Chapter 2: The House at the edge of Town (2)
The waitress poured the coffee slowly, deliberately, as if she had nowhere else to be and all the time in the world.
Her movements were unhurried, almost ritualistic, the pot tilted at a careful angle as the dark stream flowed into the mugs. It steamed faintly as it hit the ceramic, thin wisps of vapor curling upward and vanishing beneath the diner’s lights.
The smell filled the space between them, rich, bitter, unmistakably real.
It cut through the stale air and lingering tension in a way nothing else had, grounding Evan more effectively than any reassurance Mark might have offered.
His shoulders loosened just a fraction as the scent reached him, dragging his attention back to the table, to the chipped mugs, to the familiar hum of the place.
For a brief, dangerous moment, he let himself imagine it.
If he drank enough of it.
If he kept his hands wrapped around the warm mug.
If he stayed right here beneath the humming fluorescent lights and the slow spin of the ceiling fan, maybe he’d be safe.
Maybe whatever waited for him at home couldn’t follow him into a place this ordinary, this well-lit.
The thought was tempting, and terrifying.
Because even as the coffee settled, even as the waitress moved on without a word, Evan knew better. Safety like that never lasted. It was a pause, not a solution. And the longer he clung to it, the harder it would be to let go.
She didn’t leave when she was done.
Instead, she slid into the booth beside Evan, the vinyl seat sighing softly under her weight as it adjusted to the sudden shift.
The space was tighter than it looked, and she didn’t bother creating distance.
She settled in close enough that her thigh brushed his through the thin fabric of his jeans, a brief, unmistakable point of contact.
Evan stiffened immediately.
It wasn’t dramatic, just a sharp, involuntary tightening, like his body had reacted before his mind caught up.
His shoulders drew in a fraction, breath hitching as he became acutely aware of how near she was, of the warmth beside him that hadn’t been there a moment ago. He didn’t pull away. He also didn’t relax.
Across from them, Mark blinked.
The fork in his hand froze halfway to his mouth, a bite of eggs forgotten as his gaze flicked from Evan to the empty space on the other side of the booth, then back again.
Surprise crossed his face, followed quickly by confusion, as if he were trying to reconcile this new arrangement with the conversation they’d been having seconds earlier.
The diner lights hummed overhead.
No one said anything.
The closeness lingered, heavy with unspoken intent, and Evan sat there caught between the instinct to flinch and the strange, grounding reality that for the moment, he wasn’t alone.
“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked lightly, already settling in. Her smile was warm, practiced, but her eyes lingered on Evan in a way that made his skin prickle. “It’s dead tonight. Might as well get some company.”
Up close, she smelled faintly of vanilla and something older beneath it, like dust warmed by sunlight.
Her nametag read Lena, the plastic scratched and yellowed with age.
Evan couldn’t help noticing that she didn’t look old enough for the wear the diner showed, or the way she moved like she’d been doing this job for far longer than made sense.
Mark shrugged.
“Uh, sure. Yeah. No problem.”
Lena wrapped her hands around her own coffee mug, though Evan hadn’t seen her pour herself any. “So,” she said, eyes flicking between them, “I couldn’t help overhearing. Ghosts, huh?”
Evan’s stomach dropped.
Mark chuckled awkwardly.
“You heard that?”
“Hard not to,” she said.
“Place echoes when it’s empty.”
She leaned her elbow on the table, chin resting in her palm.
“I love this stuff. Hauntings. Spirits. Residual energy. It’s all fascinating.”
Evan took a careful sip of his coffee, buying time. It tasted thin, burnt—but it was hot, and that was enough.
“It’s not… fun,” he said quietly. “It’s not like those TV shows.”
Lena’s smile softened.
“Oh, I know. Those shows are all jump scares and night-vision nonsense. Real hauntings are personal. Intimate.”
Her gaze locked onto Evan’s.
“They choose you.”
The word sent a chill down his spine.
Mark laughed again, louder this time.
“You sound like you’ve done your homework.”
Lena shrugged.
“I read. I listen. People talk more than they think, especially late at night.” She tilted her head. “And sometimes, they don’t even realize they’re being talked to.”
Evan’s fingers curled around his mug.
“You believe him?”
Mark asked her, nodding toward Evan.
“I mean- no offense, man. I believe you. I just mean-”
“I believe him,” Lena said without hesitation.
The certainty in her voice was unsettling.
