The Pact of Protection

The silence in Emma’s room was a thick, heavy blanket, muffling the usual hum of the house. Salsa sat on the edge of the bed, her heart a frantic bird trapped in her chest. Emma, usually so full of questions and stories, was curled into a ball, her small hands fisted over her ears as if to block out something only she could hear. The air itself felt charged, prickling with an unseen energy that made Salsa’s skin crawl. Melissa. The name was a cold stone in her throat.

“Emma, honey,” Salsa whispered, her voice raspy. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Emma’s eyes, wide and shimmering with unshed tears, found her mother’s. “She… she wants something else, Mommy. Something big.” The fear radiating from her daughter was a physical blow. It wasn’t just the usual apprehension after one of Melissa’s strange gifts. This was deeper, a primal terror that Salsa recognized all too well. Melissa was no longer just a peculiar figment of Emma’s imagination. She was a presence, a hungry shadow growing larger with each passing day.