The Kitchen Friend

April 28, 2026

by Shawn

I was very small when we moved into the house on Elm Street. My mother said it had history, but she never told me what kind. The walls were thick and the floors creaked in a way that sounded like conversation.

I first saw her in the dining room. A woman in a faded yellow dress was arranging flowers that weren’t really there. I called her Lily. She would smile at me when I played with my blocks, and sometimes I’d see her watching from the doorway when I ate my breakfast.

One afternoon, a man in dark clothes appeared behind her. He moved quickly toward me, but Lily stepped between us, her hands held up. I ran to find my mother in the garden, my heart beating fast against my ribs.

After that, Lily became my secret guardian. We played hide-and-seek in the empty rooms, and she’d sit near my bed at night. I couldn’t hear her voice, but I knew she was kind.

Then one morning, her face changed. Her eyes looked dark and her mouth was a thin line. She stared down the hallway toward my parents’ room. I followed her, asking where we were going. My parents looked up from their books, confused by my questions to the empty air.

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