She returned last night. I could see her, prowling out just beyond the circle of firelight. I can tell it isn’t Samantha anymore. It’s the way she moves. And the eyes. God, those eyes.
She won’t come into the light. I know how it burns them; we’d discovered that together. I wonder why she alone comes so close, just at the edge, where the shadows gnaw. I can hear the others, further out. Does she remember? Does she know now what I could never tell her before?
I am prepared. There will be no fire. Tonight, she will come again.
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