Salem, Oregon. 11:23 PM. Rain.
Umi didn’t like small towns. Too many people pretending to know each other.
Her piece of the book was warm in her pocket. The cat was asleep in the carrier.
The address: 8 Hawthorne Lane.
A blue house. Toys on the porch. Wind chimes.
And on the window, a drawing taped up. A dog. Very detailed.
Under it, in crayon: RIP Buddy. He was good.
Umi knocked. No answer.
The door was unlocked.
Inside smelled like crayons and bleach.
On the wall: dozens of drawings. Cats. Birds. A rabbit. A horse.
All with dates under them. All dated yesterday.
And under each drawing, in smaller letters: gone today.
"Hello?" Umi called. Voice flat.
Footsteps.
A girl came down the stairs. Maybe 10. Bare feet.
Black hair. Big eyes. Holding a sketchbook.
She looked at Umi. Not scared. Tired.
"Are you here to take my book?" the girl asked.
Umi shook her head. "I’m here because of the animals."
The girl hugged her sketchbook. "I don’t mean to. I just... I get so sad. And then I draw them. And then they go away. So I don’t have to be sad anymore."
Umi knelt down. The cat in the carrier meowed.
The girl’s eyes lit up for one second. "A cat?"
"Her name is Ghost," Umi said. "She’s mine. No one takes her."
The girl nodded. "I’m Lila."
She opened her sketchbook.
Blank page. Then her hand moved by itself.
A drawing started. A white cat with blue eyes.
Umi grabbed her wrist. Cold. "Don’t."
Lila looked up, eyes wet. "It hurts less when they’re on paper. The Hunger tells me it’s kinder this way."
The book piece in Umi’s pocket burned.
Umi pulled it out. Page 1 of her quarter:
_Umi: The girl in Salem draws animals. They all die the next day.
Remember her. Don’t feed her. Don’t sit._
Umi closed the book. "You’re not feeding it. It’s feeding on you."
Lila started crying. "I tried to stop! I threw away my crayons! But then I dream and wake up and there’s a new drawing..."
From upstairs: click
A plate being set down.
Umi stood. "Stay here."
Upstairs: a small desk. One chair.
On the desk: a plate. White. Blue rim.
And a sketchbook open.
New drawing. Half-finished. Umi’s face.
The Hunger whispered from the walls:
_"Draw her. And she’ll go away.
And you won’t be sad anymore."_
Umi picked up the sketchbook. Tore the page out.
Burned it with her lighter.
The house screamed. Not Lila. The house.
The plate cracked.
The wind chimes outside all broke at once.
Umi went back downstairs.
Lila was on the floor, holding Ghost’s carrier.
"Did I... did I hurt it?" Lila whispered.
Umi sat next to her. For the first time in years, she let someone lean on her.
"No. You just did the hardest thing. You remembered them without erasing them."
She opened her piece of the book. Wrote with a pen:
_Lila. Age 10. Salem.
She draws to remember. Not to forget.
Author: Umi._
The words glowed, then sank into the page.
Lila looked up. "Will they come back? The animals?"
"No," Umi said. Honest. "But they won’t disappear anymore either."
From the book, a new line appeared:
Salem: Hunger contained. Author stable.
Outside, it started raining again.
But this time, crickets were back.