The Spirit in the Mist

The mists gleam with the ambient light of the moon and stars.
But they pull away from me as I walk down these cobblestone paths.
The surrounding forest takes on a spectral appearance in the haze.

A sound from within foliage interrupts my amble,
most likely a small rodent or cat.

Resuming my stroll through woods,
I find myself whistling to a tone by Iron Maiden.
Taking the time to reflect upon myself, as the sky draws my gaze.

A faint whisper escapes into the cool night air.
I turn around, but no one's there.

There's no such thing as ghosts.
Another whisper cuts through the air, sending chills down my spine.
I held my breath at what I saw when I turned around.

A silhouette, twisted and rippled by the fog, stood less than fifteen feet behind me.