scream tore through the night.
"Nooooooooo!"
She dropped to her knees, her hands shaking, tears spilling uncontrollably as she stared down.
But then, just as the silence closed in, a faint voice rose behind her.
"Jill."
It wasn't Anna's voice.
It was something else.
Jill paused. Her breath caught in her throat as a chill ran down the back of her neck.
Then—darkness.