That evening, Brett unlocked the apartment door with his shoulder, balancing a grocery bag in one hand. He heard voices inside. Raj's laughter. Lisa's softer tone responding. Normal. Warm. He stepped in. The lights were already on. Not bright — just enough to soften the corners of the room. Raj was sitting cross-legged near the coffee table, explaining something about a spaceship made of building blocks. Lisa listened attentively, elbows resting on her knees, head slightly tilted — as if she had nowhere else to be. "You're back!" Raj said, running over. Brett smiled. "What are we building today?" "A launch station," Raj replied. "Lisa said this house would make a good one." Brett raised an eyebrow playfully. "Oh?" Lisa folded the last shirt and placed it neatly on the stack. "I said it has strong walls," she corrected gently. "Old construction. They built things to last." Her tone was light. Informational. Nothing strange about that. In the kitchen, Brett opened a cabinet to grab plates. Lisa was already beside him. She reached up — not hesitating — and took down two plates from the shelf above. The correct shelf. He paused. "I didn't tell you where those were," he said casually. "You didn't have to," she replied with a faint smile. "Most kitchens are arranged the same way." Maybe. He hadn't thought about it. She moved easily through the space — not exploring, not snooping — just navigating. Like someone who learns layouts quickly. Later, Brett was searching for the small toolbox. He checked the hall closet. Nothing. He muttered something under his breath. "Laundry cabinet," Lisa said from the living room. He looked at her. "Top shelf, right side." He found it exactly there. He tried to remember moving it. Maybe he had. "You've got a good memory," he said. She shrugged slightly. "I notice where things are." That was true. Some people just did.
It began small. Small enough that Brett didn't think to question it immediately. One afternoon, he found Raj standing on a chair near the living room wall. The wall where the painting hung. Raj's fingers were resting lightly against the plaster just below the frame. "What are you doing?" Brett asked. Raj didn't turn around. "Listening." "To what?" Raj tilted his head slightly, as if concentrating."They used to stand here." "Who did?" Raj finally looked at him. "Lisa said they used to watch from this side. It's quieter here." Brett felt something tighten in his chest. "Watch what?" Raj shrugged. "The room." Brett glanced toward the kitchen. Lisa was rinsing dishes, back turned, humming softly. "Did Lisa tell you that?" Brett asked carefully. Raj nodded. "When you were at work." Brett stepped down from the chair and gently lifted Raj off it. "Okay," he said lightly. "No more climbing." Raj accepted that easily.Children repeat things all the time. Maybe she'd meant something else.Maybe he misunderstood. A few days later— Brett woke in the middle of the night.He heard soft footsteps in the hallway. Not heavy. Not hurried. Measured. He stepped out of his bedroom and saw Raj standing near the front door. Barefoot.Staring at the lock. "Raj?" Raj didn't respond immediately. "What are you doing?" Raj spoke quietly. "She said this door was stronger before." Brett frowned. "Who said?" Raj blinked slowly, as if waking up. "Lisa." The hallway light flickered faintly. Brett crouched down. "When did she say that?"Raj looked confused now. "I don't know." "Was she talking about our door?" Raj hesitated. "No."A pause. "Another one." Brett felt his mouth go dry. "Go back to bed," he said gently.Raj obeyed without argument. In the morning, Raj remembered none of it. Lisa said she had slept through the night. Her tone was calm. Not defensive. Another time— Raj was drawing at the table.Brett leaned over to look. The drawing showed a rectangle on a wall. Inside it, stick figures. Not trapped.Just standing. "How many are there?" Brett asked. Raj counted softly. "Two." "Who are they?" Raj tapped the paper. "They stay behind." "Behind what?" "The door." Brett felt the room grow a degree colder. "What door?" Raj looked puzzled. "The one that isn't open yet." Brett swallowed. "Did Lisa tell you about that?" Raj frowned. "No." He hesitated. Then added quietly— "She just said they used to wait." Brett looked toward the kitchen. Lisa was standing near the sink. Not watching them. Not listening. Just drying a plate. That evening, Brett asked her casually, "Do you tell Raj stories about the house?" She smiled faintly. "Sometimes he asks about old buildings. Children are curious." "Do you tell him about… people who lived here?" Her hands paused for only a fraction of a second before continuing. "I don't know who lived here," she said. It wasn't defensive. It wasn't emotional. It was simply stated. Brett studied her for a moment. There was nothing in her face. No fear. No guilt. Just quiet. He nodded. "Right." Later that night— Raj stood in the hallway again. But this time he wasn't moving. Just looking at the antique clock. Brett approached slowly. "Why are you staring at it?" Raj answered softly: "She said it doesn't like being watched." Brett's heartbeat stumbled. "Who said that?" Raj's eyes remained on the clock. "Lisa." Behind them— A floorboard shifted. Brett turned sharply. Lisa was in the kitchen doorway. "Bedtime," she said gently. Raj blinked. As if something released him. He walked past her without another word. Brett stared at her. "You said that to him?" She looked genuinely confused. "Said what?" "That the clock doesn't like being watched." A slight crease formed between her brows. "I don't think I'd say that." The silence stretched. Then she added softly— "It's just a clock." And walked away.