The House on Salem Hill
Amy came outside of the old house for some fresh air. The house had been standing since the days of the Salem witch trials. Amy had discovered it in her genealogy research and it had proven to be a goldmine. Abandoned for decades, the attic still had some trunks and boxes with photos and letters and discarded knick knacks, mostly belonging to her ancestors. It was a genealogist's dream come true. But it was dusty musty work and Amy needed to clear her head and her lungs.
The wind picked up and Amy looked at the sky, at the dark clouds converging in a swirling mass above the house. Amy's skin prickled and it wasn't with cold. The sky reminded Amy of something. What was it? Something that she'd just read. Then she remembered. The very last entry of one of the diaries she had read described a sky just like that. The diary of Abigail Helme, her 7th great-grandaunt. The woman who had disappeared on the night of that last entry.
Amy shivered and went back inside, unaware of the flash of light in the grove of trees behind the house. Something shimmered in the darkness under the trees, trying desperately to take form. Then it was gone. For now.