“We’ll be leaving to meet your grandmother now. Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?” Amaya’s mother asked her for what seemed like the fourth time at the dinner table.

Amaya sighed as she replied, “Yes, mama. I’ll be fine. Anyway, I have a test tomorrow, so I’ll be busy studying.”

“I was just confirming since we’ve never left you alone at night before,” her mother said, shrugging. “Also, please don’t watch anything scary on the net and try to sleep early.”

“Mama! Don’t put scenarios in my head now,” Amaya whined.

Later that night, Amaya was sprawled on her bed, reading her favourite literature book. Her parents had gone to see her grandmother, who had suddenly fallen ill, about half an hour ago. Only the soft rustling of pages broke the silence as she turned them; the rest of the house was completely still.

When her concentration broke, she suddenly became aware of the deep silence surrounding her. Her mind began to fill with all sorts of scary scenarios. Clearing her throat, she tried to focus on the book again.

A few minutes passed in vain when she heard a thud downstairs. A chill ran down her spine — nobody was supposed to be in the house. Amaya quickly shut her book and got up. She crept to her bedroom door and pressed her ear against it.

There was pure silence.

“I must be getting paranoid. Let’s just go to sleep, Amaya. It’s okay,” she told herself.

She returned to bed, locking the door as a last-minute precaution. Lying there, she stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, clutching her comforter tightly. Her ears were on high alert, and sleep refused to come.

Then, as she shifted on the bed, she heard it again — footsteps. This time, she was sure someone was in the house. She could hear drawers and doors opening and closing downstairs.

Amaya’s heart pounded. “This can’t be happening. What should I do? Should I call Baba? He’ll know what to do.”

Her hands trembling, she grabbed her phone and dialled her father’s number while tiptoeing towards the washroom. But midway, she froze — she could hear her father’s ringtone echoing faintly somewhere downstairs. She quickly ended the call.

‘Oh no! Dad, how could you forget your phone? Now whoever’s in the house will know someone’s awake,’ she thought, rushing into the washroom and locking the door.

While trying to decide what to do next, she heard footsteps on the stairs. After a few tense moments, a voice called out, “Why is this locked?”

Amaya trembled, clutching the wiper in her hand like a weapon. Then came a knock.

“Amaya?”

She froze. “Wait… what?” she whispered.

“Amaya? Are you in there?” the voice called again.

Her eyes widened — she recognised the voice. It was her father’s. She quickly opened the door, and there he was — standing there, about to knock again.

“Why did you lock your… wait, why are you holding that wiper? And why do you look so…” he began, puzzled by the scene.

Amaya cleared her throat. “Ah, no. Nothing. I was just…” she stuttered, putting the wiper down. “What are you doing here?”

“I forgot my phone. I might get an important call, so we had to come back to get it,” her father paused, smiling slowly. “Wait, you thought someone was in the house, didn’t you?”

“No! No, I didn’t!” Amaya shrieked, embarrassed to accept she was scared.

“Yes, you did! It was your call that helped me find my phone,” he laughed.

“Baba! That’s not funny. Don’t laugh,” Amaya said, pouting. “And don’t tell anyone about this.”

Her father chuckled. “Okay, I won’t. It’ll stay between you and me. Want to come with us? We’ll be back before your test tomorrow.”

“Yes, please, let’s go,” she said quickly, grabbing her essentials as they left together.

Published in Dawn, Young World, October 18th, 2025