Willow is alone; darkness and silence the only constants in the endless forest.

Her breath rises in a mist, faintly seen in the dim lighting. Her flashlight beam is a soft glow illuminating the trees, bright and safe, but hiding more of the forest than revealing its secrets. There is a hush on everything, the only noise coming from the crunch of leaves beneath her feet. She feels as though she is the only person left on earth, exploring this forest, trying to find something, anything, to help her survive.

She stops suddenly and silence caresses her. For a moment she just stands, trying to put to words the feeling that’s rising inside of her. It’s only that, a feeling, that something’s changed in the forest, but what? Not even wind blows through the branches above her.

Goose bumps form on her arms and she shivers, though not from cold. She holds still, trying to feel the air around her as though it will tell her what’s happened to make her unnerved. She grips her flashlight tighter, the cold from it running up her arm, and she debates turning it off. It shows her what’s coming, yes, but also shows others where she is.

Alone is good; it’s when something else comes is when she has to worry.

The hair on the back of her neck raise, stiff, and she cranes her neck to look over her shoulders to remain alert as she walks. She feels eyes crawling down her back.

Fear stirs in her stomach.

Find him, she thinks, find him and this will end.

She wishes she knew who he was.

“Where are you?” She whispers, sounding like a child playing hide-and-seek. Her question is lost into the empty air.

The quiet presses against her eardrums like an invisible pillow, until she wonders if she’s deaf. A new, sudden chill pushes its cold body against hers. She shivers once more, pulling her jacket closer to her. Her heart beats furiously; her hands tremble.

He is out there, she knows he is, can just feel his presence beyond the beam of the flashlight. He’s there, watching her every move, she knows he is, enjoying her anxiety, taking pleasure in her fear. Her mind races, beating out frantic instructions to ensure her survival against this thing, whatever he is. She’s never seen him, ever; whenever she feels him get close, her body screams for her to run before he gets within sight.

And tonight will be no different; already her legs tense, ready to bolt; a strange, bold strength floods her arms; she feels her heart echoing inside of her chest.

“Leave me alone!” she screams out into the forest, desperate to be rid of him once and for all.

Stillness and darkness envelope her once more.

Nothing happens. Nothing comes, nothing moves, nothing stalks close her to her; absolutely nothing has changed in the forest around her.

She finds it utterly terrifying.

She needs to get out of here.

Without a second hesitation, Willow spins on the spot and springs forward to escape.

Her heels dig into the ground, regretting their hasty decision. Something’s up ahead, something…she raises the flashlight to see….

Her numb fingers fumble with the light, dropping it to the ground. Her mouth opens to scream, but her throat constricts and no noise comes out.

With a jolt, Willow’s eyes snap open.

The soft morning light flecks her wooden dresser and desk, causing a beautiful contrast between the light and the dark. The world is peaceful, and she can hear a faint twitter from a chickadee outside. Willow takes a moment to search her surroundings, making sure everything’s in order to calm herself. It was only a dream, she reminds herself.

Willow rolls over and squeezes her eyes shut. At least she didn’t wake up screaming this time.

The nightmares are back. That one simple fact feels like a knife cutting through her. Why isn’t she rid of them? Hasn’t she outgrown them already? Her dad always told her that they would get better as she got older, but…this one was the worst one yet. She almost saw him.

She’s had the nightmares since she was four. Each one, while differing in some way, still feels the same. She’s always trapped somewhere, unable to escape or run away, always alone, and there’s always an unseen creature pursuing her.

Years back, Willow’s parents had turned to psychologists for help, hoping for a cure. Back then, Willow was so terrified of the nightmares that she was scared to sleep. But they didn’t help; they said the dreams meant she was “avoiding an issue or person” in her waking life and that she was “running away” from these things, and that was seen from the monster. They told her to “confront” the issues in real life. There were no such issues in her life, and still aren’t. Her dad said that she’d outgrow it and it was normal for kids to have night terrors, and they’d just have to wait it out. Willow eventually learned how to avoid waking up screaming and stopped telling her parents that she had them.

The dreams never really went away, though, even evolving over the years. Whereas before her pursuer was far off, just beyond the fringes of her vision, now he’s close, almost breathing down her neck, appearing so suddenly that it’s like he materialized out of thin air. Willow knew it was a person of some sort, in that way that people can “know” things in their dreams even if the facts aren’t given. She’s been calling it a “he” for as long as she’s had the dream.

This dream is different. When she turned, she could almost see her pursuer, if only for a second. The flashlight’s beam flashed across his frame; Willow racks her brain trying to remember what he looked like. Tall, extremely and unusually tall...the flashlight crossed where she thought his head should be, but caught his torso instead. She didn’t see any more than that, since most of him was in shadow.

The alarm on her phone rings, telling her to get ready for the day and unaware that she’s already awake. Willow silences it, shallow disappointment running through her. She had been so close to finally seeing the boogieman that has haunted her for the past ten years, and now she can’t remember what he looks like. It’s a weird desire, she decides on an afterthought, to want to see the monster that’s haunted her sleeping life since she was in preschool, but maybe seeing him would help her get rid of them once and for all.

Focus on something else, she tells herself, shaking off her covers. She gets about five steps away from the bed before the cold drafts send her back to her bed. She wraps a blanket around her to ward off the cold and gets ready for the day.

The floorboard creaks as she descends the stairs fifteen minutes later, her backpack slung over her shoulder. When she reaches the bottom, she runs into the Tornado.

Laila has been “the Happy Tornado” ever since she was a toddler, and she’s latched onto the name quite, well, happily. Willow can’t quite remember when the nickname first came to be, but Laila has always had the right amount of energy and joy to earn the nickname.

