It was the night of her wedding and they were finally alone. Besides her, Ian—her husband of just few hours—slept peacefully. He hasn't touched her. She wasn't sure if she should feel relived or worried.
She barely knew his man. Everything felt strange and unfamiliar—the house, her cloths, even herself. She glanced at Ian, his breath steady as he slept. Just as she was about to drift off, a sudden chill run over her skin. Her breathing caught. Something wasn't right.
At first, she thought it was just the night air sneaking through the window. But then—movement. She turned her head quickly, her heart pounding.
In the far corner of the room, something stood there. Darker than the shadows, shaped like a woman. It lingered at the foot of the bed, watching her.
Her throat tightened.
''Ian'', she whispered, reaching for him. Her fingers brushed through his shoulder, but he didn't stir.
The figure didn't move. Just stood there, staring.
I must be imagining things, she told herself.
Her heart raced. ''It's nothing, she tried to convince herself. ''Just exhaustion. Just the exhaustion, Just-''
Then, the shadow shifted.
Not toward her. Not away. But closer—somehow—without crossing the space between them.
A whimper slipped out before she could stop it. She shut her eyes tight, gripping Ian's arm. ''This isn't real. This isn't –''
When she opened them again' the corner was empty.
But the fear stayed.
Ian slept on, undisturbed.
Anne couldn't sleep anymore. She lay awake, staring into the darkness, wondering if she had imagined it—or if something worse had been there with them all along.
Everything night, the woman appeared. And every night, she moved closer.
She stood in the farthest corner of the room. Her dress was torn. But her face, oh , her face – was the worst part. Hallow eyes, dark and unblinking. Lips slightly open, shaking as if trying to speak, yet no words ever came.
At first, Anne told herself it was just a dream. But something told her it was not. The ice chill clinging to her skin, the way her throat tightened in fear—those were real. Too real.
And Ian ….Ian never saw her.
He slept soundly, undisturbed. Anne would wake him sometimes, whispering in desperation.'' Ian, look—''
But the time his eyes opened, the woman was gone.
''There's nothing there, my love,'' he murmured, his voice heavy with sleep. ''You need rest. You're imagining things.''
But he never looked her in the eye when he said it.
That scared her most.
But Anne wasn't imagining things. The woman was real. She was there and she was getting closer.
One night, a whisper startled Anne awake –not from the other but right next to her ear.
A gasp escaped her lips
The woman was no longer in the corner. She was at the foot of the bed.
Watching.
''Anne…'' He signed, rubbing his face.
''You're exhausted. You haven't been sleeping. What's going on?''
Her stomach twisted.
''She's right there. Look at her, Ian''.
But the woman was gone.
He thinks I'm losing my mind. Maybe I am.
But as she lay back down, her body trembling, she couldn't shake the feeling that the woman was still there—just beyond her sight.
Waiting.
A sudden hand gripped her arm.
Anne spun around to see an elderly woman staring at her with pity.
"You shouldn't linger here, child'' the woman whispered. "Go home. Lock your doors. And – she hesitated, then lean in close, fear flickering in her eyes. "Don't trust what your husband tells you.''
Before Anne could respond, the old woman hurried away, vanishing into the crowd.