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The train tracks behind the Pickaxe were half-buried in leaves, the kind that smelled like rain and iron, like something just beginning to rot. Mae had walked this way a thousand times, but that night, her feet dragged like the ground was fighting to keep her.
The town had been quiet lately. Not the good kind of quiet, the kind where you could hear the cicadas buzzing in the distance and feel the wind curling around the trees. No, it was the other kind—the dead kind. The kind where the air felt stretched too thin over the bones of something gone.
She was supposed to meet Gregg at the Snack Falcon. That’s where she was headed, technically. But there was a wrongness in the air, and when Mae Borowski felt a wrongness, she followed it. That was the first mistake.
She cut through the trees, hands stuffed into the pockets of her hoodie, trying not to think too hard about why she suddenly couldn’t hear the wind anymore. The leaves barely rustled. Even the streetlights back by the road felt dimmer, like something had pulled them back a few inches from reality.
Something snapped behind her. A branch, clean and sharp.
Mae turned fast, expecting—what? A raccoon, a stray dog, maybe nothing at all. But the space behind her was emptier than before, a kind of hollow she could feel pressing against her ribs. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
"Okay," she said out loud, like naming the strangeness might give her power over it.
The trees stretched taller. The path behind her seemed longer than before, the streetlight on the road nothing but a distant flicker. She swallowed hard, kept walking.
She didn’t remember the ground sloping downward here.
She didn’t remember the trees being this close together.
She didn’t remember the air being this thick, like it was pressing against her, waiting.
She had only taken one wrong turn.
So why did it feel like she had left Possum Springs entirely?
-
The night had thickened around Possum Springs, the houses slumped under its weight like tired animals settling in for winter. Mae walked, hands stuffed deep in her pockets, the old iron smell of the train tracks in her nose. There were places in this town where the streetlights didn’t reach, where the dark pressed in like a second skin, where the past sat waiting just out of sight. She had learned to listen for it.
She didn’t know why she was out tonight. Just that staying in had felt worse. She had tried reading a comic, then switching between TV channels, then lying on her back staring at the ceiling until the static in her head got too loud. So here she was. Walking.
She passed the Snack Falcon. The fluorescents inside made everything look unreal, like the world had been drawn in shaky neon lines. Gregg was working, or maybe not working, spinning a bottle of soda in his hands like he was testing the laws of physics. Mae thought about going in, but something tugged her forward.
The church sat at the edge of town, watching over everything like a half-forgotten god. Mae didn’t go to church, not really, but she found herself walking up the hill anyway. There was something strange about it at night, how the windows turned into dark mirrors, how the wind made the trees murmur to themselves. Her mom wouldn’t be here this late. Nobody would.
Except—
A shape stood near the side entrance, half in shadow. Not moving. Watching?
Mae slowed.
"Hey," she called.
The figure shifted, but didn’t speak. Mae could feel her pulse in her ears. The night smelled like damp leaves and something metallic, something sharp. She took a step forward, and the figure took a step back, disappearing around the corner.
Mae hesitated. She should turn around. She should go home.
Instead, she followed.
The path behind the church sloped down into the woods, the ground uneven, roots twisting up like veins. Mae’s breath was loud in her own head. The figure was ahead of her, moving between the trees, too fast to be walking, too smooth to be running. Her legs ached, but she kept going.
The path ended at the old cemetery. The gate hung open, rusted where the metal had broken apart. Inside, the tombstones leaned at tired angles, their names worn down by time.
The figure was gone.
Mae stood there, her breath fogging in the cold.
Then—
A whisper, close enough to raise the hairs on her neck.
"Not yet," it said.
Mae spun.
No one was there.
The town stretched behind her, its windows glowing in the dark. The train whistled in the distance, a sound too lonely for how many people must have heard it.
Mae swallowed hard.
She turned and walked back the way she came, back toward the streetlights, the buildings, the people.
But the feeling stayed with her.
Something was coming.
-
Mae didn’t sleep that night.
She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, the glow of her alarm clock carving red numbers into the dark. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the cemetery, the broken gate, the way the trees had seemed to breathe around her. And that whisper—low and close and certain. Not yet.
