The forest whispered through the screen: crickets, frogs, the faint rustle of something small in the brush. It was nearly midnight when she woke to the sound. A soft scrape, like claws dragging across wood. At first she thought it was part of a dream, a half-remembered noise stitched into sleep.
But it came again, deliberate and patient, like something testing the edge of the house itself. Catherine held her breath. The room was silvered by moonlight seeping through the curtains, her old clock ticking faintly on the nightstand. She could feel her pulse in her palms. Another sound followed. A low exhale, a faint shuffle against the steps.