In the broad daylight, the Silvanus house felt alive — sunlight spilling across the floors and walls, the garden's fragrance drifting through every room. The house...
So. Loud. (—_—')
The noise of machines, chatter, and nagging erupted through the house like a volcano going off. Sandra bolted upright in bed, staring blankly at her father.
"Hey, old man — what do you think you're doing in my room?" she grumbled, half-asleep and half-furious.
Her father flashed a bright smile, pointing at the vacuum cleaner. "Cleaning. What else would I be doing in here?"
She groaned, exhausted, glancing at the clock. "It's only six in the morning!" She slammed her fists into the bed, shooting him a dead-eyed glare.
"Good morning, then."
"Good morning, my foot." She threw off the blanket and stomped out of the room.
"Oh? You're up early," her mother said. Sandra gave her a blank look. "Wouldn't have to be, if you all kept it down." Her mother sighed, wiping down the dining table, unfazed by the sarcasm.
"Well, since you're up — help out a bit."
"Work? Now? What, am I free labor to you?"
"So you're a paid laborer, then?"
"Mom!"
"Shut up and do the laundry."
"Mom..."
"What — are you trying to argue with me?"
"Why would I?"
"Then go do the laundry. Have you seen the state of that room? When was the last time you even did laundry, Sandra?"
Too tired to argue, Sandra gave in, shuffling to the laundry room like a zombie. A faint, sour smell hit her the moment she walked in.
"Oh. That's... bad." She stared at the pile of clothes. "When even was the last time?" she muttered, nudging the pile with her foot before turning to the washer. She stared at it, fingers hovering over the buttons — nothing registering.
She kept staring at it from different angles. Before she could come to any conclusion, her brother walked in. "What are you staring at? Get to work," he said, pointing at the washer.
She pointed at it too. "It's like... there's no muscle memory of using this thing, Andrew."
"Huh? What do you mean?"
She pressed her lips together, tapping her foot. "...I don't know how to use it?" she said, so flatly that it took him a moment to register.
"What?" he gasped. "Are you seriously telling me you don't know how to use a washer?" His voice cracked with disbelief.
"Oh — it's called a 'washer'?"
For a moment he was too stunned to speak. "You don't even know *that*?!"
"Then how have you been doing laundry? Please tell me you're not wearing dirty clothes." He flinched back, but she grabbed his arm.
"I don't know. I always just found my clothes ironed and in my wardrobe."
"Oh my god. This woman." He smacked his palm to his forehead, realizing his sister was a lost cause. He let go of her, pointing toward the door.
"Get out before I kick you out."
"You could've said that more politely. Hmph."
"Isn't being this dumb enough?! Out, now!"
"Okay, okay, I'm going! Stop yelling!"
"Sweetheart, how do you not know how to do laundry?" Ms. Silvanus asked, filling a glass with orange juice. Sandra took a sip and groaned. "Mom, please don't bring up my embarrassing history."
"It's been five minutes — since when is that 'history'?" Andrew shot back, smirking.
"Past of the past is history, dumbhead," she replied, matching his tone.
He choked on his juice, spilling it across his plate. Their parents exchanged a look, foreheads meeting their forks in unison.
"Hey — don't ever, even by accident, tell people I'm your brother in public, okay?" She narrowed her eyes, deadpan. "Dumbass," she muttered, going back to her breakfast.
"So who's been doing your laundry, then?" Mr. Silvanus asked.
"Turns out it was Glenda Linohour. Of all people."
"Hey — isn't she your manager? How can you have her doing your chores?" Ms. Silvanus scolded, pointing her fork at Sandra. "I had no idea. She used to come over early — I thought she just wanted to crash and hang out after work. Turns out she's been doing my chores the whole time, without me knowing."
"Until today, apparently," Andrew teased. She ignored him.
"Yeah. So what's your issue?"
"C'mon, San — don't be mad at your Bubba." He slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in. "Ugh, get off, dumbhead." She tried shoving him away while the rest of the family laughed softly. She glared at them, playing along.
"Say 'Bubba' and I'll let you go."
"Never. Geez."
"Just say it — what's the big deal?" her mom said, laughing with her husband. Sandra rolled her eyes, exasperated.
"C'mon, say it. *Bubba.* Say it." Andrew kept it up until she finally gave in, embarrassed.
"Ugh. Fine." She braced herself. "...Bubba. Let me go."
"Sure thing, sis."
"Ugh. Ugh. Ugh." She made a face at him, and the whole family burst out laughing.
"I hate you all," she mouthed.
"We love you," they mouthed back. She mimicked them, laughing, hiding her face in her hands.
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Sandra scrolled idly on her screen, glancing at Glenda from the corner of her eye. Glenda noticed, not looking up from her work. "What? Why are you staring at me?"
Sandra sat up straight, locking eyes with her. Glenda flinched slightly but kept working.
"Nothing. Were you serious about being my slave?" Sandra asked, deadpan.
Glenda's brows knit together, eyeing her strangely. "Are you insane? Do you even know what you just said?"
