Chapter 3: The Unraveling
I stood frozen, my breath shallow, my mind screaming at me to run, to get away from whatever this was.
Zoey took a step closer. Her boots barely made a sound on the pavement, but every movement sent a chill down my spine.
"Marcus," she said softly, like she was trying not to scare me. "I am real."
No. That wasn't possible.
I took a step back, shaking my head. "You—" My voice cracked. "I was at your funeral. I saw you—"
I couldn't say it. The words lodged in my throat like broken glass.
She tilted her head slightly, her green eyes sharp, searching. Then, she gave me a small, sad smile.
"I know," she said.
A cold wind cut through the empty street. The sky had darkened, storm clouds rolling in like ink spilling across paper. Zoey stood there, completely still, watching me with an expression I couldn't read.
I wanted to run. I wanted to wake up.
But instead, I asked, "How?"
Zoey let out a breath—like she had been waiting for that question.
"I don't know," she admitted. "Not really."
She looked away, and for a moment, she wasn't the ghost that had been haunting me.
She was just Zoey—the girl who used to throw popcorn at Mia during movie nights, who used to steal my hoodie even though it was way too big for her.
The girl who had been gone for two years.
I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering in my ears.
"Where have you been?" I asked.
Zoey hesitated. A flicker of something—fear? Guilt?—passed over her face before she quickly masked it.
"Somewhere in between," she said. "Not here. But not gone, either."
A cold shiver ran down my spine. Not gone.
"What does that even mean?" I asked. "Are you a—" I swallowed. The word felt ridiculous, impossible, but it was the only thing that made sense. "A ghost?"
Zoey's lips pressed together, like she was considering it.
"I don't think so," she said. "At least… not the way you think."
Her voice was quieter now. She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers like she was testing if they were real.
"I woke up one day, and I was just… here," she said. "No one could see me. No one but you."
Her eyes locked onto mine, and suddenly I felt like the ground beneath me wasn't solid anymore.
Why me?
Before I could ask, another gust of wind howled through the street, making the trees tremble.
The sky above was almost black now.
I glanced around, realizing how empty the town felt. The distant hum of traffic had faded. No birds. No voices. Just silence.
Something about it felt wrong.
I turned back to Zoey, my skin prickling.
She was staring past me now, her expression shifting—fear flashing in her eyes.
"Marcus," she whispered. "We need to leave. Now."
A chill spread through my body.
"What? Why?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder.
That's when I saw it.
A figure. In the shadows.
Standing at the far end of the street, barely visible through the mist rolling in.
Tall. Unmoving. Watching. Almost human but was distorted.
The air around it shimmered, like heat rising off pavement. But the feeling it gave me wasn't warm. It was ice cold. I stared at it, it gave off an uneasy feeling, but it made it seem like it knew me in some way.
Zoey grabbed my wrist, pulling me out of my thoughts.. Her grip was firm, too solid for someone who wasn't supposed to be real.
"No time to explain," she said, her voice urgent. "Run."
And for the first time in two years—maybe longer—my body listened before my brain did.
I ran.
Zoey ran beside me, her hand gripping mine as we tore through the streets. The wind roared in my ears, the world blurring past us. I didn't dare look back.
But I could feel it.
Whatever was behind us—whoever was watching.
And for the first time since I lost Zoey, I felt something worse than grief.
I felt hunted