Chapter 5 The Woman in the Yard
I stand there, frozen, my phone clutched so tightly the case groans under my grip. The house is impossibly quiet, too quiet. Even the refrigerator hum seems to have gone still, like the whole place is holding its breath.
I wipe my cheeks fast. I don’t even remember crying.
Eli’s message glows on the screen:
I’m coming back. Don’t open the door unless it’s me.
A sensible part of me wants to tell him no, to insist he’s overreacting. But every hair on my arms is standing upright. My lungs feel too small. The hallway feels too long. The shadows feel too alive.
I take a shaky step toward the bedroom door.
Another step.
The boards under my feet creak softer than usual, like they’re afraid of making noise.
When I reach the threshold, I pause and listen.
The house breathes around me. The faint tick of the hallway clock. The soft whir of the furnace. The distant murmur of cars on the highway.
Nothing else.
No footsteps.
No whispers.
No creaking floorboards.
But the dread hasn’t lifted.
I step out onto the landing and glance at Maya’s door. Still cracked. Still warm, soft light spilling through. I check the hall again before quietly making my way downstairs, gripping my phone like it’s a weapon.
Halfway down, I hear it.
A whisper of movement outside. Not animal. Not wind.
Footsteps.
Not on the porch, in the yard.
I tiptoe the rest of the way down and move toward the kitchen where the window faces the backyard. My breath fogs the glass as I lean in, trying to see beyond my own reflection.
At first, I see nothing.
Just the dark outline of trees. The faint shimmer of the neighbor’s porch light filtering through the branches. My own fenced yard, still and undisturbed.
But then…
A shadow shifts near the tree line.
It’s not the shape of an animal or a branch moving. It's upright. Human. Standing. Watching.
The figure is faint, half-eaten by the night. But I can see enough. A silhouette. A woman. Hair hanging down past her shoulders, moving slightly with the breeze.
My stomach drops.
Kahlia?
No, that’s impossible.
I blink hard, lean closer to the glass.
The figure steps back, deeper into the trees.
Gone.
My breath comes out in a rush.
The world narrows to the sound of my heartbeat, pounding so violently it’s all I can hear. I fumble backward, gripping the edge of the counter to steady myself, gasping.
Then three knocks on the front door.
Not rushed. Not frantic.
Eli.
But my body doesn’t believe that right away. I sprint to the living room and peek through the side window.
His SUV is in the driveway. There he is, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket, head tilted slightly up as he waits, jaw tight like he’s ready to break the door down if I don’t answer.
I fling the door open.
He steps in before I can speak, closing it firmly behind him. His presence fills the small space instantly, warmth, the faint scent of cedar and earth, the grounding weight of someone solid.
His eyes are on me immediately. “You’re pale.”
“I saw someone,” I whisper. “In the yard. A woman.”
He stiffens, every muscle going alert. “Where?”
“By the trees.”
He moves past me in three long strides and goes to the kitchen window. He stands there for a moment, scanning the yard with narrowed eyes.
Then he clicks off the kitchen light.
My heart jumps. “What are you-?”
“Lights make us visible,” he murmurs. “Dark makes them visible.”
He gestures for me to stand behind him.
We stand shoulder to shoulder in the darkness, both staring out into the faint glow of the moonlit backyard.
At first, it’s nothing but shadows.
But then…
A shape shifts again.
Not close this time. But there. Faint, like a person standing just beyond the fence.
Eli’s hand flexes beside me.
“You see her?” I whisper.
“Yes.”
“Do you think it’s-”
“No.” His tone is firm. “Whatever you saw, it’s not Kahlia.”
“How do you know?” My voice cracks.
He turns his head slightly, and though the room is dark, I feel the full force of his gaze. “Because I saw Kahlia the night she died, and it wasn’t like this.”
My breath stops.
He doesn’t elaborate. I don’t ask... Not yet.
The figure at the fence shifts again. This time, just enough for moonlight to catch a hint of hair. Movement. Height. Shoulders.
It’s definitely a woman.
Eli mutters something under his breath. His hand hovers near the handle of the back door.
“I’m going out there,” he says quietly.
“No.” I grab his arm. “Eli, what if-”
“What if she comes inside?” he counters, voice low. “What if she’s not alone? You and Maya are in here. I’m not letting anything near this house.”
My fingers tighten on him. “Please be careful.”
Something flickers in his expression, softness, maybe. He lifts one of his hands just slightly, not touching me, but close enough that I feel the heat of it.
“I will.”
He unlocks the door quietly, slips outside, and closes it behind him with a soft click.
I hold my breath and move to the window again. Eli crosses the yard silently, shoulders tense, steps deliberate. When he reaches the fence, he stops and looks around.
There’s nothing there.
The woman is gone.
He steps closer to the fence line, scanning the tree shadows, but they look like nothing more than trees again. The breeze stirs the leaves. A branch creaks.
Eli stands there for a full minute before turning back.
He doesn’t see what I see a second later.
A hand, the faint outline of one slipping behind a tree trunk deeper in the woods.
I choke on a gasp but force myself not to scream.
Eli returns quickly, locking the door behind him. His face is tense, jaw set.
“She’s gone,” he says.
“No,” I whisper. “She’s not.”
He studies me, eyes sharp. “You saw something?”
“A hand. Behind the trees.”
He exhales slowly. “I believe you.”
The relief nearly buckles my knees.
He takes one more sweep of the living room, the hall, the kitchen, every instinct in him vibrating with protectiveness.
“I’m not leaving tonight,” he says quietly. “Not until we know you and Maya are safe.”
I swallow hard. “Eli-”
“I mean it.”
His voice softens, deepens. “You don’t have to be alone with this. Not this time.”
Something in me breaks open. Something that remembers what it felt like to be loved in the quiet ways.
Before Marcus.
Before the lies.
Before the night everything fell apart.
Eli steps a fraction closer. Not touching. Not pushing. Just close enough that I feel the warmth of him and, for the first time in years, the terrifying pull of wanting to lean into someone.
“Let me stay,” he murmurs.
The house creaks.
The wind shifts.
And somewhere deep in the woods, a woman’s silhouette waits just out of sight.
Watching.
I don’t know if she’s real, a ghost, or something worse.
But I know tonight, I don’t want to face her alone.