𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐞𝐰 / robin buckley ★

chapter two

"Come here, you little rascal!" Evangeline's dad called from across the living room, his voice playful and warm.

Evangeline giggled, watching as her father crept closer, his arms stretched out as if preparing to catch her. His grin was infectious, and her heart raced with the anticipation of their game. She clutched her raggedy brown stuffed bunny tightly, her wide eyes tracking his every move.

With every step he took, she instinctively stepped back, her small feet shuffling across the floor. Then, in an instant, her father lunged forward. Evangeline squealed in excitement, bolting toward the dining room as fast as her little legs would allow.

But she never stood a chance. Just as she passed him, her father swooped down and effortlessly scooped her up into his arms. She shrieked with laughter as he tickled her cheeks with one hand, her body wriggling as she tried to escape his grasp.

Her joyful giggles filled the room, but as they subsided, Evangeline looked up at her father, love in her eyes—until something changed. The light in the room seemed to shift, and her father's playful expression disappeared, replaced by a terrifying stillness.

"Daddy?" she whispered, her small voice trembling as she reached for his face.

He stood frozen, his body rigid, his eyes wide with terror as they stared at something she couldn't see. Evangeline turned to follow his gaze but saw only the blank wall in front of them.

"Daddy!" she cried, her voice rising in panic.

Suddenly, sharp, electric jolts shot through her arms and body, stinging her skin. Her father's face contorted in agony as arcs of electricity scorched his skin, leaving charred streaks in their wake.

"Mummy!" Evangeline screamed, her voice cracking with terror, but no one came. Her father's body convulsed violently, electricity crackling across his frame. With a thundering crash, he collapsed to his knees, sending a tremor through the house. The light fixture above them swayed, casting eerie shadows across the room.

Evangeline's breaths came in ragged gasps, her heart pounding in her chest. She reached out for her father, desperate to touch him, to pull him out of the nightmare that was unfolding before her eyes. But the air around him buzzed with static, pushing her back as if an invisible force was keeping her away. His eyes, once so full of warmth and laughter, were now clouded with pain and fear, his lips twitching as if he was trying to speak but couldn't find the words.

"Daddy, please!" she sobbed, her voice now in a whisper. The house seemed to close in around her, the walls darkening, suffocating. Her father's convulsions slowed, his body slumping forward in a motionless heap on the floor. Time seemed to stand still as she stared at him, willing him to move, to wake up, to be okay. But there was only silence—an eerie, deafening silence that hung heavy in the air.

With a gasp, Evangeline bolted upright in bed, her heart pounding as if it might burst from her chest. She clutched the sheets, gripping them tightly, trying to remind herself where she was. She wasn't in the living room. She was here, in her bedroom. It was just a nightmare. A nightmare that felt far too real, but a nightmare nonetheless.

Her breath came in short breaths as she tried to calm herself. These nightmares had haunted her almost every night since her father's death, each one different but always leading to the same horrifying end. The image of her dad electrocuted, writhing in agony until he collapsed and stopped breathing, replayed endlessly in her mind. And no matter how many times she woke up, the fear never lessened.

She had tried to talk to her mother, hoping for some comfort or words of reassurance. But her mother had brushed it off, telling her it was just a natural part of grief, something everyone experienced. But if it was so common, why had her mother never mentioned having nightmares like these? Why did it feel like no one understood?