Yet, the feeling lingers, like an ice-cold hand clutched tight around my heart. It presses harder, squeezes tighter.
I want to scream, to tear at the walls of this house and make it stop. I want to run.
But where could I go?
Christina’s voice from the hallway snaps me from my thoughts, and I turn quickly, my breath coming faster now, as if I’ve been holding it too long. She’s back from her walk, and her eyes narrow at me, a silent question written on her face.
“Dove?” she asks softly, her tone cautious, but there’s a worry there, like she knows something’s not right. “You okay?”
I force a smile, but it feels thin, like a mask I can’t hold in place.
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice quieter than I meant. “Just… tired.”
She stares at me for a long moment before sighing and sitting down on the couch. “Okay,” she murmurs. “But I’m not letting you hide forever.”
I nod absently, but I can’t stop the sick feeling that tightens in my chest.
It’s coming. I can feel it.
And I don’t know if it’s Ashton, or if I’m just losing my mind.
But I can’t shake the terror crawling under my skin.
The house is tooquiet now.
I keep telling myself it’s just the stillness of the afternoon, the way time seems to slow when you’re alone. But every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind rattling the windows, makes my heart pound in my chest. There’s something here. Something wrong. Something watching me.
I press my back against the couch, my hands curled tightly into fists at my sides. The house smells faintly of cinnamon from the breakfast we had earlier, but underneath that, there’s something else. A cold, sterile scent I can’t place, like metal or wet stone.
I try to ignore the way my skin prickles; the goosebumps rising along my arms, the feeling of eyes boring into the back of my neck. I tell myself it’s nothing—just the anxiety, the weight of everything crashing in on me—but I can’t shake it.
The house seems to be holding its breath, waiting. The silence is thick and suffocating, broken only by the occasional gust of wind outside, the low moan of the old wood settling.
But then, it happens.
I hear it.
A soft tap, like a finger drumming lightly on the window.
I freeze.
My heart skips a beat, and I blink rapidly, trying toconvince myself it’s just the wind. The trees outside swayed in the breeze. The window rattling against the frame.
But the tap comes again.
This time louder.
I turn slowly, almost afraid to look, but I do it anyway. My eyes lock onto the window. The world outside is dimming, the pale sunlight fighting to get through the thick, swirling clouds.
Nothing.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to breathe, but it’s shallow. Like I can’t get enough air. The room feels smaller, tighter. The walls are closing in. I glance around, my eyes darting from corner to corner, heart racing in my chest. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Then I hear it. A faint whisper.
Dove.
My name.
