Television was the only source of the sound echoing all over the house. The channels were being kept changing between classical Indian music, sports and news by Rumi's father Ramesh. And on the other side, Rumi was sitting beside the window sipping the chai and enjoying her new storybook. 'The breakfast is ready!' exclaimed Brinda with ecstasy. Then, Rumi and her father went to the basin to perform the perfect five steps of washing their hands properly to protect themselves and the others from the prominent virus all over the world taking lives - the covid 19. After that, their faces were equally bored by eating the same recipe of poha for three days regularly. The storage of food had decreased due to the scarcity in the corona time. Minutes proceeded with only the sound of ticking clocks and then they heard footsteps coming from the stairs. 'Good morning !' Ananda said. Ananda had come to travel all over Kolkata but he was stuck because of the lockdown all over the world. Suddenly seeing her uncle, Rumi's innocent face turned dull. Her fingers were shaking, and the spoon in her hand clunked loudly onto the floor. She took it hastily and left the room to the kitchen by running. Rumi was staring at the fan circling above her head making whirring sounds. She was listening to music and wanted to delete all the noises in all the world and her screams in her head. The sweet girl was spending her abundant time thinking about death. Her eyes were watering and seemingly nobody knew the reason. She was clasping her thighs and pushed her nails into it, there became prominent red marks when she heard a knock on her door and as a reflex, she covered herself up, covered the strikes with her ladybugs printed pants, wiped out her tears, paused the playlist and went to open the door. Brinda came with a plate of freshly cut mangoes from their garden and gave it to the hands of Rumi. Mom: 'Is there anything you want to tell me?' Rumi was awestruck for a moment. Although she tried to tell everything but converted the discussion to her studies. 'I am fine ma. I am a bit late in my studies but I will cope up. Mom: ' Yeah, I noticed that too. This is the first online test where you got a b grade in maths, you have always got a grade in all your subjects' Me: 'Ma, I said Nah! I will improve ' Mom: ' Ok, I told this to your uncle and he said he will help you with mathematics from today .' Rumi was petrified, panic-stricken. The hair stood on end, her heart was in her mouth. She was standing there without motions and shaking like a leaf. She broke into a cold sweat, and she could not open her mouth to speak a word also. In the crisis going on the whole world because of the pandemic, all people were facing different troubles in their lives. There were fewer oxygen tanks for patients suffering from the disease and for Rumi - there was less oxygen in her lungs as well, in her house, in her home. She could not breathe. In the evening, she sat stiffly by her uncle to learn maths. The scary sight was being nearer to Rumi in disguise of Ananda's hand. He was pointing one hand to algebra and with the other hand, he was brushing little Rumi's shoulder with his thumb. His hands were going up, stroking the little neck of Rumi. He snatched one strand of her hair and was twirling it. His evil fingers were being circled onto the girl's face. Then the hands were reaching for down. Ananda was scratching Rumi's soft neck with his claws, and then the hand was crawling inside her turtleneck top, towards her bra strap. Rumi's legs ceased, her voice fell silent, she could not make a sound also. All was numb from her head to the nails of her legs, the fingers were cold, and she was sitting with a closed door behind. Wearing the turtleneck top on this hot summer day and full leggings also not protected her, she thought to herself. She felt that her uncle was not stuck in her house in the lockdown, she was - she was stuck in the lockdown in her own home. She tumbled, fell and fled to the bathroom and shouted hard. Rumi was moaning, screaming and sobbing. She was slapping herself and was trying to rip down her full clothes. Brinda and Ramesh came down horrifically and was banging the door. Rumi finally found the courage, she came out unhurriedly, pointed her tiny fingers to her uncle Ananda and let out all the pain ' He harassed me, he tried to rape me, he had touched my thighs before and now he is trying to touch all parts of the mine. ' After some prominent calmness, the storm came. Rumi's father's rage was coming out, his eyes became red with trickling water. Ramesh took Rumi in his arms and caressed her hair. Brinda's eyes were flowing with water, she squeezed Rumi and took her into her core. Ramesh just uttered some words which were so straight and severe to not her uncle but her rapist; ' You will get the place you deserve. A police station or better death. Now take all and leave at this instant only. '

I don't know remember exactly when and how it started. Perhaps it never had a beginning but had always been a part of my soul. Books had captured my attention since infancy and stories lived on my tongue from the moment I could string a sentence together. The exact day I began jotting down poems in my school notebooks, doesn't matter. I was only releasing the steady current of words from my mind and watching them trail across the paper as they came to life. I can't recall how old I was turning the birthday that I received one of my favorite gifts. My grandma had given me a collection of poems by Emily Dickinson. I had never heard her name before, but her words would lead me deeper into the literary world. I was young and couldn't understand every poem, but I often got lost in that thick book as Emily taught me her own rules about grammar, romance, and life. As an English major, I would later learn a lot more about the immortalized poet. I wondered about her life in her room, peering from her window. Did she know what impact her words would have on the