As they stepped outside, the crisp morning air sent a shiver down Petunia's spine. She exhaled, watching the mist of her breath fade into the air. Then she froze.
Near the tree at the edge of their driveway, small, winged figures darted through the branches. Not birds, not insects—tiny, human-like shapes with shimmering wings, flickering in and out of sight like candle flames caught in the wind. Her chest tightened. That wasn't normal. Then she saw something else.
By the lamppost, a pale, translucent figure drifted aimlessly. It was vaguely human, its form thin and wispy, like smoke barely holding together. It wasn't walking. It wasn't even touching the ground.
Her stomach dropped. Her mum and dad walked ahead toward the car, completely oblivious—laughing, talking, unbothered. They didn't see it.
Petunia's mouth felt dry as she tugged at her mum's sleeve. "Mum," she whispered, pointing at the tree. "Do you see that?"
Her mum turned, following her gaze. A slight frown creased her forehead. "See what, love?"
Petunia's breath hitched. "By the tree," she said, forcing herself to sound calm. "Those… things."
Her dad glanced back too. "The bird's nest?" he asked, squinting toward the branches.
Petunia's heart pounded. The creatures were still there. The pale figure near the lamppost still hovered, motionless. But her parents saw nothing. A cold, creeping dread curled in her stomach.
'I'm seeing things.' It was the only explanation. Maybe she was overtired. Maybe the morning light was playing tricks on her eyes. She swallowed hard, forcing a laugh. "Yeah… the nest," she murmured.
She hurried to the car, sliding into the back seat and pressing herself into the leather. Her hands were clammy. Her breathing, unsteady. She kept her eyes down, refusing to look back at the tree or the lamppost.
Because if she looked again…
And they were still there…