I jumped and turned around. She stood there with a serene smile, her hands clasped in front of her sweater. ‘Have you read the rules?’ she asked, her tone suddenly sharp. ‘All of them. Every word?’
‘I… yes,’ I stammered.
The smile never left her eyes. ‘And?’
‘They seem… thorough,’ I mumbled.
Mrs Wilkins moved closer. ‘Thorough is an understatement. These rules maintain order. Safety. And discipline.’
‘Safety?’ I repeated.
‘From chaos, dear,’ she said. ‘Chaos is everywhere. But not in my house. Never in my house.’
‘Have you had a bad experience?’ I asked, trying to sound casual.
Her laugh was fragile. ‘A bad experience? Oh, you have no idea.’
‘Did you say my brother Tommy can’t come?’ I asked, remembering my promise to look into housing options for him.
‘No visitors,’ she repeated, enunciating each word clearly. ‘Especially children. They’re… unpredictable.’
‘But…’
‘No exceptions,’ Mrs Wilkins interrupted, her smile frozen.
I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry.
‘I hope the rules aren’t too much of a burden for you, dear,’ she said, her voice regaining its former sweetness. ‘They’re very important to me.’
‘Of course,’ I stammered, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘I understand.’
But I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand how such a kind person could expect anyone to live by such rules. No key? No personal space? A lock on the bathroom door?
She kept her eyes on me as I mumbled something about needing to get ready for the day and retreated to my room, feeling her gaze on me.
Behind me, Mrs Wilkins hummed a tune that sounded almost like a nursery rhyme.
I heard her footsteps fade behind my door. Then, to my surprise, they stopped. The front door opened and closed. Through the window, I saw her walking towards a small greenhouse in the backyard.
This was my chance.
I leaned against the door, breathing unevenly. I had to get out. I couldn’t live like this… not when I was already so exhausted.
As quietly as possible, I began to pack my clothes into a suitcase. Every creak of the floorboards made my heart pound. I kept glancing at the door, half expecting Mrs Wilkins to appear with an anxious smile.
‘You’re making quite a lot of noise,’ a voice suddenly came from an old intercom that I hadn’t noticed before. ‘Would you mind explaining what you’re doing?’
I froze. My hand hovered over the sweater, my heart pounding.
Mrs Wilkins’ voice sounded as sharp as ever. ‘Have you forgotten rule number seven? Everything requires my approval.’
Beads of sweat formed on my temples as I finished packing my clothes into my suitcase. I zipped it up, picked up my things, and tiptoed towards the front door. But as I reached for the handle, a voice stopped me.
‘Leaving already, dear?’
I turned slowly. Mrs Wilkins was standing at the end of the corridor, her expression calm but her eyes sharp.
‘I… I forgot that I had something urgent to take care of,’ I stammered.
‘Oh, I see. Well, if you need to leave, then leave. But remember: everything is always worth discussing.’
Her tone was polite, but there was something chilling about it. The way she emphasised the word “must” sounded like a challenge… like defiance.
I nodded quickly, opened the door and stepped out into the fresh morning air.
I didn’t stop walking until I reached the park a few blocks away. My suitcase lay next to me on the bench as I tried to catch my breath. What now? I had nowhere to go, no backup plan. The thought of giving up and going home crossed my mind, but I couldn’t. My brother needed me to make it work.
‘Hey, are you okay?’ a voice broke through my thoughts.
I looked up and saw a guy about my age. He was holding a cup of coffee and a paper bag, his dark hair falling over his kind brown eyes.
‘Not really,’ I admitted.
He studied me for a minute, a calculating look in his eyes. ‘You look like you just escaped something. Not just a bad morning, but… something else.’
I tensed. ‘Why do you say that?’
He smiled. ‘I have a sixth sense about people who are running from something. Call it a talent. By the way, my name is Ethan.’
‘Rachel,’ I said.
He sat down next to me and handed me the bag. ‘Croissant? Looks like you could use one.’
‘Are you always this open with strangers?’ I hesitated before taking the croissant. ‘Thank you.’
‘Only with those who look like they have a story. What’s yours?’
While I was eating, I told him everything. About Mrs Wilkins, her strange rules, and how I had no idea what to do next. He listened, nodding occasionally, but his eyes never left my face.
‘That sounds harsh,’ he said when I finished. ‘But something tells me there’s more to this story.’
‘What do you mean?’
He leaned closer. ‘People like that old woman? They don’t just have rules. They have reasons. Dark reasons.’