Parasited.22.10.17.agatha.vega.the.attic.xxx.10... -

She took a pen and began to write a new list, not of things to trade but of things she would never say again. She wrote her brother's name and then struck it out

"Can I close it?" she asked.

On the third day the thing left a name.

"You're not leaving," said a voice in the dark, as patient as a door. Parasited.22.10.17.Agatha.Vega.The.Attic.XXX.10...

It arrived in the morning like a draft, as if the house had exhaled syllables through the cracks. Written on the underside of the attic floorboard in pencil—small, careful strokes that only made sense when she lowered herself into the light—were the words: parasited.22.10.17. She took a pen and began to write

She hired a cleaner who smelled of lavender and spoke of moving abroad. He found nothing but dust and a coin she didn't remember having. The coin was warm. The cleaner swore, then apologised; he left, though not before glancing at the attic hatch with a face like a man remembering an animal bite. "You're not leaving," said a voice in the