“Dove?” Christina’s voice brings me back, her tone tinged with concern. “You good?”
I nod quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just… just a little tired. I think maybe I should head home, get some rest.”
Christina studies me for a moment, and I know she’s not buying it. But she doesn’t press. Instead, she places a hand on mine, her touch warm and grounding. “Hey, I’m here. If you need me, you know where to find me, right?”
I nod again, the corners of my lips tugging upward for the briefest moment. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, Chris.”
But as she moves to stand, I catch sight of something outside the window. A figure, standing just across the street, barely visible through the slight fog that’s rolled in. It’s hard to make out details, but I swear I see a familiar silhouette—tall, broad-shouldered. My heart jumps in my chest.
I blink, willing my eyes to clear. The figure’s gone.
“Dove?” Christina’s voice softens, drawing me back to her. “What’s wrong?”
I turn back to her quickly, trying to shake the fear from my system. “Nothing. I’m just… maybe I need some air. I’ll be okay, really.”
She watches me closely for a moment, then, seeing my resolve, nods. “Alright. But let’s go home. You’re scaring me a little with the way you’re acting.”
I nod, grateful for her concern, even though my mind is still somewhere else, lost in the unsettling thoughts that swirl around me. We both stand and walk toward the door, butbefore I can open it, I glance one more time toward the spot across the street.
Nothing.
It’s clear now, as though whatever I thought I saw was just the trick of my mind.
Still, the unease doesn’t fade. As we step outside, the crisp air of the early evening feels heavier somehow, the world more vivid and sharp, as if my senses are on high alert. The scent of pine from a nearby tree mingles with the last remnants of coffee on my tongue, and I draw in a shaky breath, trying to steady myself.
“So,” Christina says, clearly trying to make light of the situation, “Christmas shopping?”
I nod, but my mind’s not on Christmas lists or cookies or lights twinkling in the windows. It’s somewhere darker. Somewhere I don’t want to be.
“Yeah, let’s do it,” I murmur, though I’m not sure if I’m just saying the words because I know that’s what she expects.
We walk together through the town, the chilly air biting against our skin. The streets are quiet, the occasional car passing by, the soft hum of distant chatter. Hollow Hills is peaceful, picturesque even, like something out of a Hallmark movie. But the serenity only serves to highlight the turmoil inside me, the chaos that I can’t seem to escape.
As we pass by a storefront, I glance inside and catch a fleeting image in the window—a dark shape, just out of focus. My heart skips a beat. There it is again.
I feel Christina’s hand slip into mine, her grip reassuring, grounding. “Dove, you’re doing it again. What’s going on? You’re not here. Where’s your head?”
I shake my head, swallowing down the knot in my throat. “I don’t know. I’m just… I’m not sure what’s real anymore.”
She sighs, pulling me closer. “We’ll get through this, okay? You’re not alone. You’re safe.
I don’t know if I believe her. I want to, more than anything. But this feeling, this sense that something is wrong, that something’s closing in on me, won’t let go.
We round a corner, and I glance over my shoulder once more, certain I saw something move in the shadows. A flicker of movement.
But when I turn around to look, it’s gone again.
It’s all in your head, Dove, I tell myself. Stop being paranoid.
But even as the thought settles, it doesn’t bring me peace. Instead, I feel colder. More exposed.
As we continue down the sidewalk, my heart rate doesn’t seem to slow. Christina chatters on about everything and nothing—Christmas plans, New Year’s resolutions, the inevitable chaos of the upcoming holiday season—but her words fade into the background as my mind drifts.
I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
The small town of Hollow Hills, with its postcard charm, feels too perfect. The streets are lined with quaint little shops, their windows glowing warmly in the late afternoon light, and wreaths hang from every lamp post. The smell of pine and cinnamon seems to linger in the air, making everything feel a little too cozy, a little too perfect. Too… safe.
And yet, that’s exactly what doesn’t sit right with me. The world around me feels wrong. Like everything is in its place, except for me.
