Sara Bishop was standing over a pot of boiling broth, stirring it while the aroma wafted through the house. That morning, before she went to school, she filled the pot with chicken bones, carrots, onions and celery, along with a healthy helping of garlic and peppercorns. Then Sara covered it and set it on low. When she got home from school, she would smell it all the way up the street.

She used a mesh strainer to separate the liquid from the rest of the ingredients and poured it back into the pot. She planned on making chicken and dumplings. It was comfort food at its best because it reminded her of when she was a kid, and her mother used to make them during the winter.

Her mother just got a job at the hospital, working as an RN where they forced her to work long hours, often early in the morning too late at night and sometimes she worked two shifts to cover for some of the other workers. When that happened, Sara never got to see her at all. She usually found herself sitting in the silent house, waiting for her mother to get off work.

The silence got so bad that nothing seemed to be able to penetrate it. She tried keeping the TV on, staring at the box mindlessly but her eyes kept drifting towards the dining room clock. Music didn’t help much either. Nothing seemed to fill the void, so she did little things that she knew would make her mother’s life easier.

She swept and vacuumed, scrubbed the kitchen and cleaned out the refrigerator, anything to help her pass the time. Cooking was the one thing that made the wait easier. Sara's Mother loved it. There would be home cooked meals sitting on the table every single night. Sara would make the table a place for them to gather, setting it with flowers, candles, and little decorations to make it inviting.

She was an artist, not in the general sense. She was terrible at painting and drawing, but cooking gave her a way to channel her energies into something(omit). She imbued everything with herbs and spices that enhanced the ambiance of the evening.

Some days were coriander and thyme. Other were oregano and basil. It all depended on upon the atmosphere that night. Some dishes were comfortable like soup; others were fiery like curry. She kept all of her recipes in a faux parchment book she bought online, sitting on a shelf above the stone.

Sara reached up to grab it, trying to avoid knocking over the spice containers. When her fingers finally rubbed against the rough surface of the cover, she stood up on her tiptoes and grabbed onto it. She was too short to pull it out in one swipe so she had to stand as tall as she could and edge it across the bottom of the cupboard.

It was leaning over the brink of the shelf when it came crashing down and fell right at the edge of the hot burner. Sara snatched the book up before it could catch fire and rushed it to the kitchen table.

As soon as she sat down, her phone started ringing. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered. “Hey, mom.”

“Hey, sweetie.” She sounded rushed. “How’s it going?”

“I'm making dumplings,” she announced proudly.

“I hope you make a bunch.”

“I will.”

“Hey, listen. I’m going to head home pretty soon.”

“It’s only 6.” She never got out early.

“I know. I got somebody else to cover the rest of my shift.”

“Really?” She nearly jumped with excitement.

“Yup.”

“I’ll get everything ready. I’ll see you soon.”

“Alright. Love you.”

“You too.”

Dinner had to be perfect so she took her time, pouring her energy into getting it done. Sara sautéed chicken and mixed up the dumpling mix, carefully plopping the little balls of dough into the broth and timing them just right so they didn’t get too hard. Everything was almost finished when she heard the door open, and her mother walked in.

“Hey.” She was sweaty with her bright red hair tied up in a messy bun. “Oh, my God, Sara. That looks amazing.” She walked up and gave her daughter a hug. Sara had placed the biscuits in a basket and on the table, along with a vase of carefully arranged orchids and surrounded by a row of candles.

“Thank you.”

Bridgett sat down to catch her breath. “So how was school?”

Sara sat across from her. “Tiring. I had a calculus exam today.”

“You aced it, though. I know you did.”

“I did, but it wasn’t easy.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“I hope so. You want some soup,” Sara started to sit up.

“Let me just go and get dressed first. I need a shower.”

Suddenly Sara heard her mum scream. She hopped over the glass she had dropped and rushed to get up to her mother's room as fast as she could.

When she reached the bedroom door, it was locked so Sara backed up and threw her shoulder into it. “Mom!” The door flew open so hard she hit the ground.

Sara didn’t see it until she looked up and its white-hot eyes met hers. It wasn’t human. It was moving underneath the pale skin of a man. The second Sara saw it, it was gone, through the open window.