It had been a week since Lilith started working at Granny's Place, and for a moment—just a moment—she almost believed the shop was normal.
KEYWORD: Almost.
Her daily routine had settled into something familiar: wake up, take a lukewarm shower, dress in whatever clean-ish outfit she had left, then head straight to work. Once inside, she'd clock in, fetch her supplies from that room, and begin the day's tasks.
It was that room she hated the most.
Dim, cold, and crawling with a silence that felt alive—every time she entered, Lilith fought the impulse to sprint back out. She even considered leaving the lights on overnight, just for some reassurance.
But Granny, with her ghost-like appearances and cryptic logic, refused. "Electricity isn't free," she said with her thin smile. "We conserve here."
Lilith would roll her eyes in secret. "What's the cost of light compared to peace of mind?" she'd mutter under her breath. That eerie space was the reason she'd started sleeping with her bedside lamp on again. And the switch—if it existed—seemed to move around like it had legs.
Granny was weird, too. Lilith could swear the woman had teleportation skills. Every time she tried to take a mid-morning break, Granny would pop out from behind a curtain or mirror with perfect timing, eyes twinkling with suspicious intuition.
Was it motherly instincts? Or just otherworldly surveillance? Hard to say.
Today began like any other.
Her alarm blared like a fire drill, making her leap out of bed—and right onto the floor. She groaned, rubbing the spot she now considered her official bruising zone.
"This alarm hates me," she grumbled. And yet, she never changed it. Maybe she liked the drama.
After a quick shower and a series of minor clumsy accidents—including slipping again—Lilith dressed in her usual low-effort uniform: a pink top, white plaid skirt, and her trusty pink sandals. Her hair went up, then down. She skipped makeup, as usual. Who was she trying to impress? The haunted porcelain dolls on aisle three?
At least the job paid well. Suspiciously well. Every weekend, Granny handed her a fat envelope—no receipts, no explanations. Just thick stacks of cash.
Lilith didn't ask questions. She paid her rent and bought decent coffee. It felt sketchy, but she wasn't in a position to be picky.
On her walk to work, she stopped by a corner café for her usual breakfast sandwich and lukewarm coffee. The barista greeted her by name now. That was nice. A little sliver of routine in her otherwise unpredictable life.
But the ache she carried—the quiet ache of loneliness—still sat beneath her smile.
Her friends had moved on after graduation. They lived in the city now. Saw her, ignored her. The memory stung. Sometimes, she wished for one person—just one—to share stupid memes with, binge late-night series, or lean on during rough days.
But no. She was alone.
She reached the shop, greeted the empty air, and blinked.
Granny wasn't there.
Odd.
She was always at the front desk in the morning, then vanished as soon as Lilith entered the back room. Like clockwork. But today? Silence.
Shrugging it off, she entered the room.
Back to the day's first challenge: locating the elusive light switch.
She stumbled through the dark, arms outstretched, scanning the wall blindly. Her palms grazed cobwebs. Cold tiles. Empty air.
And then—thud. Her third fall of the morning.
"Classic," she muttered, now completely fed up. But as she rose from the floor, something changed.
The room lit up on its own.
She froze, blinking against the sudden glow. "So… there's a secret switch?" she whispered.
But then she looked up. And her breath caught in her throat.
What she saw made her heart hammer in her chest. The warm light did nothing to erase the chill creeping up her spine.
Any fantasy of normalcy she had about Granny's Place?
Gone.