No skepticism, no polite doubt.
Just acceptance.
“Why?” Evan asked. His voice came out rougher than he intended.
“Because you’re exhausted in a way sleep deprivation alone doesn’t explain,” she said.
“Because your eyes keep tracking sounds that aren’t happening. Because you smell like cold air and old wood, not like a normal guy who hasn’t slept.”
Her lips curved slightly.
“And because whatever’s with you hasn’t let go yet.”
Mark shifted in his seat. “Okay, that’s… creepy.”
Lena laughed, a soft, musical sound.
“Sorry. Occupational hazard.”
“What occupation?”
Evan asked.
She waved a hand. “Oh, this and that. Mostly this.”
She gestured around the diner.
“But I have hobbies.”
She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
“So what kind of entity are we talking about? Poltergeist? Shadow presence? Something bound to the structure?”
Evan stared at her. “I don’t know. It’s just… there.”
“That’s usually how it starts,” she said.
“They don’t like being named too early.”
Mark blinked. “They?”
Lena’s smile didn’t falter.
“Force of habit.”
There was something in her tone then, a hairline crack in the cheerful enthusiasm.
A sharpness that flashed and vanished before Evan could be sure he’d seen it.
Her eyes glinted, just for a moment, with something hungry.
“You should see it,” she said suddenly.
Evan’s heart skipped. “See what?”
“The house,” Lena said. “The activity. Firsthand.”
She looked between them, eyes bright.
“I’d love to see it in action.”
Mark snorted.
“You’re kidding.”
“Why would I kid about that?” She smiled at him now, slower, more deliberate.
“You’d be surprised how many people pay good money to experience what your friend’s getting for free.”
Evan shook his head. “No. That’s a bad idea.”
“But you said the landlord won’t do anything,” she pressed. “And you can’t leave yet. Wouldn’t it help to have someone else confirm it’s real? Someone objective?”
“I don’t need confirmation,” Evan said. “I need it gone.”
Lena’s fingers brushed his wrist, light as a whisper. “Sometimes,” she murmured, “things like that don’t leave until they’re acknowledged.”
The touch lingered a second too long. Evan’s pulse jumped, a confusing mix of fear and something warmer, more dangerous.
Mark cleared his throat. “Look, it’s late. And he hasn’t slept in three days. Maybe another time.”
Lena turned her attention to him, and Evan felt the sudden absence of her gaze like a physical thing. “You scared?”
Mark opened his mouth, then hesitated. “I mean- no. I just-”
She smiled wider.
“Because I don’t scare easy.”
She leaned back, crossing her legs, posture casual.
“Besides, I wouldn’t be alone. I’d have two big, brave guys with me.”
Her eyes flicked over Mark appreciatively, then back to Evan, softer now.
“And you wouldn’t have to go back by yourself tonight.”
That hit harder than Evan expected.
The idea of not being alone in that house, even for a little while, sent a wave of relief through him so strong it made him dizzy. His gut twisted immediately after, a sharp, insistent warning.
This is a bad idea.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said.
Lena’s smile faltered, just a fraction. Something colder slipped through. “I know more than you think.”
The words hung between them, heavy.
Then she laughed, bright and airy again, the moment gone.
“But hey, if it’s too much, I get it. I just thought…”
She shrugged.
“Ghosts are better with an audience.”
Mark looked at Evan.
Evan looked at his coffee, at the faint reflection of his own drawn face in its surface. For a split second, he thought he saw something else there, a darker shape hovering just behind him.
His stomach clenched.
“What do you think?”
Mark asked him quietly.
Evan swallowed. Every instinct screamed at him to say no. To finish his coffee, go home alone, lock himself in his bedroom and endure whatever waited for him until dawn.
But the thought of walking into that house by himself again, of the breathing, the voices, the scratching, made his chest tighten.
“If you really want to,” he said slowly, hating himself a little, “we could… drive by. Just for a bit.”
Lena’s eyes lit up. Not with excitement.
With satisfaction.
“I’d love that,” she said, already sliding out of the booth. “I get off in ten minutes.”
Evan watched her walk back toward the kitchen, the fluorescent lights flickering as she passed beneath them.
His gut twisted again, harder this time.
He knew, knew, that whatever waited for him in that house was listening.
And he had the terrible, creeping sense that by agreeing, he hadn’t brought help home with him at all.
He’d invited something else along for the ride.
