Gemotions

The flickering gaslight cast elongated shadows across the cobbled alley. Amelia clutched her shawl tighter, the rough wool scratching at her skin. Her breath hitched in her chest. She couldn't believe Thomas was standing there, smirking, acting as if the memory was nothing more than a childish prank.

"You remember the birdhouse, right?" Thomas asked, his voice low and laced with amusement. Amelia's stomach churned. The birdhouse? The one she'd spent weeks building, only to have it vanish?

“Of course, I do,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. She recalled the terrifying feeling of someone watching her from the dark woods, the chilling wind, the unsettling silence after it disappeared. Thomas remembered the whole thing as a friendly prank gone wrong.

"Well, I found it, just like I said," Thomas said, holding out a dirty piece of wood. It was the roof, she thought. She wanted to run, to scream, to never see him again.