My agent’s face was sweating, trying to sell that house to me, even as my breath turned to vapor in the cold. The seclusion, the fact that you couldn’t see anything beyond the trees that grew around it, that’s why I wanted it.

Old house, haunted house. My agent hired a truck for me, but made many excuses to leave as soon as she could. I was the only one there, yet I was not alone.

That first night I remember trying to get warm under sheets that never seemed thick enough, with my breath coalescing in the frigid air, hanging over me like a specter.

In the moment just before sleep buried me with unconscious, I felt the sheets lift, ever so gently, and her cold, ethereal form slip next to me.

I heard a voice, like ice sliding over ice, “I’ve missed you.”

I’ve written plenty of ‘weird’ fiction, but never anything that came close to horror. 

So? Did you feel anything? What, if anything in this short piece, made you think? Leave your thoughts below in the comments, and don’t forget to like and follow the blog.

Image courtesy of Martyn Smith via Flickr Creative Commons.