I wasn’t alone. Not really. The candle knew itbefore I did. Its flame kept bowingtoward the empty doorway,like someone unseenhad stepped onto the porch. I packed my bowlwith trembling hands,struck the lighter,and watched the smokedrift inside the housewithout a single breeze. Someonewas breathing. Not loudly. Just enoughto remind methat abandoneddoesn’t always mean empty. The ivy…

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