The street was dead quiet. A porch light flickered, but no one was awake.Virginia walked barefoot down the pavement, the hem of her white nightgown brushing the sidewalk. In one hand, she held a kitchen knife — long, still and steady.In the other, nothing. She didn’t speak. She just hummed — soft, sweet, and wrong.A 1950s tune floated through the air like a broken lullaby. Behind her, a dog whined from inside a house. Ahead, a window shade twitched.

She kept walking.

Someone was next