"I know exactly what I said," Sandra said confidently. "Also — I found out who's been doing my chores behind my back."
Glenda's fingers froze mid-air. Her gaze rose slowly to meet Sandra's — sharp, wary. "...No idea what you're talking about." She lied, as usual. What she didn't know was that Sandra's brother had armed her with a little ammunition this morning.
Peak intelligence, really.
"Oh, really? Let me remind you — my house has cameras." Case closed. "Surrender now, before I cuff you," Sandra threatened, pointing a stylus at her like a weapon.
And just like that, Glenda folded the moment "cameras" left Sandra's mouth. "...Fine, it was me. So what — gonna ban me from your house now?" Her tone flipped, suddenly intimidating. Sandra recoiled.
"Oh, no — that's not what I meant, Glenda."
"Then what *do* you mean, woman?"
Sandra could only dream of having the upper hand. In reality, that title belonged to Glenda — permanently. Poor Sandra Silvanus.
"Nothing. I just meant — why do my chores in secret? I would've helped you."
"If I don't ask for help, it's none of your business." Glenda's tone left no room for argument, and Sandra took a step back. "You're not even paying me, so just enjoy the free service. Old woman."
Sandra's eyes went wide. "Old woman? *Me?*" She shook her head. "You're getting way too bold, woman."
"Is that a problem?"
"Oh, no, not at all. Go off, free woman." Sandra said sarcastically, storming out. "I'd get more out of talking to a wall," she muttered.
"I heard that, old woman!"
"Then give *me* some freedom too!"
Glenda glanced at Sandra; Sandra glanced back. Glenda picked up her phone and called her. Sandra looked from her phone to Glenda.
"You know we're like, ten feet apart, right?" Sandra said, making a face.
"Shut up. I haven't given you your freedom yet." Glenda smirked at Sandra's exhausted expression. "What do you want?"
"Get inside. We need to talk about Amy."
Sandra's brows shot up. "Coming, right now."
Sandra walked in and shut the door, dropping onto the couch, waiting for Glenda to start.
"Look at this." Glenda slid the morning paper across to her. The front page covered two fatal accidents from the day before.
"Oh — this one. This is where I thought I saw Amy." Sandra tapped the photo of the young man's accident.
"I know. But look at this — were you near here last night?" Glenda pointed to the second headline: an elderly woman's death, ruled an accidental fall from the ninth floor, though the footage left things unclear.
Sandra stared at the building in the photo — and as the memory hit her, her eyes went wide.
"I— I saw her again, here. Smoking under the awning, at the corner." Sandra said hesitantly, watching Glenda's reaction unravel.
Glenda leaned back, staring at the ceiling, hands tucked behind her head. "Things have been getting weird ever since... and now I'm remembering something."
"What incident?" Sandra asked.
"Remember the day you broke into my place, claiming I gave you a key — right after I'd been asking about Amy?"
"Yeah — we found a dead rat at your door." Glenda sat up straight. "Right. And that morning, I'd been talking to Amy. Then, before I even noticed — she was just... gone."
"'Gone' keeps coming up, every time her name does. Is there something about her we don't know?"
"Maybe, maybe not. All we have are fragments — not proof. We shouldn't jump to conclusions."
Sandra nodded slowly, eyes drifting back to the headlines. They sat heavy in her mind. She blinked, refocusing on Glenda.
"Is..." Sandra dragged it out, making sure she had Glenda's full attention. "...Is she connected to these deaths somehow?"
"Like I said — we can't justify anything yet, Sandra."
"No — let's just go with a 'what if,' for a second." Glenda fell into thought, then nodded. "So... what if she's connected to these accidents? Indirectly, somehow?" Sandra's voice dropped to almost nothing.
"Even if we entertain that — based on what?" Glenda kept her tone grounded, even while humoring the idea.
"Based on... she shows up right before someone dies, then vanishes after. Like her whole presence revolves around death." Sandra pieced the theory together out loud, fragment by fragment.
"Be logical, Sandra. You're basing this on what *you* experienced." Glenda said it gently, trying to keep things light.
"I can't help that. You need to think outside the box, Glenda — otherwise you'll never get what I'm trying to say."
"Fine, we'll consider it — but what does it actually add up to?"
Disappointed, Sandra dropped the theory, slumping back against the couch.
"Fine. But I'm not letting go of the idea that she's some kind of... shadow person."
"Skepticism's healthy, sure — but don't let it take over. Otherwise you'll end up not trusting anything. Not even the people closest to you." Glenda said, turning back to her laptop.
Sandra watched her for a moment before slipping out quietly. Glenda didn't seem to notice she'd left — but then again, no one was better at hiding things than Glenda.
Through the glass wall, Sandra watched her. "Why does it feel like she's hiding something? She's all about logic and skepticism... and that's exactly what feels off."
She walked on. Behind her, Glenda watched her figure disappear from view.
"I know you're not buying any of this. Let's see how far your little theory takes you."
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