Home for the Holiday Romance by Precious Anusiem
The Haunting Past
The moon hung high above the towering pines of Cedar Hollow, its pale glow dimmed by a restless fog that seemed alive, curling through the woods like a living thing. The night was still except for the muffled crunch of hurried footsteps on the snow-covered ground. A young girl, no more than thirteen, ran with all her might, her breaths forming frantic clouds in the icy air. Her wild eyes darted over her shoulder, her face streaked with tears and panic.
They were closing in.
The shadows moved unnaturally, slithering between the trees as if the darkness itself had taken shape to pursue her. Her heart pounded so fiercely that it drowned out all other sounds—the crackling of brittle branches, the whisper of the wind, and the faint, guttural chants that trailed her like a sinister melody.
“Please, no,” she gasped, clutching a small object against her chest. The silver chain of a locket glinted briefly under the moonlight before disappearing beneath her torn coat.
She stumbled, her foot catching on a root hidden beneath the snow. She fell hard, a cry escaping her lips as pain shot up her leg. Desperately, she crawled forward, her frostbitten hands clawing at the ground.
The figures emerged, cloaked and hooded, their forms blending seamlessly into the shadows. They moved in unison, their faces obscured, but their presence radiated malevolence. The girl pressed herself against the base of a tree, clutching the locket tightly as tears streamed down her face.
“Stay back!” she screamed, her voice trembling.
One of the figures stepped closer, a tall silhouette that seemed to loom impossibly large against the night. The air grew colder, the surrounding silence deafening. The figure raised a hand, long fingers pointing directly at her.
“You cannot escape your destiny,” the figure’s voice rasped, low and inhuman.
The girl’s chest heaved as she shook her head violently. “It’s not true! I won’t let it be true!”
Her trembling hands opened the locket, revealing a tiny, aged photograph inside. She whispered something—a name, perhaps, or a plea—but her voice was swallowed by the encroaching shadows.
The figures chanted in unison now, their guttural tones forming words that felt ancient and unnatural. The sound reverberated through the air, pressing down on the girl like a physical weight.
“No!” she cried, her voice breaking as the shadows surged toward her
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