People grieve in different ways. According to Kübler-Ross, the last stage of grief is acceptance, but my grandmother, Eleanor, is nowhere near it. It's been months since my grandfather's death, and she's still stubbornly stuck in denial. 

I haven't seen her in person since grandad passed. Phone calls are few and far between, and she avoids most family attempts to check on her. But after my mother's call saying grandma has started shutting everyone out, I know it's time for me to visit. Ben can't come yet, but he'll join us later. So, I make my way to the house grandma and grandad shared for over forty years.

As I approach the house, a knot tightens in my chest. The place hasn't changed much, but I immediately notice the overgrown garden, once so lovingly cared for. The flowers and herbs my grandmother planted have grown wild and tangled, creeping over each other like they're suffocating the space. The trees, which used to provide cool, comforting shade, now stretch up with bony branches, casting long, eerie shadows in the dreary weather.

It's clear she's let things go.

I grimace at the sight of dirt crusting the outdoor chairs. They haven't been used in a while, and it's painfully obvious. I ring the doorbell twice, shifting my weight and listening closely. The house is silent. A crow caws loudly from a tree branch overhead, its black eyes following my every movement. Its squawk feels like an omen. I've been watching too many horror movies again.

Finally, the door creaks open, startling me. Grandma stands there, struggling to pull it fully open. Her frail hands tug at the door, and with a final yank, she steps aside to let me in.

"Hi, Grandma," I greet her, trying to inject warmth into my voice despite the heaviness in the air.

Her hair, once auburn, is now fully gray, pulled back into a loose bun. She wears a baggy, faded blue sweater over a plain dress, her eyes distant and clouded.

"Nora," she says, her voice soft and distracted. She touches my hair briefly, as if trying to recall something. "You're here."

I hug her gently, startled by how fragile she feels in my arms. She's lost so much weight, and I can't help but worry. "I missed you," I say, pulling back slightly to grab the suitcases I've hauled up the front steps.

She glances at the bags, looking slightly puzzled. "Ben's flight is at the end of the month," I remind her. "He'll be joining us then."

She nods absentmindedly and gives me a little space as I drag my things inside. The house feels smaller than I remember, though it hasn't changed much. The leather armchair in the living room sits untouched, like a shrine. It was my grandfather's favorite spot.

I follow grandma into the kitchen, where she's already preparing cucumber sandwiches. The kitchen feels cramped, more so than it should. The table is cluttered with old mail and dirty cups, and there's a faint smell of something stale hanging in the air.

"You must be hungry," she says, her hands moving slowly as she pulls together the sandwiches.

"Oh, you don't have to—"

"Nonsense," she cuts me off, her voice firm but weary. "It's not much, but it'll do."

I settle at the small kitchen table as she places a plate of sandwiches and two cups of water in front of me. She sits beside me, her movements stiff, almost robotic. I watch her as we eat, worry gnawing at me. She's barely touching her food, more like picking at it without noticing.

"How's Mom?" I ask, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

She stiffens, her sandwich halfway to her mouth. She puts it down slowly. "Fine, I suppose," she mutters.

"You haven't seen her?"

"She doesn't visit anymore," she says flatly, avoiding my gaze.

I nod, trying to keep the conversation light. "She told me she'll stop by on Monday for tea. Is that okay?"

Grandma sighs heavily, staring into her cup. "If she must," she murmurs. "We're out of tea, though."

"I'll pick some up," I offer.

Grandma seems to soften, but only slightly. "She made quite a scene last time she came. Always been dramatic, your mother."

I pause, knowing exactly what she's talking about. "She said you wouldn't let anyone inside the house."

Her face tightens. "I was in the shower," she snaps. "I told them that."

"I know, Nan. But it had been weeks since anyone saw you. They were worried."

She purses her lips, clearly not wanting to hear it. "I don't need anyone worrying about me. I'm fine."

I sigh, giving up on pushing the subject for now. "I'm just glad to be here," I say softly, hoping to change the tone.

Grandma gives me a small, forced smile but says nothing. The silence stretches out, and I can tell she's retreating into herself again. As the sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows in the house, the mood grows even more somber.

"You've gotten taller," she mumbles, scratching at the bread between her teeth.

I look at the cup in my hand. There's a tiny bit of tea left. I like to finish it cold. I don't think humans grow taller past the age of eighteen or something like that. 

"I have?"

"You seem taller to me."

Maybe you're shrinking grandma. And that terrifies me.

Silence fills the house again before grandma finally excuses herself, saying she's going to bed. "I sleep early these days. It's better that way."

I nod. "Okay, that's fine. I can clear up."

She hesitates for a moment. "Nora, leave the downstairs corridor light on, would you?"

"Sure," I drawl. I bet that spikes her electric up quite a bit.

"He tends to bump into things down there," she says cryptically before leaving the doorframe.

My skin prickles at the odd comment. I shrug it off, chalking it up to her age, but there's something unsettling about the way she said it. I finish cleaning up and lug my bags upstairs, deciding to respect her request and leave the hallway light on. It must be tough living alone after so many years with grandad. I should be the last one to judge the way she decides to deal with it. Even though the ring on my left hand should earn some understanding, I don't think I completely get it yet.

After settling into the guest room, I check my phone for messages. Still no response from mom. No surprise there. I guess John sees me online because he calls a moment later.

"How's it going?" he asks, his voice is always so soothing. "Wanted to check if you'd landed safely. Flight was alright?

"It was fine. A bit of turbulence, but not too bad. There's a storm on its way tonight apparently."

"Good that you made it. I'll say a prayer tonight in thanks."

I pause, knowing he's serious.  "Thanks."

"And how's your grandmother?"

"She's alright. We hung out a little before going to bed."

"That's good. You know, I love that you're there for her, spending time. Sometimes I wish I could do the same." 

"Grandma forgot you're flying in later. I know she's excited to meet you."

"I am too."

I glance at the clunky clock on the wall. "Anyway, how was your day?"

"Busy. I spoke with Father after Mass about some updates to the church hall. They've decided to move ahead with the repairs."

"Good, that needed to happen."

"It did. It's long overdue. There's a lot of talk about raising funds for the new heating system too. They've asked me to help manage the fundraisers."

"That's good. I expect you'll be a whole lot busier then."

"Mostly on the weekends. Maybe after classes, if I have the time. Though, there was some disappointment that the wedding won't be here."

Not this again.

"Really?"

"It's understandable. We were part of the community for so long."

I know. 

"Anyway, they're happy for us. And we're role models for so many of the youth here too. That we decided to do things the right way, God's way."

After a brief pause, he clears his throat. "Anyway, you should rest. I'll let you go."

"Okay. Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Nora. I'll call you tomorrow."

My eyelids grow heavy as the soft hum of the night lull me into drowsiness. My tense muscles ease into the sheets, thoughts blurring into a dreamlike haze. Just as I drift off, still somewhat tethered to my consciousness, a sudden jolt runs through my body. I sit up, heart racing, unsure of what I heard. The room, now eerily silent, feels colder, as if something unseen shifted in the darkness. I hadn't had sleep paralysis for over a year. Was it even that? Had I even fallen asleep?

I hear it again—a faint knocking sound from downstairs. My heart quickens as I tiptoe to the hallway. The light I left on casts an eerie glow down the stairs, but everything is still. Maybe I dreamt it. 

The knocking is suddenly loud, rhythmic and deliberate. Someone or something is down there.

I feel a chill run down my spine. I step closer to the stairs, peeking down. Then, suddenly, there's a loud crash. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. I have no choice but to go downstairs and investigate.