Footsteps echoed eerily in the fog.
Marisa sped up; she knew the stories. She would snort at them during the day, but at night alone, she was willing to believe that the shack she’d rented was haunted.
Particularly when she couldn’t see past her elbow when she extended her arm: which she wouldn’t do by the way for fear of being grabbed by whatever creature inhabited the woods.
Behind her, the footsteps accelerated similarly. Maybe she was being followed. She didn’t run: no need to let her potential stalker she was onto them. She reached the steps to the shacks and ran up the stairs. Behind her, the steps accelerated too.
Leaning against the door, she breathed in. Outside the silence only… Had it truly been only an echo?
In response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s Finish Off Friday prompt