The Girl with the Knife 🗡️ 2️⃣

Part Two — The Girl in the Kitchen She couldn't move. The little girl's voice had come from downstairs. But there was something wrong with it. It sounded exactly like her. Not similar. Exactly. She tightened her grip on the photograph. “Who's there?” she whispered No answer. Then— Chop. She flinched. The sound came again. Chop. She slowly descended the stairs. One step. Then another. The house felt different. Colder. The kitchen light flickered at the end of the hallway. She reached for the wall and moved closer. Then she heard humming. A familiar tune. One her mother used to sing when she was little. She stopped outside the kitchen. The door was slightly open. Through the gap, she could see someone standing at the chopping board. A little girl. Bare feet. Long black hair. A white dress. And a knife in her hand. The girl was chopping carrots. Chop. Chop. She whispered, “Who are you?” The little girl stopped. Her head tilted slowly to the side. Then she turned around. The girl's face was pale. Too pale. But the eyes— They were hers. Her exact eyes. The little girl smiled. “You finally came back.” She couldn't breathe. “Back from where?” The little girl looked down at the knife. “You always forget.” “Forget what?” The little girl raised the knife. Blood began dripping from its tip. “What you did to me.” She stumbled backward. “No…” The little girl took one step toward her. “You killed me.” “No!” She ran. She didn't know where she was going. She only knew she had to get away. She reached the front door. Pulled it open. And froze. Outside wasn't her street. There were no houses. No road. No neighbours. Only a vast, dark forest. She turned around. The kitchen was gone. The hallway was gone. The house was gone. She was standing alone in the forest. Then she heard footsteps behind her. Slow. Bare. Step. Step. Step. She turned. The little girl stood between the trees. Still holding the knife. Still smiling. “You can't run from a place that lives inside you.” The girl lifted the knife. And suddenly— everything went black. She opened her eyes. Morning sunlight poured through the curtains. She gasped. Her mother was sitting beside her bed. “Are you alright?” She stared at her. “Mom…” “Yes?” “Do I have a sister?” Her mother's face changed. Just for a second. Fear. Then it disappeared. “No.” She sat up. “Are you sure?” Her mother stood. “Of course I'm sure.” She turned toward the door. Then stopped. Without looking back, she whispered: “Don't ask me about the little girl again.” And walked out. She sat frozen on the bed. Because her mother had just confirmed something she had never told anyone. The little girl was real. Part 3 .........

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