Chapter 3: The Girl in the Moonlight

The exhaustion had finally dragged her under, pulling her into a restless, heavy sleep. But the darkness didn't bring peace — it brought the nightmare.

Isla stood frozen in a room she didn't recognize, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. A figure loomed in front of her — familiar but wrong. Hands drenched in red, the liquid dripping onto the floor in slow, steady splashes. The face blurred, but the voice… the voice was unmistakable.

"Don't you dare call anyone. Don't you dare call for help."

The figure stumbled forward, grabbing Isla's shoulders with cold, trembling hands. The grip was too tight, and the room spun, the walls closing in —

She woke up with a gasp.

The air in her tiny studio apartment felt suffocating. Her throat burned, dry and raw, as if she hadn't had water in days. She blinked rapidly, trying to push away the lingering image of those bleeding hands. The clock on her phone flashed 1:23 a.m.

One. Two. Three.

The time felt eerie, like some strange omen.

The moonlight poured through the window, casting long silver streaks across the floor. It was a full moon — beautiful and haunting, making every shadow stretch too far, making everything look sharper… and stranger.

Isla swung her legs over the side of the bed. The wooden floor was cool against her bare feet. She was still wearing an oversized T-shirt and a pair of soft shorts, her skin prickling as the night air brushed against her.

Her kitchenette was small and simple, barely furnished — just a couple of shelves, a tiny stove, and a sink. But in the moon's light, it looked almost… delicate. Cute, in its own way. She reached for a glass, her fingers still trembling.

And then — THUD.

The sound was sudden and heavy, like something collapsing. Or someone falling.

She froze.

The sound hadn't come from inside the apartment — it was from the hallway. Close. Too close.

For a long moment, she didn't move, her heartbeat slamming against her ribs. Then slowly, carefully, she crept toward the door. The lock turned with a soft click, and she opened it just a crack.

The hallway stretched out in front of her, pale and silent under the moon's glow. But near the far end, something was wrong.

A shape lay sprawled on the floor.

Still. Motionless.

But as she strained to listen, she swore she could hear breathing.

Isla's fingers tightened around the doorframe. Her voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper.

"Excuse me… sir? Are you—are you okay?"

The figure didn't move. The dim light made it hard to see, but she thought she saw a hand twitch. Or maybe she imagined it. She swallowed hard and tried again, louder this time.

"Hello? Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

She took a step back, heart pounding so hard it hurt. Every instinct told her to shut the door, to lock it, to pretend she hadn't seen anything. But she couldn't just leave someone there.

"Hey—" she started again.

And then… the figure disappeared.

One second it was there — a shadowy shape on the floor — and the next, it was just… gone. The hallway lay empty and silent, the air suddenly too cold.

Isla slammed the door shut, bolting it with shaking hands.

"It's—it's nothing," she whispered to herself. "Just—just the nightmare. I'm still spooked. That's all."

But her skin prickled, every nerve on edge. She backed away from the door slowly, her throat still dry but the thought of water long forgotten. She needed to calm down, to breathe. Maybe if she just lay down—

Whispering.

A soft, almost inaudible sound. Right outside her door.

Isla froze, her breath caught in her chest. The voice was faint, almost like wind slipping through a crack — but there were words. Or something that sounded like words.

But she couldn't understand them.

The whispering grew a little louder, faster — a strange, garbled murmur, like gibberish or a language she didn't know.

She took a step back. Then another.

And then the whispering stopped.

But the silence felt worse.

Isla's back hit the wall of her studio apartment, her fingers still trembling against the lock she'd just turned. The whispering outside had stopped, but her heart wouldn't slow down. She pressed her palm to her chest, trying to steady her breath.

And then—

"Hi."

Isla's head snapped up.

There, standing in the middle of her small, dimly lit apartment, was a child. A girl.

She couldn't have been more than six or seven, her pale skin almost glowing in the moonlight streaming through the window. Her hair was white — not blonde, but pure, snowy white — tied into two perfect pigtails that fell over the shoulders of her delicate, fluttery dress. It rippled around her like mist, soft and otherworldly.

Isla's throat closed up. She couldn't speak. She couldn't move.

The girl just stood there, hands clasped in front of her, tilting her head slightly — watching her.

"Wh—how did you get in here?" Isla's voice cracked. "Who are you? Whose… whose child are you?"

The girl didn't answer. She just kept looking at her, her eyes wide and unblinking. They were strange eyes — almost colorless, so light they seemed silver.

Isla's mind raced. The hallway. The figure. It couldn't have been a child — she would've seen. Wouldn't she? But there she was, standing right in front of her, silent and still.

"Were you… were you in the hallway?" Isla whispered, though she knew that didn't make sense. She hadn't looked away from the door, not even for a second.

But the girl just smiled.

A small, eerie, knowing smile.

And Isla felt the hair on the back of her neck rise.

Isla's breath caught when the girl turned — slowly, gracefully — and walked toward the balcony. The glass door was already open, the curtain swaying gently in the night breeze. Isla didn't even remember opening it.

"Wait… wait, what are you doing?" Isla's voice rose, her feet finally moving as she pushed away from the wall. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet, but she didn't care.

The girl didn't answer. She just stepped out onto the balcony — a tiny, delicate figure under the pale glow of the full moon. The light made her hair look almost translucent, and her dress fluttered like it was part of the wind itself.

"Hey—stop! Stay away from there!" Isla's heart pounded as the girl reached the railing. "That's dangerous! Get down! Get away from there!"

But the girl didn't even look back. She reached out, placing her tiny hands on the edge of the railing — and then she climbed.

"No—NO!" Isla ran forward, panic tightening her throat. "Get down! Please! You'll fall!"

The child stood on the narrow railing like it was the easiest thing in the world, balancing perfectly, her arms outstretched. And then—she turned her head just enough to glance back at Isla.

And smiled.

That same strange, eerie smile.

"Don't—" Isla started, but the word barely left her lips before the girl… jumped.

Isla's scream tore through the night.

"No!"

Before she even realized she was moving, her feet were flying across the cold floor. She reached for the girl — even though she knew, deep down, it was too late. The child had already jumped. But her body moved on instinct, desperation carrying her forward.

She reached the railing, her hands clutching the cold metal as she leaned over — eyes wide, heart pounding.

But there was nothing.

No child. No body.

Just the empty street far below, silent and still under the pale glow of the full moon. Isla's breath came in short, sharp bursts as she scanned the ground, her vision blurring. She could have sworn—

She knew the girl had fallen. She saw it. She—

The thought cut off.

Because just then, from behind her, she felt it—

A hand.

A push.