The Last Glass of Water

It was a quarter to midnight when I padded into the kitchen, barefoot, the cool linoleum a stark contrast to the warm bedroom. My wife, Elara, was in her third trimester, and her cravings had her waking at odd hours. Tonight, it was water, ice cold. I didn’t bother with the lights; the dark was my old friend. I knew every corner, every counter, every creak of the floorboard near the sink.

I filled a glass, the ice cubes clinking softly. As I reached to put the tray back in the freezer, I flicked the switch off out of habit, plunging the kitchen back into its familiar gloom. I turned, ready to retrace my steps, when a shape detached itself from the deeper darkness near the hallway. It was small, no taller than five feet, a silhouette of a girl, with hair that fell to her shoulders, arms slightly raised. I could see only her top half, the rest swallowed by the shadows.

My heart lurched. I thought it was Elara, though she should have stayed in bed. ‘Babe?’ I said, my voice coming out steadier than I felt. The figure didn’t respond, just kept drifting toward me. The shadow was unnaturally dark, absorbing the faint moonlight from the window, a void with no features.

I stepped back, my hand gripping the edge of the counter. The glass of water was forgotten, trembling on the surface. ‘Elara?’ I tried again, louder this time. But the figure continued its silent approach. Then, I noticed something that made the hairs on my neck stand up: the figure had no feet. It moved without walking, like a wisp of smoke blown by a breeze.

A cold dread seeped into my chest. I wanted to run, but my legs were rooted. The shadow stopped just out of arm’s reach. I could see the outline of a face, but there were no eyes, no mouth, just a smooth, dark surface. It raised a hand, and I felt a chill, as if it had touched me, though it was still a foot away.

I finally found my voice, shouting, ‘Who are you?’ The figure tilted its head, as if puzzled. Then it began to fade, like the last bit of steam from a kettle, dissolving into the air. The kitchen was empty again, save for my ragged breathing.

I grabbed the glass of water and hurried back to the bedroom, my heart pounding. Elara was asleep, her hand resting on her belly. I slipped into bed, but I couldn’t shake the image of that shadow girl. I told myself it was a trick of the dark, a stray coat, a hallucination from lack of sleep.

But the next night, I woke to a sound like a soft sobbing. I found Elara standing in the dark hallway, her eyes wide. ‘There’s a little girl in the kitchen,’ she whispered. ‘She said she wants to meet the baby.’