CHAPTER 3

PRISCILLA

I woke up to the sound of tapping.

Soft. Rhythmic. Like fingernails against glass.

My eyes snapped open, and for a moment, I was disoriented, the strange motel room coming back into focus under the faint glow of the lamp I’d left on overnight. I sat up, my heartbeat thudding in my chest as I strained to listen.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I turned my head toward the window.

The blinds were still drawn, but something about the sound sent a chill crawling up my spine. Slowly, I swung my legs off the bed and stood. My boots were still on from last night, and my jacket draped haphazardly across the chair. I’d been too tired to change after trudging back from the gas station.

I moved toward the window, every step careful, deliberate. For a fleeting moment, I imagined the guy from the gas station standing out there, grinning. Or maybe a raccoon? Please let it be a raccoon.

I reached for the blinds and yanked them open.

Nothing.

The forest sat there, dark and motionless across the road, a sliver of moonlight cutting through the branches. The window pane was streaked with condensation from the cold, but there was no sign of movement. No tapping.

I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. You’re just on edge, Priscilla. I let the blinds fall shut and turned away.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I froze.

I spun back around, my pulse skyrocketing. My eyes darted to the window, but this time, the sound wasn’t coming from there. It was coming from… the bathroom?

The small adjoining bathroom door stood slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness visible beyond it. I stared at it, trying to rationalize the noise. Pipes, maybe. This was an old building. Pipes knocked all the time.

I swallowed hard and moved to the bathroom door, hand trembling just slightly as I pushed it open. My other hand slipped instinctively into my jacket pocket, fingers closing around the handle of my small pocket knife.

The bathroom was empty.

The light above the mirror flickered as I flipped the switch, the yellow glow casting a pale reflection over the tiny space. I stared at myself for a long moment in the cracked mirror. My dark curls were a mess, my eyes shadowed with fatigue. I looked at how I felt—haunted.

Turning on the faucet, I splashed cold water on my face and straightened, forcing a steady breath.

Then I noticed something in the corner of the mirror.

A mark.

My stomach dropped as I turned around, my gaze fixing on the tiled wall. At first, I thought it was a smudge, but as I stepped closer, I saw it more clearly: a handprint.

A dark, wet handprint smeared faintly against the white tiles.

I stumbled back, my heart in my throat. “Nope,” I whispered. “Nope, nope, nope.”

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand, shoved it in my pocket, and headed for the door. I didn’t care if it was the middle of the night; I wasn’t staying in that room another second. The strange tapping, the handprint—it was too much.

The cold air hit me as I stepped outside, my boots crunching against the gravel. The lot was empty except for my rental car, and the lights in the main building were out. I hesitated, staring at the forest again.

The trees looked different at night—taller, darker, almost alive. A low mist curled along the ground, creeping out of the forest edge like fingers reaching for the road. The silence was unbearable. I felt as though the entire world had stopped breathing.

“Get it together,” I muttered, clenching my fists. My journalist instincts were warring with the primal voice in my head telling me to run. Whatever this was—creepy gas station guy, phantom handprints, or unexplained noises—there was a reason for it. A story.

And I was going to find it.

I slid into my car and turned on the engine. The headlights cut through the mist as I pulled out of the lot, the road stretching ahead in an eerie, endless ribbon. I had no real plan, no destination. I just needed to clear my head, to put distance between me and that room.

But as I drove, the mist thickened.

The trees pressed closer on either side, and the headlights seemed to barely dent the darkness. I slowed, the crunch of the gravel road louder now beneath my tyres. My knuckles turned white on the wheel.

Then I saw it.

At first, I thought it was a deer—a figure standing in the middle of the road. But as I slammed on the brakes, my heart leaping into my throat, I realized it wasn’t an animal at all.

It was a man figure.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. He stood perfectly still, his figure sharp against the mist. He was wearing a dark coat, the kind that looked heavy and weather-worn.

I sat frozen, my foot still pressed against the brake. I flicked on the high beams, and the light hit him directly.

He didn’t flinch.

His face was shadowed, but I could see just enough to make out his features—a sharp jawline, dark hair falling across his forehead, and pale skin that looked almost unnatural in the headlights. His eyes, though…

They gleamed.

Not like a reflection. No. They glowed.

I stared, my breaths shallow. The man tilted his head, just slightly, like he was studying me.

“Who the hell…?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Before I could react, he moved.

Not toward me—he stepped back, disappearing into the mist as if he’d never been there at all. One second he was standing in the road, and the next, he was gone.

I sat there, the car idling in the middle of the road, my pulse thundering.

I should turn around. Go back to the motel. Or better yet, get on the next flight out of Oregon. But my fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, the curiosity burning through my fear like a flame.