Chameleon Magazine

After her husband died, Mara found herself alone in a house that no longer slept. At night, small creatures crept from the corners — quick and whispering, their movements like tiny shadows come alive.

They gathered near the sink, by the fruit bowl, beneath the window. No matter how she swept or scrubbed, they returned.

“They come for the crumbs,” a neighbor told her.

But Mara knew better.

“They come for the silence,” she whispered.

Because since her husband’s laughter had vanished, silence had become the loudest thing in her home. Each night she would light a lamp and sit with her tea, staring at the dark corners.

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” she would sigh.

The creatures never answered — they only moved, softly, like thoughts she didn’t want to think. One night, in her exhaustion, she fell asleep in the chair. She dreamed that she was in a garden made of moonlight. The tiny creatures were there too, but now they had wings like glass.

They spoke in a language of hums and ripples:

“We are not here to haunt you. We are here because your grief has left the door open. When you heal, we will go.” When she woke, her lamp had burned low. The bugs still scurried — but something had shifted. She no longer saw monsters, only small seekers, chasing what was left of warmth and crumbs and sorrow.

That morning, Mara began to change small things. She opened the curtains wide, let the light in, wiped away the shadows. She boiled lemon peels and mint, their scent filling the air — bright, living, clean. She put bay leaves in the corners, lavender on the windowsill, and spoke kindly to her home as if to a friend rediscovered.

And slowly, the creatures disappeared.

Not because she fought them, but because there was nothing left in her house for them to feed on — not crumbs, not silence, not grief. One night, she sat again with her tea, the house quiet at last. Outside, the wind moved through the trees, carrying her husband’s favourite scent of rain.

She smiled faintly.

The tiny shadows were gone. But in their leaving, they had taught her something the world never could:

Even the smallest tormentors come to show us what we still need to heal. When your heart grows light again, the darkness finds nowhere left to hide.