Ghosts Don't Whisper

The wind moaned through the cracks in the farmhouse walls, threading its way through the warped wooden boards like unseen fingers. Lily stood by the window, watching the darkness beyond, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

She should have been sleeping. Exhaustion clung to her bones like lead, but sleep had become an unpredictable companion—coming only when her body could no longer fight it off.

Hep was curled in the corner, a shivering, pitiful shape under the threadbare blanket she had tossed him before retreating to the window. His breath came slow and even, the kind of deep sleep that only absolute exhaustion could bring.

Lily sighed, running a hand over her face.

Letting him in had been a mistake. It had to be.

It didn’t matter that he seemed harmless. It didn’t matter that he looked like a man who had lost everything and had nothing left but the clothes on his back. The world wasn’t the kind of place where you could afford to believe in good intentions anymore.

And yet…

She had let him in anyway.

The tea had been the first mistake. Offering him a seat, the second. Letting him stay? The worst of them all.

But if she was being honest with herself, the real reason she couldn’t sleep wasn’t Hep. It was something else. Something wrong.

The house felt different tonight.

The wind had always found its way through the farmhouse, but tonight, it carried something with it—something colder than the night air. It crept over her skin, making the fine hairs on her arms rise.

Lily exhaled, watching the gray world outside shift and swirl. It was always gray now, as if the nuclear fire that had torn the world apart had burned all the color away.

A shudder ran down her spine.

She wasn’t alone.

The thought came unbidden, slipping into her mind like an unwanted guest.

She had felt this before, in those early days after the world ended—when she would wake in the middle of the night, heart pounding, convinced someone was watching. Back then, it had been Marcus at her side, shaking his head at her paranoia, telling her to get some sleep.

Marcus.

For a fleeting second, the thought of him clung to her, wrapping around her like warmth.

What if it was him?

She shook her head immediately, the thought as ridiculous as it was painful. Marcus was gone. He wasn’t coming back. If he was out there, he would have found her by now.

Still…

The feeling wouldn’t go away.

Lily let out a slow breath and turned from the window, scanning the dim interior of the farmhouse. The lantern’s light was soft, flickering against the walls, casting deep shadows that stretched and wavered. Hep didn’t stir. He was completely still under his blanket, nothing but a lump of exhaustion and bones.

The uneasy feeling slithered deeper into her chest.

Something was here.

She swallowed hard. Slowly, she reached for the knife she had tucked into her belt, her fingers closing around the handle. Just as she started to move, a shadow shifted in the hallway.

Lily froze.

For a split second, her brain refused to process what she was seeing.

A figure. Just beyond the lantern’s reach.

Not Marcus.

Not Hep.

Someone else.

Lily’s breath turned to ice in her lungs.

Before she could move, before she could think, the shadow lunged.

She barely had time to inhale before a hand clamped over her mouth, shoving her backward with the force of a freight train. Her legs tangled with the chair, sending it crashing to the floor.

Her skull smacked the wooden planks, white-hot pain exploding behind her eyes.

She kicked, thrashed, her nails clawing at the thick arms pinning her down. The attacker was stronger. He pressed his weight into her, keeping her trapped beneath him.

She tried to scream, but the only sound that escaped was a muffled, desperate cry against his palm.

Where was Hep?

She frantically turned her head toward the corner—toward where he had been.

Empty.

The blanket lay in a crumpled heap.

No sound. No movement.

Had he run? Had he escaped?

God, she hoped so.

Her attacker shifted his grip, one hand holding her down, the other fumbling for something at his side. Lily twisted violently, trying to throw him off, but before she could, something heavy cracked against the side of her skull.

The world turned black.

She woke to the sound of her own heartbeat.

Thick. Heavy. Pounding.

Pain radiated from the side of her head, a slow, throbbing ache that sent sick waves through her stomach.

Her wrists burned. She shifted slightly and felt the rough scrape of rope biting into her skin.

Tied.

She was tied to a chair.

The air was thick with dust, the scent of old wood and rust filling her nose. Footsteps creaked against the floorboards, slow and methodical.

Someone was going through the house.

Lily forced herself to keep her breathing even. Forced herself to stay still.

She kept her eyes shut.

If they thought she was still unconscious, she might have a chance.

The footsteps moved to the table. A drawer scraped open. Papers rustled. A muttered curse.

They were searching for something.

Lily flexed her fingers. The rope was tight, expertly knotted. She tested the tension, trying to gauge if there was any slack to work with.

Nothing.

The floor creaked again, this time closer.

She forced herself to stay still.

Outside, the wind picked up, slipping through the cracks in the wall behind her. It ghosted over the back of her neck, sending a fresh wave of cold over her skin.

And then—

A whisper.

Soft. Barely there. Almost part of the wind itself.

But she heard it.

Her name.

Lily.

Her breath hitched.

No.

No, she had imagined it.

Ghosts didn’t whisper.

The wind shifted again, curling around her like a breath. And this time, the whisper was even closer.

Lily.

Her stomach dropped.

She wasn’t imagining it.

Something was here.

And it was waiting.

(this was part 3 of a series)