They said that the mind goes quietly, but I disagree because mine didn't whisper; it screamed…
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When I heard the voice, I was sterilizing the twins' feeding bottles. It was 1:50 a.m., and Master was asleep in the nursery chair. I smiled when I saw his mouth slightly open, and the burp cloth still draped over his shoulder like a sash of exhaustion. The twins were now asleep, and miraculously, they were sleeping soundly. The house was now silent, well, except for the low hum of the sterilizer. Then… a whisper sliced through it.
"They're watching you."
I froze. The bottle in my hand slipped under the water for too long, scalding the tips of my fingers. I didn't flinch then, my eyes looked onto the window over the sink, locked on it, and there was no movement. All I see was just the reflection of our cluttered kitchen, dimly lit by the nightlight plugged into the far wall. Still, I felt it… there is something behind the reflection, a shift like a ripple across glass.