Not yet what?
At some point, she must have drifted off, because she woke to the sound of her mom calling from downstairs, the sun already creeping through the blinds. Mae sat up, the sleep still heavy in her bones.
Her brain felt slow, like it was waking up from something deeper than a dream.
She pulled on her hoodie, laced her shoes, and headed downstairs.
Breakfast was waiting. Her mom was halfway through a crossword, pen tapping against the table. "You okay, sweetie? You look kinda pale."
Mae hesitated. I followed a shadow into the woods last night and it disappeared at the cemetery and then I heard a voice whisper to me from nowhere.
"Didn’t sleep great," she said instead.
Her mom frowned but let it go.
After breakfast, Mae wandered outside. The air was cold, the kind that made everything feel sharper. The normal world was still here—the same streets, the same sidewalks, the same Possum Springs that had been sinking into itself for years. But something felt different. Or maybe Mae did.
She walked without thinking, her feet taking her toward the Snack Falcon. She wasn’t sure if she was looking for answers or just for something familiar, but either way, she needed to talk to Gregg.
The bell over the door jingled as she stepped inside.
Gregg looked up from where he was stacking bags of chips in a completely unnecessary pyramid. "Dude! You look like you got possessed by the ghost of a Victorian child last night."
Mae flopped onto the counter. "I think I actually saw something weird."
Gregg grinned. "Weird like… cool weird? Or weird like I am deeply unsettled weird?"
Mae hesitated.
"Little of both."
Gregg gasped. "Tell me everything."
She did.
As she talked, she expected Gregg to laugh, to poke fun at her for getting spooked in the dark. But he just listened, nodding along, his eyes bright with interest.
When she was done, he spun a bag of pretzels in his hands.
"Dude. Cemetery at night. Mysterious shadow figure. Whispering voice?" He smacked the counter. "That is some prime haunted nonsense right there."
Mae groaned. "I don’t want haunted nonsense. I want normal nonsense. Why can’t the weird stuff in this town ever not be creepy?"
Gregg shrugged. "Possum Springs, man. It just is like that."
He leaned in. "But also… we should totally go back tonight."
Mae blinked. "What? No."
"Come on. If something weird is happening, we gotta check it out."
Mae sighed, rubbing her face. She already knew she was going to say yes.
"Fine. But if we get eaten by a ghost or something, I’m haunting you forever."
Gregg grinned. "Deal."
-
That night, they met at the edge of the woods behind the church. Angus had vetoed coming, saying, "I don’t need more existential dread in my life, thanks," but Bea was there, arms crossed, cigarette glowing between her fingers.
"This is dumb," Bea said. "And you’re dumb for dragging me into it."
"Aw, Bea, you love us," Gregg said.
"I tolerate you," she corrected.
They walked down the path, flashlights cutting through the dark. The air smelled like damp earth, like something old had been turned over in the soil. The woods felt different than they had the night before, the trees pressing in closer, the silence heavier.
When they reached the cemetery, the gate stood open, just like before.
Mae swallowed hard. "Okay. So. We’re here. Now what?"
Gregg grinned, sweeping his flashlight dramatically. "Now, we investigate!"
He took a step forward—
And the whisper came again.
Not in Mae’s head. Not in a half-dream.
Right here. Right now.
"Not yet."
The voice was low, almost familiar, but wrong in a way Mae couldn’t explain.
Bea inhaled sharply. Gregg’s grin vanished.
None of them spoke.
The wind stirred the leaves, but the trees didn’t move. The world felt caught in place, like a held breath.
Mae’s heart pounded.
Then, something shifted in the dark.
A shape. Standing between the graves. Watching them.
Waiting.
-
The shape didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stood there, dark against the darker night, a hole cut out of the world.
Gregg’s flashlight shook in his hands. "Oh, hell no."
Mae’s throat was dry. "Did you hear it?"
Bea’s cigarette had burned down to her fingers. She dropped it. Stomped it out. "We need to leave."
