Page 115 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

People think obsession is like fireworks. With screaming. With someone losing their mind overnight. It doesn't. It’s about remembering. Then noticing. Then looking a little longer than everyone else. One photograph becomes two. Two become five. You remember what time they leave for work. Which coffee mug they reach for first. The way they rub the bridge of their nose when they're tired. Then, somewhere along the way… You realize you could draw their smile from memory...but you'd have to look in the mirror to draw your own.

The timer above the stove gave a sharp, mechanical ping, snapping me out of my thoughts. I hurried to the oven, slipping the thick oven mitt over one hand before pulling the cast-iron tray onto the wooden counter. Warm air rushed into my face. Butter. Vanilla. Brown sugar. The bittersweet smell of melted chocolate. The cookies were perfect. Golden around the edges. Soft in the middle. The oversized chocolate chunks still bubbled lazily in tiny molten pools, threatening to spill over the cracked tops.

"See?" I whispered.

"I didn't ruin them."

Gerald climbed onto the edge of the counter, squinting at the tray like a disappointed judge.

"They're slightly uneven."

"They're cookies," Frank sighed.

"They're circles."

"They're supposed to be circles."

"They're emotionally circular."

"I don't even know what that means."

"Neither do I."

I laughed quietly as I transferred six of them onto a cooling rack. Not seven. Not five. Six. Enough to share. Enough to pretend they weren't made for one person. Once they'd cooled just enough to stop steaming, I lifted them carefully into a clean white bakery box I'd bought a week ago... just in case.

I never admitted that part out loud. I folded the lid closed before reaching for the spool of dark green ribbon tucked inside the kitchen drawer. Around once. Twice. Pull. Loop. Tie. I frowned. The bow leaned slightly to the left. I untied it. Again loop, pull. Better. I trimmed one ribbon tail. Then the other. They had to match.

Perfect.

People notice those things. Or maybe they don't. I do. I was just smoothing my thumb over the ribbon. When I felt it . He was close. The low, familiar growl of a diesel engine working its way up the gravel road.

My heart skipped. Then started again much too fast. The truck rolled closer, tires crunching over loose stone before slowing outside the neighbouring cottage. The engine idled for only a second.

BANG.

The heavy truck door slammed shut. The sound echoed between the birch trees before disappearing into the valley. Heat rushed into my cheeks. Without thinking, I glanced down at the white dress, smoothing invisible wrinkles from the linen with both hands.

Did flour get on it? No. Chocolate? No. I tucked one loose strand of hair behind my ear. Then another. I wasn't nervous. I just...

I wanted to look nice.

"Seraphina."

Frank's voice was unusually quiet. I looked toward the windowsill. He wasn't frowning anymore. He looked… Concerned.

"Maybe don't."

Gerald nodded once beside him. No jokes. No complaints about ribbon symmetry. Just...

"Stay home."

"The mountain feels wrong, today."

I looked toward the front door. Toward the little cottage hidden through the trees. Toward him. The warm bakery box rested lightly in my hands. He'd smiled yesterday. Maybe today he'd smile again. Maybe he'd even eat one while it was still warm.

Maybe...

"I'll only be a minute," I said softly.