It was a cold night, a cold night filled with thousands of shivering raindrops, dancing ferociously to the sound of the wind. A man stood there, a lone man, listening to the whispering leaves scattered across the muddy ground.
His gaze was fixed upon the great farmhouse before him, a weathered, ancient monolith defiant of the merciless elements.
He had been told it had long been abandoned, yet as his eyes found the lit window, he knew it was all a lie. Goosebumps covered his freezing skin.
The figure in the window – no; the figure that had just been in the window – embraced him from behind. She was even colder than him, perhaps down to the threadbare laced dress that clung to her fragile form, and her head barely reached his shoulders.
He turned and, in the flickering blink of an eyelid, she was gone. The rain had stopped. And the wind, too. All was silent.
~ Jordan Strobach-Morris, 17.12.2015