The days after Daniel’s visit blurred together.
Every sound outside sent me lunging for the window. Every shadow in the trees looked like him, waiting. Every silence from the woods pressed in like a hand around my throat.
But Daniel didn’t return. Not visibly. Not in ways we could see.
Instead, he started haunting us.
It began small.
The generator, which Adrian swore he had filled with fuel, sputtered out on a night so cold our breath fogged in the dark. When Adrian checked, the tank was bone dry.
“I locked the shed,” he muttered, shaking his head, holding the empty can in his hand. “I swear to God, Emma, I locked it.”
The next morning, we found muddy footprints across the porch. Large ones. Fresh.
Adrian tried to brush it off, muttering about hunters or kids, but his face gave him
