Soft. Low. It’s there, I’m sure of it. I glance around the room, my pulse quickening. But there’s no one. No one in the hallway, no one standing in the doorway. The house is empty—just me.
I can’t breathe.
I stand, trembling, my legs weak as I force myself to move. Every step feels like it takes forever. My feet feel like they’re dragging through thick mud. I’m not imagining this. I know I’m not.
The air grows colder, sharper. The temperature in the room drops, the warmth leaving the space as though it’s being sucked away, leaving only a bone-chilling draft. The smell of cinnamon is gone, replaced by something colder. A musty, earthy scent that lingers like rot.
I look down the hallway again, my throat tight.
Was that a shadow?
I see it—a shift of darkness in the corner of my vision.
My stomach lurches.
I blink.
Nothing.
But it’s there again. Just a flicker. A stretch of shadow moving across the wall, growing longer, as though something is standing in the hallway, just out of my sight.
My heartbeat is thudding in my ears, too loud. I turn slowly, my eyes fixating on the kitchen door. The shadow is there, just on the edge of my vision, crawling across the walls like something alive.
I hold my breath, my chest tightening with every passing second. My feet won’t move, frozen to the spot. I want to scream, but my throat feels like it’s full of glass.
It’s him. It has to be him.
I push the thought away, but it lingers, gnawing at the edges of my sanity. What if it’s not? What if this is real? What if I’m losing my mind?
Then—footsteps.
Heavy, deliberate steps.
A slow, measured pace from the hallway.
I look up, my pulse quickening again, and that’s when I see it.
A figure standing at the end of the hallway.
It’s tall—too tall. Dark, like a shadow that doesn’t belong, just watching me.
My breath catches in my throat, my heart hammering against my ribs. The air is suffocating, thick with dread, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the figure. The shadow.
It doesn’t move. Not yet.
The silence is suffocating, but all I can hear is the sound of my own breathing, fast and shallow, as if my lungs won’t cooperate.
Don’t move.
I want to run, but I can’t. My body refuses to listen. My mind is screaming at me to do something—anything—but I can’t force myself to make a sound.
The figure shifts, just slightly.
I gasp, my body shaking as I stumble backward. My heart is a drumbeat in my chest, too loud, too fast.
I want to scream, but no sound escapes my lips. The figure steps forward—just one step. That’s all it takes.
I can’t tell if it’s Ashton. If it’s someone else. The terror clouds my vision, and all I can do is watch as it moves closer and closer.
