The village was always quiet-unsettlingly, so It sat tucked away between two hills, surrounded by thick woods that never seemed to welcome the sun. Even in daylight, the air clung to your skin like a warning, whispering secrets in a language only the brave-or the foolish-tried to understand.
Seven-year-old Mia stood at the edge of the worn, winding road that led into the trees. She had wandered off again, pulled by that same invisible thread that had tugged at her for weeks. There it was-just past the edge of the forest-an old cabin shrouded in mist. It looked abandoned, forgotten by time, yet too intact to be truly empty. Its windows were black, like eyes that watched without blinking.
Her parents had warned her a hundred times.
"Never go near the woods after dusk."
"If you see the cabin, turn back immediately."
"If you hear whispers-run."
But they never said why. That was what made it worse.
Mia's fingers curled around the slats of a wooden fence, her knuckles pale. The wind picked up, and the trees responded with a low, shivering sigh. Her breath came in short puffs, her eyes glued to the cabin.
Then came footsteps-soft, careful-crunching against the damp earth.
Another girl appeared beside her. Same age, maybe a little smaller, with a solemn expression and wide, glassy eyes. She wore a faded yellow dress, and her hands trembled slightly as she looked past Mia toward the cabin.
"I wasn't supposed to come here," the girl said quietly. "But... I had to see."
Mia turned to her, confused. "Why?"
The girl didn't answer right away. She leaned in, so close Mia could feel her breath against her cheek, and whispered something that made the hairs on her neck rise.
"Can you see them?"
Them?
Mia looked back at the cabin. For a second, she saw nothing. Then-movement. In the windows, shadows stirred. They weren't reflections or tricks of the mist. These were figures. More than one. Shifting. Watching. Waiting.
She gasped and stepped back, her heart thundering.
"Meya!" a voice snapped from the trees.
The girl flinched. Her parents emerged from the woods, pale and breathless. The mother's face twisted in horror when she saw the cabin.
"What did we tell you?!" she cried, grabbing Meya's arm. "You weren't supposed to come here!"
"I'm sorry," Meya whimpered, "I just-"
Her father didn't speak. He just stared at the cabin, jaw clenched, eyes unreadable. As they dragged Meya away, she looked back at Mia one last time.
Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
Then they disappeared into the trees.
"Mia!"
It was her mother, her voice sharp with panic. Seconds later, her parents came rushing toward her, pulling her away from the fence and shielding her eyes from the cabin.
"What were you doing here?" her father asked.
Mia didn't answer. Her eyes stayed fixed on the misty outline of the cabin, even as her parents led her away. She could still feel Meya's breath in her ear.
Can you see them?