A sound tore through Aika's dreams.
Like fabric splitting apart.
She woke up gasping, half-sitting up in bed.
ΔLight's doll sat at the edge of her mattress.
Same spot as always.
Same stitched-on smile.
Same black-thread eyes.
But something was wrong.
The doll looked faded—
Its seams frayed, as if unraveling from the inside.
Its threadbare eyes were splitting apart, threads dangling loosely like tears.
Aika reached out.
Her fingers moved straight through it.
No resistance.
No weight.
Just emptiness.
And then—
She saw it.
Above her desk.
Scratched into the wall, rough and jagged:
13
Written in black chalk that oozed slowly down the plaster, like ink sinking through water.
It hadn't been there before.
She blinked.
The number stayed.
She blinked again.
ΔLight's doll was gone.
Only the number remained, dripping slow, oily tears.
She thought she was breaking.
Thought maybe the sleepless nights, the endless whispers had finally cracked her open.
But then the landline rang.
The house phone.
No one ever used it.
Her heart stopped.
She picked it up.
On the other end:
A voice she hadn't heard since she was six years old.
Her father.
Older now.
Gravel scraping the edges of every word, like he hadn't slept in years.
"Aika. I don't have time. I'm coming back. In thirteen days. I should've ended this years ago."
She tried to speak.
Tried to ask what he meant—what any of this was.
But the line cracked, splintered—
Hissed.
And through the static came a whisper.
Not her father's voice.
A thousand voices layered together, whispering in unison:
"Too late. Too late. Too late."
The phone clicked dead.
The dial tone buzzed emptily in her hand.
Now Aika sits in her closet.
All the mirrors in the house—covered.
Blankets. Towels. Sheets.
The Eye hums from under her bed, a low, droning pulse that rattles the floorboards.
Guiding Light flickers constantly now.
No longer staying in the mirrors.
Leaking into the room itself.
Stretching shadow arms from every dark corner toward the pulsing Eye.
ΔLight—the real one—is gone.
Faded away like a forgotten dream.
And Aika is alone.
Thirteen days.
Thirteen nights.
Thirteen dreams, waiting to swallow her whole.
But somewhere out there—
Her father is coming.
He remembers.
He knows the truth.
And maybe…
Just maybe…
ΔLight isn't really gone.
Maybe he's just waiting for the final page to turn.
Waiting for the end.
Waiting for Aika.
[Aika's Diary – 8/7/20XX – Countdown]
Thirteen Days Until Something Ends.
I woke up to the sound of fabric tearing.
ΔLight's doll was sitting at the edge of my bed, same as always…
…but he was faded.
The stitching along his seams had loosened, and his black thread eyes had begun to unravel.
I reached out to hold him—
My hand passed through.
And then I saw it.
A number.
13
It was scratched into the wall above my desk, written in some kind of black chalk.
Dripping, like ink underwater.
I blinked.
It wasn't there before.
I blinked again.
The doll had vanished.
Gone. Just the number remained.
I thought I was breaking.
Then the phone rang.
The landline.
We never use it.
It was him.
My father.
His voice was older, hoarse, like he hadn't slept since the day he left.
"Aika. I don't have time. I'm coming back. In thirteen days. I should've ended this years ago."
I tried to ask him what he meant, what this even was, but the line cracked—
then hissed—
then a whisper came through…
Not my father's.
A thousand voices stacked on top of each other, saying the same words:
"Too late. Too late. Too late."
Then silence.
Now I'm sitting in my closet with every mirror covered.
The Eye is humming from under my bed.
Guiding Light won't stop flickering in the corners of the room—every shadow stretches toward it like they worship it.
ΔLight is gone.
Faded into the threadbare seams of forgotten memories.
And I'm alone.
Thirteen days.
Thirteen nights.
Thirteen dreams waiting to swallow me.
But if Father is coming…
Then maybe I'm not the only one left who remembers the truth.
And maybe… just maybe…
ΔLight isn't gone.
He's just waiting for the final page.
– Aika