Echoes of the East

I blinked, groggy and disoriented, and forced myself to sit up. There was a noise, barely audible, like something shifting inside the cabin.

I held my breath, straining to listen.

There it was again, and again—soft creaks, like the hesitant weight of footsteps on old wood. A jolt jumped down my spine.

Was someone there?

Each heartbeat pounded in my ears, growing sharper and louder until it felt like it might split me in half.

Paranoia clawed at me, every creak of the greenhouse twisting into something worse. I imagined figures in the dark, slipping through the shadows, their legs running through the garden like ghostly wisps.

My hand clenched around my pistol, my knuckles aching, the metal grounding me against the rising panic.

Then… silence. The noises stopped. I waited and waited. The rain kept up its gentle drumming, but no more footsteps came.

I rubbed my eyes and glanced around.

That's when I saw them.

Beyond the damaged section, someone darted past—quick and silent in the moonlight. They moved low, unnaturally fast, disappearing into the trees before I could fully process it.

My heart leapt into my throat as adrenaline surged through me.

“Ghost!” I hissed. “There's someone outside!”

Ghost snapped awake, his hand already on his pistol. “What?” he demanded, his voice sharp and alert. “Where?”

I pointed ahead past the gap, my mind going berserk—images of who knows what creeping up on us.

My grip on the pistol was firm, though my hands shook.

We moved together, weapons drawn, circling the garden as tension thickened the air.

We cleared the perimeter, gazes sweeping every shadow and every low-hanging branch—our own breathing punctuating the night.

There was nobody there.

My pulse hammered in my ears as I fought to steady myself. “I saw someone…” I muttered, trying to convince both myself and him.

Ghost lowered his pistol but kept it at the ready, his gaze steady yet unreadable. “You were half-asleep!” he said.

I couldn't shake the feeling. The visions replayed in my mind—sharp and raw.

Had I imagined it? Or was someone really out there, waiting just beyond the garden?

...