Content Warning: This story contains themes of horror, distress, and unsettling situations that may be disturbing to some readers.

The lake was a cold slab of glass under the gray Polish dawn, and its surface unbroken until she sliced through it. Every morning, the woman plunged into the icy water near her sprawling property in Wierzbięcino, a sleepy suburb nestled between a forest and the lakeshore. She’d bought the house for its solitude. It was far from the noise of her past. The swim was her ritual, a way to feel clean, even if the cold bit into her bones. She was nearing forty now, and her body was lean and scarred from a life she’d fought to leave behind.

This morning, as she waded back to the shore, her breath caught from fear. The haptic strength of her smart watch’s vibration was the signal that her attention was urgently needed. She tapped the screen, and the home security app she had coded herself flashed two lines: Code 3 entered. Front door. She sank to the ground as blood rushed from her head. Unlock codes were sent to only three people: her mother, a cousin, an aunt. They had spent years sabotaging her life, sharing her secrets, ignoring her pleas to stop. She lived as a nomad to be safe, but distance didn’t matter. They always found a way.

The woman looked toward the house. She wasn’t naive enough to think they’d leave her alone but her hands trembled anyway. Now, her mind was ticking through the checklist: Door code triggered. Greenhouse primed. Cameras active. She was terrified but she was ready.

The greenhouse was designed to capture the next person they sent. It opened from the living room of the main house. It looked like a sanctuary of lush greenery, but that was an illusion. Ferns brushed against vines with Latin names she’d memorised: Aconitum napellus, Datura stramonium, Cicuta virosa. Pretty, delicate, deadly. She had the room built as a Faraday cage, with soundproofed walls. A workbench held an open diary, with an uncapped pen resting on a page. A half-finished mug of coffee sat next to it. This setting was an invitation to take a closer look.

Through her smart watch, the woman observed the intruder from a skylight camera. The high vaulted ceiling ushered light into the space, and he looked up to take it in. His face was familiar but battered and hardened, with the same wild look. This man had put her in the hospital at nineteen. His fixation had shattered her teenage innocence. He was definitely not stopping by for a friendly chat. Years before, they had sent a stranger to “seduce her,” to break up her engagement to a kind, loving partner. But that fool couldn’t find her apartment, so he called to ask for directions.

The woman managed to sit behind a tree for shelter. She forced herself to breathe, to focus. Of course, they didn’t back off after she confronted them that time. They simply waited for a better opportunity. Her eyes focused on the pull-down door in the wall. It was a kiln with a thick glass window. She had installed it herself, to fire her own pots and urns. There was a tiny fridge with no food, no water, only bottles labeled with tinctures, essences, and distillates. Let him figure that out.

But he never was bright.

On the workbench, a printer whirred, spitting out a grainy photo of his face from the front door camera. It settled in the print tray. She hoped that this would draw him into the space and further away from the door. It worked. He shuffled towards the printer. One tap and the door slid shut. Barely a breath later, a thick steel panel, dressed up as part of the living room wall, slammed into place with a firm thunk. Locked.

Now she remembered his phobia, the way he hyperventilated in a stalled elevator, kicking at the doors like a trapped animal. Another tap: water off, electricity off. Only the sprinkler system’s reserve tank and batteries stayed live. He’s trapped. And in ten hours, come nightfall, he’ll really panic. She laughed.

Still somewhat shaken, she stood up and made her way back to the house, her bare feet cushioned by the grass. Fear overwhelmed her, but she followed the plan. Hot shower. Fresh clothes. Go bag. She stepped out of the shower, dried off, dressed in jeans and a sweater, and picked up the small duffel she’d packed months earlier. Fifteen minutes later, she was driving away from the house. More checklists looped in her mind. Everything was contained. The main house systems were operating optimally.

Ten days later, she was back. The house was silent. She unlocked the main door, stepped inside, and turned on the greenhouse’s systems from a smart panel. The skylight camera showed the intruder on the floor, slumped against the workbench, dehydrated, his skin, muddied and scratched. Still alive, barely.

She didn’t speak as the greenhouse doors slid open. His eyes fluttered, then went wide with terror as she approached. The sprinklers had kept him wet. The plants had brushed against him as he tried to escape through a window, only to find it was a framed photograph. Bottles lay scattered, half-empty. He drank some of the tinctures. Idiot.

She pulled a pair of disposable gloves from a box on top of the workbench. She hated the idea of touching him at all. Next, she dragged a pottery rack from the corner and hauled his frail body onto it. He mumbled something as she wheeled him to the kiln. A motor raised the rack to the height of the pull-down door, and she slotted him inside. Wait.

She found his phone on the floor and tossed it into the kiln. A separate device had already copied his phone when he logged into the house’s Wi-Fi. That phone was charging in her office. She went there to look for his messages. His last conversation was with a man she assumed was her mother’s boyfriend:

Him (ten days ago): Found the place. Front door unlocked no problem logged on her WiFi now.
BF: Is she there? Hello?? Tell her to CALL us. Her father left money for her.
Him (today): She’s baaaaack! What if she says she’s not interested?
BF: LOL make her. Do wut u have 2. Remember it’s a lot of $$$$. We will give you a share.

She made her way back to the greenhouse. At the kiln, she closed the door and selected the options: FLASH, ORGANIC, RECYCLE, COMPOST. The glass window flared with a beautiful flame. She might have heard a short, sharp scream. Holding up the phone, she recorded ten seconds of the blaze.

Back in the living room, she trimmed the video clip and typed the message: I wasn’t very convincing. That’s me, by the way. Being flash incinerated and recycled to compost. But you should definitely send someone else. The view is lovely out here.

She hit send. The phone jostled back with a quickness: WHAT DID YOU DO?! I’ll report you to the authorities!!! But the woman didn’t reply. She turned off the phone and walked back to her office. The forest beckoned to her through the windows, and she exhaled deeply. Her message was received. They would leave her alone. Finally.