The Shadows Linger
Back inside her home, the unease refused to fade. The house, usually a quiet sanctuary, now felt tight and oppressive. She swept through the living room, securing windows, checking the door latch, but the unsettling sensation still clung to her like dampness on a cold night. The kids were safely asleep, but something kept gnawing at her—something wasn't right.
And then, just as Yiling was about to settle for the night, she thought she heard it again. A whisper.
"Leave…"
Her pulse quickened as she froze, ears straining in the silence of the small cabin. It had been faint—only the sound of the wind brushing past the cracks in the window? Yet this time, the voice came not from outside, but from within the cabin.
She quickly glanced around the room, panic creeping up her neck. Her eyes flitted from corner to corner—until they landed on the large wooden chest in the far corner by the hearth. There, near the old fireplace where she'd once hung up her small herbs to dry, stood what looked like the faintest outline of something humanoid—a shadow without shape or form, just a darkness slightly darker than the shadows around it.
Yiling stepped forward, barely breathing, as her eyes refused to leave the figure. She reached for a piece of kindling, determined to light the fire for warmth, but as the match sputtered, the shadow moved—quickly—disappearing like smoke when she glanced at it directly.
Her heart raced, and the unease she'd suppressed so long couldn't be contained anymore. It was clear—she was no longer alone.