The pre-dawn chill clung to Elara’s skin, not quite biting, more a persistent whisper. Her sneakers crunched on the gravel path snaking between ancient headstones, each one a silent sentinel. Mist, thick as a shroud, wreathed the marble angels and lichen-stained obelisks. She enjoyed the cemetery’s quiet, its profound stillness. Until today. A shiver, unrelated to the morning air, traced her spine. A flicker in her peripheral vision. She halted, breath catching. Nothing. Just the mist. She resumed her pace, a little faster now. “Look what the dawn dragged in.” The voice, thin as a cobweb, drifted from behind a crumbling mausoleum. Elara spun. Three figures shimmered, translucent and pale, their forms barely solid against the grey light. One, a man with a tattered military jacket, grinned, a flash of something too sharp in his spectral face. Another, a woman in a flapper dress, floated closer, her eyes like chips of ice. The third, a child, giggled, a sound like wind chimes. “You shouldn’t be here, little mortal,” the flapper purred, her voice a frosty caress. Elara’s heart hammered against her ribs. “I’m just… jogging. I do this every day.” “Oh, we know,” the soldier chuckled, his form swaying like smoke. “We’ve been watching. You have such… vibrancy.” The child drifted directly in front of Elara, its face distorted by a playful, yet unsettling, glee. “She’s full of life! A real spark!” “What do you want?” Elara demanded, her voice trembling despite her efforts. The mist seemed to thicken around them, swirling with an unnatural energy. “A little donation, perhaps?” The flapper extended a wispy hand. “A… transfer of energy.” Before Elara could react, the soldier darted forward. His hand, cold and insubstantial, passed through her, yet a wave of nausea washed over her. She stumbled back. A strange lightness bloomed in her stomach, then a peculiar swelling. “Hey! What was that?” Elara clutched her midsection. It felt… full. As if she’d swallowed a balloon. “Just a little something to remember us by,” the flapper giggled, her form growing slightly more distinct, less ethereal. The child clapped its hands. A pressure built within Elara, pushing outwards. Her jogging top stretched, then strained, the fabric pulling taut. “Frickin’ quit it!” Elara gasped, her breath coming in ragged bursts. Her belly swelled, rapidly, impossibly, like a balloon inflating with unseen gas. Her skin stretched thin, translucent, a faint blue glow emanating from within. “I’m gonna burst! Ack!” Her hips widened, her breasts, already full, engorged to grotesque proportions, nipples taut, almost glowing. She felt less like herself, more like a vessel, distended and shimmering. A strange, heavy warmth settled deep in her core. A new life, not her own, pulsed within. “Oh, she’s perfect,” the soldier crooned, his voice filled with a strange pride. “A beacon for the next generation.” Elara looked down at her new form, her flesh now a spectral blue, her body distended, round and full. Her limbs, once toned from exercise, were soft, flowing, like liquid light. She was no longer solid. She was a ghost. A pregnant ghost. “What have you done to me?” Her voice, once clear, now echoed, a faint, disembodied sound. “Given you purpose, dearie,” the flapper smiled, her eyes twinkling with ancient mischief. “A new kind of motherhood. Welcome to the family.” Elara felt a strange, maternal instinct, foreign yet undeniable, bloom within her spectral chest. A tiny kick. She was a ghost, yes, but more. A mother. A shimmering, pregnant, spectral mother. Her eyes, now glowing faintly, fixed on the three ghosts. A different kind of fear, mingled with a fierce, protective glow, settled over her. She was no longer just jogging. Her eternity had just begun.