The phone went dead in her hand. Off, the screen went black and final, even though she had seen the battery sitting at fifty percent not a second ago. Cixi stared at the dark glass and felt her stomach drop.
She looked in front of her. She looked to her right. She looked to her left. She did not dare look behind, because behind was exactly where the cold was coming from, and she knew, with the certainty of a girl who had watched far too many horror films alone, that the thing you turn around to face is always worse than the thing you imagine. She stood there weighing it, whether to be brave, whether to whip around and scream and faint clean away at the sight of whatever was standing at her back.
Why was she thinking of a ghost?
