Chapter 6: The First Night of Terror

That night, I started my shift right on time, nerves jangling. I checked the rearview mirror twice, locked the doors, and kept the lightning wood wedged tight by the passenger door. Every few minutes, my eyes darted to the side, half-hoping, half-dreading I’d see her again.

I cruised past shuttered diners and strip malls, the radio playing static-laced Garth Brooks. I kept to well-lit streets, steering clear of the woods where it all began. Every pothole made me jump, and I sipped gas station coffee to steady my hands.

It was nearly dawn. The sky turned pale, streaked with orange, the city yawning back to life.

I never saw that woman. Not a hint, not a shadow. The only thing out of place was my own heartbeat, pounding way too hard for a slow Tuesday morning.

Didn’t the old man say she’d come for me seven nights in a row? I drummed my fingers on the wheel, replaying his words. Maybe it was all a scam, some weird prank from a bored gas station regular.

I glanced at the lightning wood wedged by my car door and breathed a sigh of relief. I even texted my buddy, half-joking about surviving a ghost attack. He sent back a string of laughing emojis. For a second, I felt ridiculous. Who believes in this stuff, anyway?

I let out a nervous laugh and rolled down the window to let in the dawn breeze, the wood suddenly feeling much lighter.