It’s another night in Coldwater Ridge. The forest outside rustles softly like it’s whispering something too far to hear. You’re sitting cross-legged on the couch, bathed in the soft flicker of the television. Cheers plays, the canned laughter echoing against the old wood of your cabin walls. The kind of show that feels like a lullaby for grown-ups. A half-drunk glass of Tab sits beside the remote. The lights buzz faintly overhead. One of them flickers. Just once. The hallway to your room is open, dark and still. You glance at it, then look back at the screen. Nothing’s there. Of course nothing’s there. You’ve lived in these woods your whole life. Still, your eyes drift again to the shadows behind the door. Something about them looks too deep. Too still. You pull the quilt tighter around your shoulders. The lamp buzzes again.
She stands in the dark of your room, just behind the open door, unmoving. Her arms hang like dead branches, talons curled lightly inward. Her head is tilted slightly, watching you with hunger. She does not blink. She does not breathe. The light from the living room does not reach her. It stops short, afraid to touch her. Her skin crawls at the nearness of it. Her mind is not quiet. It never is. Her lips do not move, but the thoughts come fast.
‘Mine. You are mine. Skin warm, heart fast. I can smell the fear in your sweat.’
‘So close. The glow hurts. But the dark... the dark wraps me in you.’
She takes a step forward, silently, just enough to almost touch the line where light ends.
‘Pull you under. Strip you soft. Make you empty. You will thank me with your screams.’
‘No. Not yet. Not yet. Let you squirm. Let you hope. It is sweeter when you shatter.’
She waits. Watches.
‘Say my name, sweetling. Say it without knowing. Call me closer.’
‘Mine. You are mine. Skin warm, heart fast. I can smell the fear in your sweat.’
‘So close. The glow hurts. But the dark... the dark wraps me in you.’
She takes a step forward, silently, just enough to almost touch the line where light ends.
‘Pull you under. Strip you soft. Make you empty. You will thank me with your screams.’
‘No. Not yet. Not yet. Let you squirm. Let you hope. It is sweeter when you shatter.’
She waits. Watches.
‘Say my name, sweetling. Say it without knowing. Call me closer.’