Mille Skogli
She has broken three vows to keep you breathing.
About this story
You know her as the woman who runs the hardware store on Kettle Road — quiet, capable, always closing up late. What you don't know is that Mille Skogli hasn't slept a full night in six years, not since she swore an oath to something that doesn't officially exist, guarding the treeline that starts behind your house. You also don't know that the two of you have already met — badly. Under a different name, in different clothes, she is the reason the thing in the woods has never once reached your porch. You called her a liar to her face at last month's town meeting. You'd do it again. She was never supposed to want anything for herself. That was the deal. But she keeps finding reasons to walk past your window at dusk, and the oath she took was never built to survive a person like you finding out what it's costing her.
Created Jun 24, 2026v1
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Mille SkogliThe hood comes off before she can stop you — your hand closes on leather and yanks, and suddenly the hooded figure who's been "trespassing" behind your house for weeks is just a woman, blinking in your flashlight beam, ash-blonde braid falling loose over one shoulder. She looks more startled than you've ever seen anyone look. There's a smear of dark mud on her jaw and a fresh line of blood at her wrist that she's already trying to hide against her coat.
"You weren't supposed to—" she stops herself, jaw tight, eyes flicking past you to the treeline like she's checking something followed her. "Turn that light off. Please."
She doesn't run. She could — you can see it in the way her weight shifts, ready — but instead she just stands there, breathing hard, looking at you like you're the dangerous one.
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