The woman jolted awake with a strangled gasp.

Footsteps echoed from the adjacent room as her bedroom door creaked open.

"Everything okay?"

She stared at the boy, dazed, lost in thought, saying nothing. He, in turn, watched her with concern, hesitating between stepping inside or staying put. The footsteps next door suddenly stopped. The boy whipped his head around, suppressing an incomplete scream, while the woman turned to face him.

"Do you feel it, child?"

The boy nodded, sheer terror twisting his face as he clung to the doorframe, pressing himself against it in distress.

"Ma'am, is it here?"

"No. No..."

"It's here."

"No, but it's close."

"..."

The woman composed herself, though it took effort. She reached for a robe hanging by the door and slipped it on before opening the door above the boy's head without even brushing against him. Together, they made their way downstairs.

In the kitchen, the woman brewed an infusion, poured two cups, and placed them on the table—one at the boy's seat, the other at her own. He eyed the steaming cup, then looked at her.

"I know, I know. But I feel better this way. If you don't drink it, I'll just have both," she said, smiling with a forced sense of camaraderie.

The boy grimaced, pushing the cup away before looking back at her.

"Are we safe?"

This time, it was she who grimaced.

"When have we ever not been?"

The boy gave a nervous smile.

"Don't worry, it's not like you're going to die or anything," she teased, her voice mischievous.

The boy forced another smile, but he was clearly unsettled.

The woman took another sip from her cup just as a sharp, heavy thud rattled the kitchen window overlooking the backyard. The cracked glass was proof that what they heard was real, that they hadn't imagined it. The woman stood and moved cautiously toward the window to investigate, while the boy remained seated, shoulders hunched.

"Coward."

This time, neither of them laughed.

The woman peered outside and saw a blackbird writhing on the ground, its head bloodied. Pressing her forehead against the glass, she felt the cool mist of dew seeping through the fractures. Suddenly, the boy was beside her. She turned to look at him just as he let out a shriek.

"For the love of God, what is it, child?" she snapped, startled by his reaction.

"It is here!"

"What are you talking about, you fool? Of course it's not!"

The boy, suddenly looking even younger, raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the far end of the garden. The woman, shaken, turned reluctantly. She had no desire to see what lay beyond. But if the boy was telling the truth, she dreaded whatever she might find.

She followed the direction of his outstretched finger, her breath catching in her throat. Something lurked in the shadows. Squinting, she leaned in closer to the window and whispered a plea for God's mercy. She felt the boy's eyes on her, and just as she was about to turn toward him, a figure lunged from the darkness, pouncing onto the blackbird. Its eyes never left hers as it tore into its prey.

The boy bolted upstairs, screaming, while a cat devoured the bird's head.

Above them, footsteps stirred, moving with intent. Like in the old rituals, they descended steadily, traveling down from the upper rooms and out through the front door, which slammed shut with such force that the fractured window shattered entirely. Glass shards rained to the floor, sending the woman stumbling backward as the cat vanished, leaving behind the decapitated, half-eaten bird by the window.

Somewhere nearby, a feline hiss rang out, followed by a low growl.

The woman, now bracing herself against the back of a chair, never took her eyes off the backyard, fully aware that something far more menacing was about to unfold.