Chapters 11-17 have been rewritten to improve story flow and pacing. [June 27, 2024]

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    Son of a bitch.

    Today of all days, someone has to come to my door?

    Somehow I force my exhausted body off the couch. My bones protest as I stumble to the door, leaning heavily against the frame. Who the hell needs me right now? I don''t even know anyone in this town.

    I''ll feel bad if it''s Mrs. Elkins, but anyone else needs to prepare themselves for the rage of a sick person.

    I yank it open, ready to snap at whoever dared to disturb my misery. But there''s no one there. My landing is empty. The stairway is empty. There''s nothing, except the occasional person passing by on the street.

    Great. Now I''m imagining things.

    I step out, glancing both ways. Nothing. A shiver runs through me, and it has nothing to do with my fever. Something feels off, but I can''t put my finger on it.

    Dark clouds loom overhead, heavy and ominous. That''s odd. I could have sworn the forecast said clear skies all week. A storm would be just my luck. At least I don''t have to go anywhere; my shopping''s already done.@@@@

    Sighing, I retreat back inside, locking the door behind me. The click of the deadbolt does little to ease the uneasiness swirling in my gut. Collapsing onto the couch, I pull the blanket around my shoulders, trying to stave off the cold.

    It doesn''t help.

    The frigid chill of my body comes from deep within, even as sweat beads on my forehead and upper lip.

    I should take that Tylenol. I should eat more soup. I should do a lot of things, but all I can manage is to lay on the couch, staring blankly at the wall. Even the thought of reaching for the TV remote is too much.

    Minutes tick by, or maybe it''s hours. Time is only a suggestion, my fever-addled brain struggling to keep up. The shadows in the room grow longer as the storm clouds block out the sun. I should turn on a light, but even the thought of moving feels like too much effort.

    And then someone knocks on my door again.

    This time, I ignore it.

    I''m too miserable to fake civility, anyway.

    Somewhere in my haze, I find myself slipping, falling into a familiar landscape that has haunted my nights.

    I''m in the forest again.

    Too alluring.

    Like a trap.

    I pull my hand back, cradling it against my chest. The stream darkens, its waters murky and uninviting. The forest around me grows cold, green leaves now brown, falling to rot against the earth.

    Shadows swallow light, turning an oasis into something awful.

    The noises of the forest are gone, and only silence reigns in the absence.

    The only thing I can hear is the pounding of my heartbeat, thudding just beneath my jaw, pounding in my chest.

    The familiar dream has taken a sharp left into the realm of nightmares.

    A flash of movement.

    A glimpse of—something, darting in the darkness.

    Eyes that glow, crimson and menacing.

    I can''t scream; no sound escapes my throat, even as it tears under the force of my terror.

    A creature of shadow steps forward, a mass of darkness that seems to shrink before my eyes, coalescing into a solid form.

    For a moment, it looks human, its hand reaching toward me.

    There''s a chill, a winter''s soft sigh in the breeze, and the scent of something putrid that has me clapping my hands over my mouth as I gag.

    And then it''s gone.

    The shadows.

    The creature.

    The nightmare forest.

    All of it.

    I''m blinking at my white popcorn ceiling, once again in my apartment.