The Light at Briar Lane

The old house on Briar Lane had been empty for years, but every night at 2:17 a.m.,

a single light flicked on in the upstairs bedroom. Evan noticed it from his window

across the street. At first, he thought it was a squatter. Then he realized

the house had no electricity. One night, curiosity won. He crossed the street

with a flashlight and pushed open the front door. It creaked like it was screaming

a warning. Dust coated everything, undisturbed—except for wet footprints leading up the stairs.

At the top was the bedroom. The light was on. The air inside was freezing.

In the center of the room stood a woman in a long, dark dress, her back to him.