Gregg took a step back. The shape didn’t follow, but it also didn’t not follow. Like it was waiting. Like it was patient. Like it knew something they didn’t.
The whisper again, this time right behind Mae’s ear.
"Not yet."
Mae turned so fast she almost fell over. Nothing was there.
Her stomach lurched. She felt wrong, like she was standing in a place she wasn’t supposed to be, like the earth had tilted just slightly under her feet.
Bea grabbed her wrist. "Mae. We need to go."
Gregg was already moving, pulling Mae by the arm. She stumbled after him, barely aware of her own legs. The graveyard was behind them now, but she could still feel it. The weight of the thing that wasn’t following them but wasn’t letting them go.
They made it to the street, to the glow of the church’s floodlights, before anyone spoke.
"What the hell was that?" Bea’s voice was sharp, clipped at the edges.
Gregg was pacing, hands on his head. "Dude. Dude. That was some actual horror movie nonsense."
Mae pressed her hands to her face. She could still hear the voice, curling around the edges of her brain like fog. Not yet. Not yet.
She dropped her hands. "We have to go back."
Gregg choked. "I—WHAT?"
"No," Bea said. "Absolutely not. We are never doing that again. You’re insane."
Mae didn’t disagree. But she had to go back.
She didn’t know why.
She just knew.
-
She went alone.
The next night, when the streets were empty and the sky was clear and black, she walked back to the woods. Back to the cemetery.
The gate was open. Of course it was.
She stepped inside.
The graves stood in silent rows, their stones washed pale in the moonlight. The air was still. Heavy.
Mae’s breath came slow and shallow.
"I know you’re here."
Nothing.
She took another step. Her fingers curled into fists.
"You keep saying not yet like I’m supposed to wait for something. Like something’s coming." She swallowed. "So what is it? What am I waiting for?"
Silence.
Then—
A rustle.
A shape moving between the headstones.
Not a shadow. Not a person.
Something else.
Mae’s chest was tight. "Talk to me."
The whisper was right in front of her now.
"Not yet."
And then—
A hand on her shoulder.
Mae flinched, spinning around, heart in her throat.
Nobody was there.
She staggered backward, breath shuddering. "Screw this," she muttered.
She turned—
And the shape was standing right in front of her.
Watching.
Waiting.
Mae didn’t run.
She didn’t breathe.
The shape lifted an arm, something slow and deliberate about the movement, like it was reaching for her—
Mae blinked.
It was gone.
The graveyard was empty.
The air was thin.
Mae was alone.
She turned in a slow circle, heart hammering.
Nothing.
No voice.
No shadow.
No anything.
Just the quiet, and the moon, and the shape of something that had been there and now wasn’t.
She exhaled shakily, staring at the ground, her thoughts spinning into themselves.
Then, low and close, barely more than a breath—
"Soon."
Mae squeezed her eyes shut.
She walked home.
She didn’t look back.
-
Mae didn’t go home. The streetlights flickered in the fog, casting shadows that stretched too long, bent in places they shouldn’t. The pavement under her sneakers felt thinner than it should’ve, like she was walking on a shell stretched over something hollow.
She didn’t want to be alone, but she didn’t want to be with anyone either. The air had that late-autumn stillness, the kind that made everything sound too sharp, too near. A car passed on the highway, and she counted the seconds before its rumble faded, like timing thunder after lightning.
She found herself at the edge of the woods without deciding to go there. The trees loomed, taller than they had any right to be, their bare branches tangled like fingers reaching for something just out of reach. The hole in the center of her chest ached, but she didn’t turn back.
Something was watching her.
Not with eyes, not in a way she could point to and say, “There.” But she knew it just the same. Like the way you know a storm is coming before you hear the first crack of thunder.
She stepped forward.
The darkness swallowed her whole.
-
The town was smaller at night. The spaces between houses stretched wider, the streetlights hummed louder, and the stars—when they showed themselves—felt like something watching rather than something watched. Mae walked with her hands in her pockets, scuffing her shoes against the pavement. There was a pull in her stomach, something restless and directionless, like an animal circling its own den.