Today, Laila is up to her favorite antic of jump-scaring her big sister. She started this when she was three and first saw Willow jump in fear, and Laila basically went “hey, I want to make her do that!” Willow’s normally pretty good at expecting the jump scares because, after a while, they aren’t nearly as shocking.

But today Willow is still jump from the nightmare.

“Boo-bet-I-scared-you-ha-ha!” Laila says in one breath, jumping out of a corner by the stairs.

One second, Willow’s walking while half-awake towards the kitchen; the next she’s dazed with a frantically beating heart on the ground, her backpack weighting her down like a helpless turtle.

“Could you not do that?” Willow says breathlessly, the wind knocked out of her.

Laila doesn’t immediately answer, laughing so hard. “That was the best one in a while now!”

“Get a new hobby.” Willow attempts pulls herself to her feet. “Preferably one that doesn’t involve me falling on my butt.” She has to disentangle herself from the umbrella stand that her foot is trapped behind before standing up.

Laila rolls her eyes. “You’re awake now, aren’t you? Be happy.”

Laila is twelve, four years Willow’s junior, but the two used to be taken as twins until Willow hit her growth spurt. The two sisters are tall for their age, Willow more slim while Laila’s stockier, and both have dark hair. Laila’s recently cut hers so now it barely touches her shoulders, and is much curler then it used to be, now that the weight’s gone. Willow still keeps her hair long, so it flows gracefully to her shoulder blades. Their eyes are where the true differences lie; Willow’s almond shaped eyes are stormy gray, the only one of her immediate family to have the color, while Laila’s doe-like brown eyes are identical to Dad’s.

“I could replace you with coffee it that’s all you’re good for,” Willow continues as they enter the kitchen.

“Coffee doesn’t give you my…entertainment value.”

Dad, tall and wiry, sits at the dining table with an iPad, scrolling through the morning news. Willow plops down next to him, reaching over to grab some toast off his plate. He doesn’t take his eyes off the screen but scoots the toast closer to her.

“Good morning, girls,” Their mom says, flashing a smile towards them. The smell of pancakes drifts through the air, making Willow dizzy from sudden hunger. Her mom’s eyes flicker momentarily out the window before she heads over to the table with the plates.

“Are you walking to school today?” Her mom sits across from Willow.

“Mark’s driving, as usual.” Willow frowns in confusion; the only time she walked was before the weather turned sour, and today it’s barely forty degrees outside.

This doesn’t stop her mom from asking the same question to Laila.

“I’m taking the bus,” Laila says, as though this is the most obvious thing in the world. Willow thinks it is, at any rate. Laila goes to an elementary school down the street—after this year, she’ll join Willow’s school, a combined middle and high school.

The room grows quiet, broken only by the clink of silverware and the sounds of chewing.

Willow glances outside; the sun’s disappeared behind the clouds and it looks like it’s about to rain. Why her mom had to ask if she was walking is beyond her; it looks miserable out there. This wasn’t that uncommon this close to November; as a general rule, Ohio weather sucks.

Her phone buzzes, Mark’s text letting her know he’s in the driveway. Willow gulps down her remaining pancake and gives a quick hug to both of her parents. Just as she’s opening the door and greeted with a rush of cool air, her mother appears behind her.

“Willow?” Her mom embraces her, and Willow does her best not to stiffen up with surprise. “Have a wonderful day, Sweetie.”

“I will, Mom.”

“Be safe.”

“I will, Mom.”

Her mom releases her from the hug, but grips her shoulders and stares into her eyes. “Promise me, Willow. Be serious this time.”

“I was serious….Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Her mom forces a smile. “Just be cautious, little duck.”

Half-formed questions swirl in Willow’s head as she walks out, each trying to explain her mom’s paranoia but too tired to come up with good explanations.

Mark’s black Buick sits near the end of the driveway, a low rumble coming from the engine. Mark stares at something down the road as Willow approaches, the top of his head hidden from glare on the windshield. He’s a year older than her, a senior, scheduled to graduate this spring. Broad shouldered and made mainly of muscle, he’s built like a football player despite never having an interest on playing on the team. He has dark brown hair, blue eyes and, like everyone in the cloudy town of Brumswalk, is pale.

“Morning,” he says as she gets in.

Willow drops her bag at her feet, her brow furrowed and she bites her lip in concentration.

Mark catches the look on her. “What’s up?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really.”

Mark gives her a get-on-with-it look.

“I think Mom expects me to run into a serial killer today, the way she was acting. Have you heard any news on that?”

“What, a serial killer on the loose? Not that I know of. Nothing out of the ordinary, at least.” He points towards the thing he was staring at. “Here’s something to take your mind off of that; I spotted this while I was waiting. I think your neighbors are trying to cause car accidents, because that thing’s creepy as hell.”

Willow turns to look.

Nestled between several Halloween decorations is either a very tall man with strange proportions (highly unlikely, Willow decides once her senses catch up with her; its arms go to its knees) or a stuffed demon-thing that they’ve stuck out to scare passing cars. Whatever it is, it never moves, not even when the wind tugs at the last bit of leaves in the branches above it.

“Know who lives there?” Mark asks.

“No idea.” Willow feels a prickling sensation tickle the back of her neck. The thing appears to be staring straight at them. “Was it always looking at the car?”

Mark nods. “That’s what got my attention. I’d avoid your neighbors if I was you. They might try to cook you up in a big tasty stew.” Mark puts the car into reverse and backs out of the driveway.

“Big tasty stew?”

“C’mon, it could happen.”

Willow gives him a you-are-weird look before craning her neck to catch a last glimpse of the mannequin. A strong sense of self-preservation rushes through her, as though she expects the decoration to follow and attack them, and her imagination wakes her up more effectively than if she had chugged espresso. But the thing disappears behind a tree before she can get a better look.