April 16, 2008
The sun was setting again, draping the field in a shroud of dusky orange. Carina sat cross-legged on the wooden fence, her sneakers dangling just above the soft grass. She had been outside for hours, pretending to play with the little wooden spinning top her father had brought home as a souvenir, but her eyes kept drifting toward the field. She told herself she wasn’t waiting for anything—just curious, that was all.
But the hum was there again, faint and persistent, like a whisper carried on the evening breeze.
“Go away,” she muttered under her breath.
The field didn’t respond, but it felt like it was watching her. The tall grass swayed gently, the shadows growing longer as the sun disappeared behind the horizon. Carina shivered, the warmth of the day fading quickly. She hopped off the fence and turned toward the house.
As she walked, she felt it—an unmistakable sensation, like someone was standing just behind her, their presence pressing against her back. Her footsteps quickened, and so did the feeling. The hum followed her, growing louder with every step.
When she reached the back door, she glanced over her shoulder, her heart pounding. The field looked empty, just as it always did. But Carina knew better now.
She darted inside, slamming the door behind her and locking it with trembling fingers.
That night, Carina lay in bed, clutching her blanket tightly. The room was dark, the curtains drawn tightly over the window. She had begged her mother to let her keep the light on, but her mother had laughed it off, telling her she was too old to be afraid of the dark.
“Six is practically a big girl,” her mother had said.
Carina wasn’t so sure.
The hum was louder now, pressing against her ears like a physical weight. She buried her head under the blanket, her small body trembling. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of home—of the tree swing in their old yard, of the way her friends laughed at recess.
But then she felt it.
A heaviness settled in the corner of her room, just beyond the foot of her bed. It was faint at first, like the air had grown thicker, harder to breathe. Carina froze, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure it would burst. She didn’t want to look, but her eyes betrayed her. Slowly, she peeked out from under the blanket.
The corner of the room was darker than it should have been. Even in the dim light from the streetlamp outside, that one spot seemed to drink in the light, a shadow so deep and black it felt alive.
It was there.
The figure from the field.
Carina’s breath caught in her throat. It was standing in the corner, its tall, thin form barely visible in the darkness. Its edges wavered and shifted, as though it was made of smoke. Long arms hung at its sides, too long, and its head tilted slightly, just like it had in the field.
The hum grew louder, vibrating in her chest.
“Go away,” Carina whispered, her voice shaking.
The figure didn’t move.
“Please,” she said, louder this time.
For a moment, the room was silent, the hum fading into nothingness. Carina thought it might have gone—hoped it had. But then it tilted its head the other way, a slow, deliberate movement that sent a chill down her spine.
She pulled the blanket over her head and squeezed her eyes shut, her small hands clutching the fabric tightly. She wanted to scream, to call for her parents, but something told her not to. It was a feeling deep in her gut, a quiet, instinctive fear that if she made a sound, the figure would come closer.
The hum returned, low and steady, like a song without words. It filled the room, vibrating through the walls and the floor, through Carina’s very bones. She could feel it inside her, a weight that pressed against her chest and made it hard to breathe.
Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. Carina couldn’t tell. All she knew was that the hum was still there, and so was the figure in the corner.
Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, and she drifted into a restless sleep.
Carina woke to the sound of birds chirping outside her window. Morning light streamed through the curtains, casting soft patterns on the walls.
For a moment, she thought it had all been a dream. But when she looked at the corner of her room, her stomach dropped.
The corner was empty now, but the air there felt... wrong. Heavier. It was as if the figure had left something behind, a lingering presence that refused to fade.
She climbed out of bed and tiptoed toward the corner, her small hands balled into fists at her sides. She didn’t know what she expected to find—maybe nothing. But as she stood there, staring at the shadowed space, she felt the hum again, faint but insistent.
“Carina, breakfast!” her mother called from downstairs.
Carina jumped, her heart racing. She tore her gaze away from the corner and ran out of the room, her feet pounding against the wooden floor.
At breakfast, her parents seemed oblivious to her unease. Her father sipped his coffee, reading the newspaper he had picked up in town. Her mother bustled around the kitchen, humming a tune under her breath.
“Did you sleep well, sweetie?” her mother asked, placing a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her.
Carina hesitated, her fork hovering over the food. “I… I think there’s something in my room.”
Her mother laughed. “What do you mean, ‘something’? A spider?”
“No. It’s… it’s big.”
Her father looked up from his newspaper, raising an eyebrow. “What kind of big?”
Carina’s words caught in her throat. How could she explain what she had seen? They wouldn’t believe her—they’d say it was her imagination, a bad dream.
“Never mind,” she muttered, stabbing at her eggs.
Her mother knelt beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “It’s just a new house, sweetie. New places can feel strange at first, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. You’ll see.”
Carina didn’t argue. But deep down, she knew her mother was wrong.
That night, Carina stayed awake as long as she could, her eyes glued to the corner of the room. She left the curtains open this time, letting the moonlight flood the space. The air was still, the hum barely audible.
But as the hours passed and the night deepened, the heaviness returned.
The corner grew darker, the shadows pooling like ink. Carina held her breath, her small hands clutching the edge of her blanket. The hum grew louder, deeper, vibrating through the room.
The figure was back.
It stood in the corner, tall and still, its form shifting like smoke caught in a breeze. Carina could feel its gaze on her, though it had no eyes.
“Please,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Leave me alone.”
The hum seemed to laugh—a low, resonant sound that filled the room. The figure tilted its head again, its long arms stretching slightly toward her.
Carina squeezed her eyes shut, her body trembling.
When she opened them again, the figure was gone.
But the hum remained.
****