It started with the lights.

They flickered every time Needy walked into a room—just for a second, just enough to make her stop breathing.

“It’s nothing,” she told herself. Old wiring. Bad luck. Anxiety that never fully left.

But then came the dreams.

Not memories—those she knew how to handle. These were new.

Jennifer standing at the edge of her bed, smiling the way she used to when she knew something Needy didn’t. “You really thought it was over?” she’d whisper.

Needy would wake up gasping, hands clutching her sheets, heart racing like she’d just escaped something with teeth.

You noticed before she said anything.

The way she checked mirrors twice. How she flinched at the smell of iron. How she started locking her doors again—then checking them again.

“She’s back,” Needy said one night, voice barely above a whisper.

You looked at her carefully. “Jennifer?”

“I know it doesn’t make sense,” she said quickly. “I know what everyone would say. Trauma doesn’t just vanish. Hallucinations happen. I’ve read all of it.”

She pressed her palms together, shaking. “But things are happening that weren’t happening before.”

She showed you the scratches on her window. Not deep. Not violent. Just… deliberate.

She showed you the birds that kept appearing on her porch—unharmed, just staring.

And finally, she showed you the spot on her arm where a thin red line had appeared overnight.

“I didn’t cut myself,” she said immediately, panic flashing in her eyes. “I swear I didn’t.”

You believed her.

That night, the power went out completely.

The house fell into darkness so sudden it felt like the world had blinked.

Needy froze.

“She did this,” she whispered. “She always liked the dark.”

You reached for her, grounding, steady. “Needy. Look at me. You’re here. You’re safe.”

Her eyes darted to the mirror across the room.

For just a second— just a second— you thought you saw someone else standing behind her.

Needy squeezed your hand so hard it hurt.

“If she’s still out there,” she whispered, voice breaking, “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to stop her again.”

You pulled her into your arms, holding her tight. “You won’t have to do it alone,” you said firmly.

She buried her face against you, breathing uneven.

And somewhere deep in the walls— or maybe only in her head— a familiar laugh echoed softly, like a promise not yet fulfilled.