world? Who would have guessed that a recluse would play such a big role in helping a little girl grow in her love for writing and reading poetry? When studying Emily in college, I felt as though I was being reunited with an old friend. The taste of her words on my tongue brought back the musty smell of the book pressed against my face as I laid on the floor of my childhood room. Long before her words had really made much sense to me, they had awoken the poet inside. Not a skilled poet by any means, but a poet who understood the depth of life by giving breath to her thoughts, concerns, joys, and fears. Like the poets of English classes and beloved anthologies, my poetry was a showcase of growth and the evolution of a woman. They started out as descriptions of nature sceneries from the eyes of a child living in the suburbs. As an early teen, they grappled with life and the confusions of adolescence. When waves of depression came, my poems matured and darkened with themes of death, suicide, and a heartbreaking desire to be loved and understood. I continued to grow, and my poems became museum exhibits of old loves. As I became a wife and mother, they talked about the struggles and joys of marriage and motherhood, supporting me during the hard days and preserving the beautiful ones. I will forever be in debt to the shut-in who opened me to the world of poetry. The woman who opened her mind so that other could see what she saw from her bedroom window. The writer who planted seeds of inspiration. I wonder if she's wandered through the gallery of my poems. Did she too witness the evolution of a girl to a woman through words? Was she able to see traces of herself in my works; able to trace my progress back to the anthology of her works, that sat near my bed for many years? I will watch my poetry continue to evolve as I do. It will carry the years, hardships, and blessings of my life until we are buried together. While my poems may not be analyzed in lecture halls or studied by scholars, they once lived, and that's enough for me. They lived because Emily awoke them within me, and together we breathed life into their lungs.

October 28,1901 The day when my life took a horrific turn. My mom came home with some bad news. She got a job offer in this small town in Michigan called The Newlands Town Center. She told me we were going to be moving soon and that everything was happening for a reason. I begged her if we can stay because my life here in Oregon was so amazing. Everyday was filled with joy and happiness but that was getting ready to change very fast. October 30, 1901 We're here, this entire situation was a disappointment. “Ew, mom this town looks so disgusting.” I mumbled. I think she thought I was joking because she never replied but I wasn't. I had only hoped for this town to be somewhat normal like with a McDonald's at almost every corner and seeing kids playing at the park or police cars roaming on the streets at night. This town was the complete opposite, bumpy roads, no cars parked or moving, no pedestrian or animals insight. As we kept driving we started to notice a few people, strangely these people didn't look sociable whatsoever. There was this man who looked angry he had a cut underneath his eye and three missing teeth in the front. When my mom went to him and asked for directions he suddenly gave us this terrifying smile and said “Haha, new to the town I see. Don't let your child out of your sight to many children in this town have gone missing. See you around ladies.” October 30, 1901 (cont.) We found our street. As we were pulling up to the house I noticed how big it was, it had vines all over it with a extremely large amount of trees surrounding it. The inside was just as bad as the town, it had a spoiled smell to it as if someone died in it, the creakiness of the stairs and black walls creeped me out. October 31, 1901 It's Halloween, my favorite holiday of all time but sadly my mom had to work so I spent that entire day in the house unpacking and exploring the house. Later that night as I was exploring the house I notice this journal inside my closet. I WISH I NEVER HAD FOUND THAT JOURNAL!! Inside the journal there were all of these pictures and words that looked like they were trying to relay a message to someone and a key. The words had said “Don't fall for it, don't let him get in your head and never stay up after 11:59.” The pictures that had been drawn were these small wooden doors with a hand sticking out of it. After reading it I figured it was nothing, but wondered what the key was for. October 31, 1901 (cont.) The time was 9:00 pm, the sun had already settled and the night began to get colder and colder. Around 10:00 pm I start to hear these noises inside the walls, the noises were similar to the scratching of a dog. I decided to go check them out and when I got closer to the noise it grew stronger and stronger. A few minutes later the noises stopped, but I noticed the small wooden door that was in the journal. The door was closed tightly and needed a key to open it, I went to go open the door with the key from the journal and when it opened it was nothing but a brick wall. At 11:00 pm, the rain began to fall and the night began to grew even colder than before. November 1, 1901 At 1:30 am I was in a deep sleep but woke up screaming from what was abdominal pain. My mom came rushing in to see if I was okay and began to comfort me. I was slowly falling back to sleep when I saw a shadow coming from the wooden door and whispering my name “Taylor, Taylor” I asked my mom if she saw and heard what I saw and she say “No” I didn't know what was going on It was like my soul was being sucked out of my body and being pushed down the stairs. When I reached the bottom of the staircase it was pitch black, the sweating of my palms, the mumbling of voices, the bitterness taste of the air. I heard this familiar laugh “Haha”. Sitting thinking is this the man we saw when we first arrived in “The Newlands Town Center”.