"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞" by M.S. Valentine
It’s been ten years, but when the wind shifts, I can still hear her scream. Sharp. Ragged. It cuts through the quiet like glass splintering, and in the silence that follows, I swear I can still feel the blood spatter.
A drop of sweat slips down my temple, cold and slow. I wipe it away, but my hand shakes too much to steady anything. My heartbeat thuds in my throat, drowning out the low hum of the highway under my boots. The pavement stretches out in front of me, a long red scarf disappearing into the trees. Beyond that, nothing. Just the shadows, breathing, waiting.
I swallow hard, eyes skimming the horizon. The clouds are thick, pregnant with rain, smothering the last streaks of daylight. There’s a moment—a stillness—where the air feels too heavy, like the world’s slowing down. And I’m there with it. Waiting.
Then there’s a flicker at the edge of my vision. A shape. No... just a trick of the light. But the knot in my chest tightens, my breath catching in my throat. The trees, thick and dark, seem to shift, bending in on themselves. Something moves in the shadows. Or maybe it's nothing at all.
There's a faint sound of a rustle behind me, soft but distinct, like the crunch of dead leaves underfoot.
I stop. Everything stops.