Lila hated walking home late at night, but her shift at the diner always ran past midnight. The streets were quiet, the air heavy with mist. As she passed an alley, she heard it—a faint whisper.
“Lila...”
She froze. Her name echoed softly, carried by the still night air. She turned, heart pounding, but the alley was empty.
“Lila...” the whisper came again, closer this time.
Her breath quickened. She broke into a run, her footsteps echoing on the pavement. As she fumbled for her keys at her apartment door, the whisper was right behind her.
“Don’t turn around,” it said.
She didn’t.