Nothing Ever Goes Right!

Evelyn Hart had three problems.

The first was that she was broke as hell.

The second was that she was painfully bad at talking to people.

The third was that she had just managed to embarrass herself in front of approximately forty-seven strangers.

Possibly forty-eight.

She wasn't counting the guy who had left in the middle of her live stream.

"Great," Evelyn muttered.

She stared at the screen.

LIVE ENDED.

Duration: 11 minutes, 32 seconds.
New Followers: 3

Two were clearly automated crypto accounts, and the third was her cousin, who had commented "Why are you sweating so much?" midway through her lip tint review.

Evelyn locked her phone and dropped it face down on her mattress.

"I'm quitting."

Her room remained silent.

"I mean it this time. I am never opening that app again."

Still nothing.

Evelyn let out a long breath and flopped backward onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. There was a faint crack in the plaster right above her head that looked vaguely like a crooked tree. Or a hand reaching down.

Her phone buzzed against the blanket.
For one foolish second, she hoped it was a brand reaching out to sponsor her. Or maybe the algorithm had suddenly pushed her video to thousands of people.

Notification: Your mobile account balance is running out. Recharge immediately to retain active benefits.

"Right. Of course."

She tossed the phone aside.

Twenty two years old, working an unpredictable retail shift, earning virtually nothing, and apparently lacking the basic human charisma required to talk to a phone camera for twelve minutes without choking on her own spit.

Tap.

Evelyn froze.

The sound had come from her window frame. A sharp, rhythmic metallic knock.

She sat up slowly. Outside her third floor bedroom window, perched on the narrow ledge, was a crow.

It was massive. Larger than any bird she’d seen around the neighborhood, with feathers so dark they almost looked oily in the late afternoon sun.

"Shoo," Evelyn said, waving a hand at it from her bed.

The bird didn't flinch. It tilted its head, fixating a round, glassy eye directly on her.

Tap.

Tap.

It knocked its beak against the glass twice more, deliberate and unnatural, like a person knocking on a front door.

"Okay... definitely weird," she whispered.

She slid off the bed, grabbed a rolled up magazine from her desk, and took a cautious step toward the window. As she raised her hand to pull the curtain shut, a sudden, sharp sting shot through her left wrist.

"Ow—!"

Evelyn dropped the magazine. It felt like someone had pressed a hot needle against her skin. She grabbed her arm, thumb pressing hard into the flesh just below her palm where the burning sensation flared.

Outside, the crow let out a single, harsh screech, spread its heavy black wings, and launched itself off the ledge into the twilight.

Evelyn held her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs. She pulled her hand away to look at her wrist.

The skin was red, warm to the touch. And right in the center of her pulse point, a faint, dark smudge was settling beneath the surface. It looked almost like a stray ink stain, a tiny, curved outline shaped like an open eye.

She rubbed at it with her thumb. It didn't smear.

"What on earth..."

Far away from Evelyn’s small bedroom, across three city blocks and down an alleyway no map had ever successfully recorded, a bell chimed above the door of a cramped, windowless shop.

Inside, sitting behind a counter stacked high with bound parchment and dried herbs, an old woman opened her eyes.

The ambient hum of the city outside seemed to drop an octave, swallowed by the silence of the room.

The woman slowly smiled, her weathered skin folding into deep creases around her mouth.
"Finally," she rasped.

Around her, the flame of every single candle on the shelf flickered, stretched tall, and died.

And somewhere beneath the ancient floorboards, something heavy and sharp scratched against the wood.
Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The woman leaned forward over the dark wood of her counter and whispered a name into the sudden pitch black.

"Evelyn Hart."

And something in the darkness answered.