From that evening, Ellen began leaving her porch light on. It cast a small pool of warmth across the lawn, but she couldn’t tell if it comforted or exposed her. Each creak of the floorboards felt like footsteps. Each shadow looked too familiar. She no longer knew whom to fear.
By the weekend, Ellen’s nerves had stretched thin. She returned to the cemetery with fresh batteries and a new camera, smaller and quieter. She placed one near the flowers, and the other beneath a low bush facing the path. This time, she’d catch the visitor’s face, their hands, and their intent.