Image credit: Leiko Ikemura
Before the Dawn Breaks
Chapter One
It was supposed to be my last night. I was heading straight to her when I noticed a little girl by a grave, clutching a dirty doll, looking completely disheveled. What was she doing here alone at this hour? She must be lost. Mom would’ve hated it if I ignored her. I had no choice; I walked toward her.
“Hey sweetie, what are you doing here at this hour?” I asked.
She looked at me, eyes wide with surprise.
“You talking to me?!” she asked.
I blinked. “Uh… yeah?! No one else is here. What’s your name? Are you lost?”
I gave her a warm smile.
Her big eyes grew even wider. “Damn! You can really see me…”
I laughed. Her tone didn’t match her face or her age, which somehow made her even cuter.
“So you’re playing ghost, huh?”
As I reached out to pat her head, I froze. I couldn’t feel her!
“Ain’t playing, kid,” she said, unfazed.
With a shriek, I stumbled back and fell to the ground.
“You dumb!” she sighed. “Did it ever cross your mind what a little alive girl would be doing here at this hour?”
She shrugged. “Can’t help you up—my hands been kinda ghosty.”
She turned to leave, then glanced back over her shoulder.
“But seriously… How can you see me?”
I rubbed my eye, half hoping the dusk had tricked me.
“You’re… a ghost!” I mumbled.
The wind picked up, scattering the flowers from her grave. The setting sun cast a red, eerie glow. My gaze fell on the headstone—a photo of the same girl, smiling wide:
Evelyn
1958–1965
“Damn, you stink of death, more than I do,” she said, scrunching her nose.
Suddenly, her eyes lit up.
“You must follow me, kid,” she said, excited.
“W… wait… what? Where?” I stammered.
“Don’t worry, I won’t eat you,” she said with a grin. “As long as you do as I say.”
She laughed—villainous but somehow cute.
I took a careful step back.
“It’s just… I have something important to do.”
She hopped in front of me. Arms folded like a grumpy grandmother.
“Dying, is it? Charming!” she snorted. “Since you’re eager for the grave, help me find someone before. Vile man. Might kill you. But you’re half-dead already.”
I followed her out of the cemetery. She walked a few steps ahead. Arms crossed. Scowling at the dim light, as if it were insulting her.
“Walk faster, kid,” she said. “I don’t have all eternity, and neither do you.”
I kept up, trying not to look like I was sweating. The street was empty, lined with houses that smelled like burnt wood. She drifted over a low fence like it wasn’t there. I had to climb.
“You know,” she said, bouncing slightly on her toes, “life is funny. People complain about stuff all the time. Rain, homework, cereal shortages, then one day, they just… don’t exist anymore. And they can never notice the good things.”
I glanced at her. She wasn’t smiling. Just matter-of-fact, like she had seen it all.
“I guess,” I said quietly, unsure what to say.
“Guess faster, young man,” she snapped. “Or you’ll end up boring the dead, and I don’t like it.”
We passed a small bakery. The door jingled open, and a little boy walked out, holding a pastry in one hand and his mother’s hand in the other, smiling wide. The smell of warm sweets drifted through the street.
“See that?” she continued, poking the air like she wanted me to feel it. “People doing stuff that makes life… not horrible. Even if you die, it’s still nice sometimes.”
I swallowed. I wasn’t used to thinking about things like this. But somehow, seeing her watch life without participating made me notice it differently.
We climbed the hill, toward a crooked gray cottage in the woods. The air grew colder, the trees older, branches scraping like fingernails against windows.
“There.” She pointed. “That’s him. Old. Weak. Still a coward.”
I paused. The house leaned slightly. Paint peeling. Windows shuttered. Evelyn’s small figure drifted ahead, serious for the first time.
“Ready?” she asked.
I nodded.
The basement door was hidden behind debris, almost as if no door existed, and sealed with rusty chains.
“We’re lucky,” she said. “The old bastard’s somehow deaf now. Just break it with a rock.”
I did as she said. The chain finally gave way. Dust and the smell of rotting wood hit me as I opened the door. A staircase led down. She hovered ahead, waiting. I turned on my phone light. At the bottom, in the faint light, I saw it: her small skeletal body, still clutching the worn doll. My stomach turned.
“Careful,” she whispered. “It’s my souvenir.”
I knelt, hands trembling. When I gently lifted the doll from her tiny skeletal hand, everything went still.
Memories flooded my mind.
***
A boy, no more than five, was crying in the woods.
“Ethan, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Evelyn shouted.
“I lost Mr. Bunny…” Ethan sobbed.
“Mom clearly told us not to come into the woods,” she scolded him. “You know some weird man lives there.”
Ethan cried harder; Evelyn pulled him close.
“Stop crying, Ethan. I promise I’ll get Mr. Bunny. Just go home.” She gripped his shoulder. “Don’t tell anyone we were here, okay?! Mom would kill us if she found out.”
He nodded, terrified, too young to understand. Evelyn ran deeper into the woods.
She stumbled into the abandoned cottage, struggling against the young lunatic man. She clutched the stuffed bunny so tightly, her knuckles went white. With all her tiny strength, she shoved him and broke free. But he grabbed her again.
She slipped, crashing down the basement stairs. Blood smeared across the concrete. The young man froze, panicking, then rushed to the door. Their eyes locked as he slammed the door shut. She was still breathing.
The door was never opened again—for decades.
Everyone searched for her, but Ethan—too scared to speak—hid in his room. Evelyn watched him, begging him to say something. But he couldn’t hear.
She was never found. Their parents eventually gave up; they still had another child to care for. So they made a fake grave hoping it would make things easier for Ethan… and for themselves.
Evelyn simply watched them in silence.
***
I blinked, back in the basement. The doll was in my hands. Evelyn touched my shoulder, somehow I could feel her now.
“Well? You finally understand why I’m clingy?” she joked.
A shaky laugh escaped me as tears spilled down my cheeks. “Yeah… I think I do.”
She shrugged. “Good. Let’s move on.”
She looked at her bones and her hands, now empty. The doll’s ghost in her grip vanished like smoke. As we turned toward the exit, the old man appeared in the doorway.
“How dare you step onto my land!” he shouted. Then his eyes fell on Evelyn’s skeleton.
“I… it was her fault,” he stammered. “I… I told her it wouldn’t hurt… I told her it was just gonna take a minute—”
Evelyn drifted behind him.
“Pathetic!” she hissed, her voice twisting in the wind. “You still blame a dead kid.”
A sharp gust tore through the basement, stirring dust and dried leaves across the floor.
He panicked, stumbling backward, screaming, “It wasn’t my fault. You should’ve listened to me. Leave me alone.”
He reeled away from something only he could hear—her whispers carried on the wind. I called the police. His words dissolved into frantic babbling. They arrived just in time. He collapsed in terror, muttering nonsense as they dragged him away.
“So… now what?” I asked.
“We go see my silly brother.” She rolled her eyes. “That dummy shows up at my empty grave every day… with flowers.”
“Even now?!”
“He never lets me rest,” she sighed, and then pointed at the doll. “And don’t forget Mr. Bunny—it’s his favorite.”
