Edio Yenye Shavu

The house had no address, but Mara found it in the fog, drawn to a lone porch light. Inside, the walls were covered in photos of her—childhood, teenage years, even last night asleep. At the end of the hall, a blank frame began to develop, revealing Mara standing there, unaware of the tall shape smiling behind her. The lights went out. Something grabbed her. By morning, the house was gone—except for one photo, still hanging, with Mara trapped inside, screaming without sound, forever watching.