It’s still there. Somewhere just out of sight. Watching. My grip tightens on the edge of the door. I don’t feel safe.
The sound outside doesn’t go away. It lingers. Shifts. Moves just enough that I can’t convince myself it’s imagination anymore.
I stand near the front door, one hand resting on the glass, listening. Nothing comes into view. But the presence is there. Somewhere beyond the reach of the streetlight. Something alive.
Something watching. I swallow and step back slowly.
“Okay,” I whisper. “That’s new.”
My rational brain immediately starts trying to fill in explanations. Animal. Stray. Maybe even a dog that got loose.
But none of those explanations account for the weight of the feeling pressing against the building. I move to the counter,grabbing my phone instinctively before remembering again that there’s still barely any signal inside the shop.
“Of course,” I mutter.
I look toward the back of the bookstore, debating whether I should check—then immediately decide I absolutely should not be going outside alone at night to investigate mysterious noises. That is how horror movies start.
I lock the front door instead. Twice. Then I step back and listen again. The sound is still there. Fainter now. But not gone. I glance toward the mechanic shop next door without meaning to. Dark. Closed. No movement. Archer isn’t there. That shouldn’t matter. But it does. I press my back against the counter, arms folding loosely as I try to steady my thoughts.
“You are in a town full of weird noises,” I tell myself. “That is statistically possible.”
Still doesn’t explain the feeling. Or the timing. Or the way it stopped just outside and hasn’t fully gone away.
I spend the next hour trying to distract myself with work. Inventory lists. Sorting a few remaining boxes. Straightening displays that don’t really need straightening just so I have something to do with my hands.
But every so often, I stop. And listen. And every time?—
It’s still there. Eventually, I give up pretending I’m fine. I move closer to the window again, careful this time not to stand directly in front of it. Nothing. Just darkness and empty street.
But as I watch, I catch something subtle in the alley. A shift. Not movement exactly. More like absence of movement where there should be sound. My stomach tightens.
“Okay,” I whisper again. “That’s not comforting.”
I take a slow step back. Another. And that’s when I hear it again—closer this time. A low, guttural sound that raises every instinct I have even though I can’t name what it belongs to.
Not human. Not anything I recognize. My grip tightens on the edge of the counter.
“Get it together, Tessa,” I say under my breath.
But I don’t move toward the door this time. I don’t check outside again. Because whatever is out there?—
I don’t think I want to meet it alone.
Instead, I stay where I am, forcing myself to breathe slowly, evenly, like that will somehow make me less aware of the fact that something is still circling outside. Waiting.
Eventually, the sound fades. Not abruptly. Not decisively. Just… less.
Like whatever was there decided not to reveal itself tonight. I don’t relax. Not really.
I just stop bracing quite so hard.
When I finally lock up fully and turn off most of the lights, the bookstore feels different again. Smaller. Tighter. Like the walls have shifted inward a fraction. I hesitate before heading upstairs to the small back room I’ve been using as temporary living space.
Halfway there, I stop. And look back toward the darkened storefront.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I whisper.
But I don’t go back down. I climb the stairs anyway. And even as I lie down later, staring at the ceiling in the dim light, I can’t shake the feeling that whatever was outside tonight?—