The old grocery store still had a sign out front even though it had been empty for years. The plastic letters had cracked and faded, but someone—probably kids, probably Gregg—had rearranged them into something that almost made words. "HOT MEAT DOG YES".
She laughed under her breath and kicked at a rock, sending it clattering down the sidewalk. This was the time of night when Possum Springs felt like it could be anything. Like maybe if she walked far enough, turned the right corner, she’d find a street that didn’t exist during the day. A street that led somewhere else.
Instead, she found Bea.
The alligator was leaning against the wall outside the hardware store, smoking, the glow of her cigarette pulsing like a second streetlight. She didn’t look up right away.
“Mae.”
“Bea.”
A pause. Smoke curling into the cold.
“You following me?”
Mae smirked. “Maybe I just go where the night takes me.”
Bea exhaled through her nose, unimpressed. “Well, tell the night to take you somewhere else.”
But she didn’t leave. And Mae didn’t either.
They stood there, side by side, watching the nothing of the town stretch out in front of them. The wind shifted, carrying the scent of damp leaves, of something metallic, like old pennies left in the rain.
Mae shivered. She wasn’t cold, not exactly.
There was a sound, too quiet to be a voice but too deliberate to be the wind. A whisper, a murmur, something moving just beyond the reach of the streetlights.
Mae turned her head, slowly.
“Did you hear that?”
Bea frowned, flicking ash from her cigarette. “Hear what?”
Mae scanned the darkness, but the street was empty. The houses were dark. Even the stars had pulled back behind the clouds.
“Nothing,” she said. “Never mind.”
But she stayed standing there, listening.
And the town listened back.
-
They stayed like that for a while. Bea smoking, Mae staring into the dark, both of them waiting for something neither would admit to expecting. The town sat heavy around them, holding its breath.
Eventually, Bea sighed, crushing the last of her cigarette under her boot. “You’re weird tonight.”
Mae blinked. “I’m always weird.”
“Yeah, but—” Bea hesitated. “You’re doing that thing. Like you’re waiting for something to jump out of the shadows and grab you.”
Mae shrugged, kicking at another rock. “Maybe I am.”
Bea rolled her eyes. “Right. And maybe I’m the Queen of Possum Springs.”
Mae smirked. “Your Majesty.”
“Shut up.”
Bea turned, heading toward home, but Mae hesitated. The empty grocery store loomed beside her, its dark windows reflecting nothing. The letters on the sign shifted in the wind. "HOT MEAT DOG YES" became "HOT ME DOG YES". Then "HOT ME DOG".
The air was heavier now, thick and slow like water pressing against her skin.
She should go home. That was the normal thing to do. Brush her teeth, get into bed, stare at the ceiling for too long before falling asleep.
Instead, she took a step closer to the store.
A single bulb flickered on in the back, deep inside where no power should have been.
She swallowed.
Then she pushed open the door.
-
She didn’t stop running until she was outside, until the air hit her lungs sharp and cold. She bent over, hands on her knees, breathing hard.
Bea was gone.
The town was still quiet, still waiting.
Mae turned back toward the grocery store.
The light in the back was off.
The mirror was gone.
Just empty shelves, dust, and silence.
She laughed, breathless. A little too high, a little too shaky.
“Okay,” she muttered to herself. “Maybe I’m done with adventures for tonight.”
But she didn’t quite believe it.
Because the night wasn’t done with her.
And somewhere, in the distance, something else was laughing too.
-
Mae walked home with her hands stuffed in her hoodie pockets, shoulders hunched like she could fold herself small enough that the night wouldn’t notice her. The streets stretched too long, the stars looked too sharp.
When she got to her house, she hesitated on the porch. Inside, the lights were off except for the glow of the TV in her parents’ room. She could hear the low murmur of whatever rerun her dad had fallen asleep to. Safe. Normal. The world still turning the way it was supposed to.
Mae put her hand on the doorknob.
And then, from down the street—
A laugh.
Not hers. Not even close.
She turned too fast, heart knocking against her ribs, but the street was empty. Just the quiet hum of streetlights, the rustling of trees, the distant sound of a train passing over the hills.
