Brooke Jennett

I felt dirt hit my ankle.

I looked down and saw some unseen force writing a message in the dirt in front of me.

I turned on my phone flashlight and shined it on the ground.

The winds picked up and Jim shouted that the storm was going to come right over us.

But I didn't hear it.

On the ground, in the dirt, the message read, You won't get out of here alive.

I looked up at Agnes and she was staring at me.

The overhead light was swinging from the wind, casting ever-moving shadows across her menacing face.

Behind her and Jim, I saw the shadowy figure place a withered white hand on her shoulder.

Jim didn't see a thing.

The shadow took a step back and then blinked out of sight.

I don't know where it went, but I knew it wasn't gone for good.

Agnes gave me a half-smile, the rest of her face frozen from the stroke.

I screamed at her.

She started laughing again.

I felt the ground under my foot start to fall away.

I looked down and saw that withered white hand breaking through the soil and feeling for my leg.

I pulled back and stood up.

Jim noticed me standing.

We locked eyes, and his eyes said, What are you doing?