real.
Chapter 4:
Her eyes darted to the nightstand, where her phone sat in the glow of the early morning light. She lunged for it, snatching it up as she bolted. Fumbling with the screen, she tapped the last number dialed. Ellie. Not waiting for an answer, Kat stumbled through the back door, feet barely touching the patio as she ran. Vaulting over chairs, dodging flowerpots, she sprinted toward the trailer two doors down, the cold still cling- ing to her skin like an unseen residue. Her knuckles rapped frantically against the door, the pounding echoing through the qui-
The Grip of The Past
… continued
The first thing Kat registered was the cold.
Not the crisp morning chill, but an unnatu- ral, creeping cold that slithered over her skin.
Then—hands.
A pair of invisible hands clamped around her throat. She jolted awake, instinctively clawing at the crushing grip, but her fingers met nothing. Yet the pressure was real—squeezing, suffo- cating. And then, she saw it. A figure loomed over her, its form flickering like a shadow caught between worlds. It pinned her down, pressing the air from her lungs. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her body jerking against the mattress as she fought to break free. The room warped—darkened—the shadows stretching unnaturally against the walls. With a desperate lurch, she flung herself sideways, tumbling off the bed. The moment she hit the linoleum floor, it was gone.
The air in the room settled.
The weight lifted.
Kat gasped, her chest heaving. It had been
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