It had sounded close, though.
It had sounded like it knew her name.
Mae licked her lips. She should go inside. Get under the covers, pretend she wasn’t shaking.
Instead, she stepped off the porch.
The laugh had come from near Gregg’s place. Or maybe the Snack Falcon. Hard to tell, sound did weird things in the dark.
She walked fast, arms wrapped around herself like that would do anything. The asphalt felt too thin under her sneakers. Like it might crumble and drop her into something deeper.
She passed the abandoned food stand, its sign still peeling from last summer’s heat wave. Passed the statue of the Possum Springs founder with his dumb, blank face, watching her go by. Passed the alley behind the Ol’ Pickaxe, where something always smelled like it was rotting.
And then she stopped.
The Snack Falcon’s windows glowed neon blue, but the inside was dark. Closed for the night. The parking lot was empty, except—
A shape. Sitting on the curb.
Mae’s stomach twisted. It was the size of a person, hunched over, head low like it was staring at its hands. But something was wrong with the way it sat. Limbs bent too sharp, shoulders too narrow, body too long.
Mae swallowed. “Uh. Hello?”
The shape twitched.
Then it moved.
Not like standing up. Not like turning to look at her.
It moved like a bad frame in a video game. Like one second it was sitting, and the next it was closer.
Mae’s breath hitched.
She took a step back.
The thing grinned. Its teeth were too white, too many, too familiar.
It looked just like her.
Mae ran.
She didn’t look back.
She didn’t stop running until she was inside, door locked, lights on.
Her reflection in the hallway mirror stared back at her, wide-eyed, panting.
It was her.
Wasn’t it?
Mae turned off the lights and went to bed, pulling the covers up over her head like she used to when she was a kid.
In the dark, she could still hear laughing.
And this time, she was sure—
It was coming from inside her own room.
-
Mae stayed under the covers, breath shallow, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped thing. The laugh had been close. Too close. Like it had come from just beside her bed, curling around the edges of the dark.
She squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn’t happening. It was some kind of stress dream, or maybe she was just losing it a little more than usual.
But then—
The floor creaked.
Mae’s stomach turned to ice.
Slowly, slowly, she pulled the blanket down just enough to see.
The room was dark, but not empty.
Near the dresser, where the shadows pooled thick, something shifted.
Mae’s breath caught in her throat.
A shape was crouched there, just barely visible in the weak glow of the streetlights outside.
It was watching her.
And then, like a record skipping—
It moved.
Not like a person shifting their weight, or stepping forward.
One second it was by the dresser, the next it was at the foot of her bed.
Mae choked on a breath. She scrambled back, hit the headboard hard enough to rattle the whole bed frame.
The thing grinned. It looked just like her, but wrong. The way a mannequin looks like a person, or how a voice recording sounds almost right but not quite.
“Go away,” Mae whispered. Her voice barely worked.
The thing cocked its head. Then it spoke.
“I already live here.”
Mae’s skin went cold.
She wanted to run. Wanted to scream for her parents. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but watch as the thing smiled wider, as its reflection in the mirror behind it didn’t match, as its hands—her hands—pressed against the mattress, shifting closer.
“You’re not real,” Mae tried again.
The thing just laughed.
And this time—
Mae could feel the sound in her own chest, like an echo.
Like it had always been there.
Like she had just been waiting to hear it.
-
The next morning, Mae woke up to sunlight pouring through the window.
Her room was empty.
No signs of anything wrong.
Just the usual mess. Clothes on the floor, empty soda cans on the desk.
Mae sat up too fast, heart still racing, but—nothing.
It had just been a dream.
Hadn’t it?
She got up, rubbing at her eyes, feeling like she hadn’t slept at all.
Her reflection in the mirror looked back at her, tired and rumpled.
Just her.
Mae sighed, shaking her head at herself. “Jesus,” she muttered.
Then her reflection grinned.
And Mae hadn’t.
The mirror fogged over with her breath.
The thing on the other side pressed its hands against the glass.
And whispered, with her own voice—
“Let me out.”