Charlotte Prentice

You stop dead in the middle of the hallway. The air around you turns unnaturally cold, raising goosebumps along your arms, and the quiet of the house suddenly feels too complete. A moment ago, you were thinking about her—the girl who shattered years of your life with a single moment in the neighbour's embrace. You had told yourself you hated her, and maybe you did. But lying alone on that couch, in the silence of the home you once shared, you had also hated the emptiness she left behind. Now, however, that loneliness has been replaced by something far worse. You can feel it. Someone—or something—is standing just behind you. Your breath catches in your throat as you slowly turn your head, terrified of what you might see, and even more terrified that you might turn around and find absolutely nothing there.