“Here, catch!”

  Little Mavis looked up just in time for half a candy bar to smack her square in the face.

  “Ow,” she said, grinning through the pain. The chocolate piece hit the blanket-covered floor with

  a soft plop.

  From across the basement, Maggy burst out laughing. “You’re hopeless.”

  Mavis giggled and scooped up the candy. “Five-second rule,” she said, licking a smear of

  chocolate from her finger.

  “Yeah, yeah. Glad I didn’t throw the whole thing. “That stuff’s sacred.”

  Maggy flopped down beside her, stealing the juice box from Mavis’ lap and sipping it first, just to

  annoy her. The old basement couch creaked beneath them. It was musty and probably a bit

  moldy, but it had become their little ritual space—movie nights, stolen snacks, no grown-ups.

  The TV in front of them was still off. It hadn’t mattered.

  “So,” Maggy said, nudging Mavis with a socked foot, “How was school today?”

  “Okay. Boring.” Mavis leaned her head against her sister’s shoulder.

  Maggy snorted. “You say that everyday.”

  “It’s true every day.”

  Silence hung comfortably between them for a moment.“Did you atleast pick a movie this time?”

  Mavis squinted at her. ‘‘Nope. Nothing we haven’t seen already.’’

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Maggy nodded understandingly.

  “Maybe I just like this. Being down here.”

  Maggy smiled. It was soft, a little sad. She reached over and tousled Mavis’ already messy hair.

  “I like this too,” she said, pulling her little sister into a warm hug.

  THREE DAYS LATER.

  It was cold now.

  Quiet in a way that wasn’t peaceful.

  The TV was still off. The candy wrapper sat abandoned beside her, the juice box tipped and

  empty. The couch seemed larger. Emptier. Shadows clung to the corners of the room like dust

  that refused to settle.

  Mavis sat curled on the floor, knees tucked to her chest. Dried tears streaked her cheeks.

  Upstairs, muffled voices cut through the floorboards. Her parents again. Arguing. Pleading.

  Failing. The words were too warped to understand—but the tones weren’t. Grief. Anger.

  Something close to guilt. Or blame.

  ‘‘ —just talk to her, for God’s sake—’’

  ‘‘I can’t, Helen. I don’t know how to even-’’

  ‘‘She’s just a child! She must be devastated-’’

  ‘‘So are we. We just buried—!’’

  Little Mavis cupped her ears. It had been days. Maybe longer. Time had blurred into something

  wet and gray. Her mother had hugged her once, tight and trembling—but then vanished into her

  room and hadn’t come out since. Her father pretended he needed to ‘take care of the

  arrangements.’ Mavis didn’t even know what those were.

  People had come and gone- neighbors, relatives, friends in uncomfortable shoes with casseroles

  of food they never finished. She remembered someone crying into her hair. Mavis gave them

  tissues but they didn’t want it. Someone else asked if she needed water. She nodded. The water

  never came. “Weirdos”, Mavis thought to herself.

  No one said her sister’s name. Like if they didn’t, maybe she’d come back.

  Mavis rocked gently, hands wrapped around her ribs like she could hold herself together that

  way. But it wasn’t working. The ache in her chest had become something sharp, a twisting pain

  made of emptiness. She tried to breathe through it, but each inhale caught on something raw.

  The voices upstairs blurred, slurring together like rain on glass. All of a sudden, the world felt

  tilted.

  She wanted to scream. But she didn’t.

  The pain in her chest was too much. Mavis’ vision swam and her fingers went numb. Her body

  was too tired, too small, too alone.

  So she let herself fold. Fold into the silence. Into the cold.

  “Is this what it feels like to die?”

  The thought didn’t scare her. It just crossed her mind. And then—

  The basement lights flickered. Not like a light going out, but like the room itself hiccupped.

  The air grew dense. Thicker. The walls breathed in.

  Mavis blinked.

  She was still on the floor. But something wasn’t right.

  She turned her head, barely.

  And there it was.

  A door that had never existed before.

  Wooden. Ornate. Carved with tiny, shifting symbols that made her head spin if she looked too

  long. There was no handle. Mavis felt a quiet tug in her chest. Like a magnet.

  Something— or someone banged on the other side of the door. The very next second, the little

  door flung open. Bright yellow light seeped into the basement through the open doorway.

  Then she heard a whisper—not in her ears, but somewhere deeper:

  “Come on, then. Can you follow the light?”

  Mavis didn’t get up. She didn’t need to.

  The doorway—or whatever it was—folded inward and took her with it.

  And then she was gone.