Lisa walked out of the cemetery, her footsteps echoing in the silence of the empty streets. Her heart was still pounding, her thoughts a tangled mess. What had just happened? Her mind replayed the final moments of the ritual—Liam's hollow gaze, his voice urging her to let go, and the chilling sensation of those shadows clawing at her as she fled. She shuddered, feeling an icy chill down her spine, but tried to brush it off as the lingering effects of adrenaline and nerves.
"Get it together, Lisa," she muttered to herself, hugging her jacket tighter against the night's cold. "It was just a silly experiment. Nothing more."
The words were meant to comfort her, but they fell flat. The air felt thick, oppressive, as though some invisible presence was watching her every step. She tried to shake off the feeling, rolling her eyes at herself. This was all so absurd. A girl bringing a boy back from the dead? She almost laughed at the thought.
But as she turned onto her street, the laughter faded. Her heart sank, and a heavy feeling settled in her chest. She knew, deep down, that what she'd seen couldn't be explained away so easily. The visions, the whispers, the way the wind had howled around her—it felt real. Too real.
And yet, here she was, trudging home alone, empty-handed, without any sign that her ritual had worked. It was as though Liam's ghostly figure had vanished into thin air, leaving her with nothing but a sinking disappointment and an unsettling sense of dread.
"Guess I'll just have to chalk this up to a bad idea," she whispered, glancing back over her shoulder as she approached her house. She half-expected to see a shadow lurking in the darkness, but there was only empty air. Her house loomed ahead, its windows dark, its front door slightly ajar, as if beckoning her inside.
She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, and stepped over the threshold. Her mom was probably asleep by now, oblivious to her late-night antics in the graveyard. But as she slipped off her shoes and made her way toward the stairs, that sense of unease tightened around her like a vice. She couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't alone.
Climbing the stairs, she was suddenly aware of every creak, every shadow shifting in the dim hallway. When she reached her bedroom, she shut the door behind her, leaning against it with a sigh. Her pulse had finally started to calm, but her mind refused to settle. She tossed her bag onto the bed, feeling a strange emptiness. All the buildup, the excitement of the ritual, had come crashing down, leaving her with nothing but an odd, lingering sorrow.
"Guess it was too good to be true," she muttered, flopping onto her bed. She grabbed her phone and stared at the darkened screen, feeling a pang of guilt. She should probably text Emily, let her know she was okay. After all, Emily had been her only partner in this strange endeavor, her steadfast friend who had humored her every idea, no matter how bizarre.
But as she typed out a quick message, her fingers hesitated. What would she even say? That the ritual had been a flop, that it had left her with nothing but a deep, gnawing sense of emptiness?
In the end, she sent a simple, "I'm back. It didn't work. We'll talk tomorrow."
Setting her phone aside, Lisa lay back and stared up at the ceiling. The room was quiet, and for a moment, she felt like she could finally relax. But just as her eyelids began to droop, she heard it—a faint whisper, so soft she almost missed it.
"Lisa…"
Her eyes snapped open, and she bolted upright, heart pounding. She scanned the room, but everything was still, silent. It had to be her imagination, a trick of her exhausted mind.
"Just tired," she muttered, pulling her covers up to her chin. She closed her eyes, determined to get some rest.
But as she lay there in the darkness, the feeling of being watched returned. It prickled at the edges of her consciousness, like a shadow lurking just out of sight. She squeezed her eyes shut, telling herself it was nothing, that it was just the aftermath of a night spent chasing ghosts.
And yet, as the minutes dragged on, the sensation grew stronger. She could feel it, a faint but undeniable presence in the room, hovering just beyond her reach. It was as if the shadows themselves were alive, pressing in on her from all sides.
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, flooding the room with light. The shadows retreated, but the feeling didn't fade. She glanced around, half-expecting to see something staring back at her from the corners of her room, but there was nothing there. Just her own reflection in the mirror, pale and wide-eyed.
She shook her head, trying to laugh it off, but it sounded hollow in the silence. This was ridiculous. She was scaring herself over nothing.
With a sigh, she lay back down, clutching her pillow. "It's over," she whispered to herself. "It was all just… a failed experiment."
But as she closed her eyes, she felt a chill run down her spine. A whisper brushed against her ear, soft but unmistakable.
"It's not over, Lisa…"
Her eyes shot open, her heart pounding in her chest. She sat up again, looking around the room, but there was no one there. Just the empty silence pressing in around her, thick and heavy.
She tried to tell herself it was her mind playing tricks on her, that the ritual had been a failure, nothing more. But deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had followed her home, something that was waiting, lurking in the shadows, watching her every move.
And for the first time that night, she felt truly afraid.