The Shadowy Corner
In Segment Three, the She Shed begins to remember. Lila steps deeper into the quiet, and everything inside seems to be watching. Even the flash drives.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Lila didn’t close it. It did that on its own. Not loudly—just a soft, final sound, like a book being placed back on a shelf.
She stood still.
The room smelled like old paper and cedar shavings. Dust floated in the air like sleepy fireflies. A desk sat near the window, cluttered with odd little towers—some blinking, some silent. Flash drives, she realized. But not like the ones at school. These looked… alert.
To the left, a bookshelf leaned slightly, filled with mismatched volumes. One had a feather tucked into its spine. Another had a lock. A third was humming.
And in the far corner, in a rocking chair carved from dark wood, sat a woman.
Lila hadn’t noticed her at first. The shadows wrapped around her like a shawl. Her eyes were closed, her hands folded in her lap. She looked old—not in a brittle way, but in a way that made Lila think of tree roots and thunderclouds.
The chair creaked once.
Lila took a step forward.
The flash drives blinked in unison.
The woman didn’t move.
Lila’s heart thudded. She wasn’t sure if she was scared or curious. Maybe both. Maybe that was the same thing.
She reached toward the desk.
One of the mice appeared.
Just like that—no sound, no warning. It stood on its hind legs, whiskers twitching, eyes bright. It looked at her. Then at the woman. Then back at her.
Lila whispered, “Is she asleep?”
The mouse tilted its head.
Then it pointed.
Not at the woman.
At the glowing symbol carved into the desk.
If a mouse pointed you toward a glowing symbol, would you touch it?
Or would you wait to see what it does first?