Rain falls like it's trying to drown the world, slicking the leaves and soaking my clothes until I feel like part of the earth itself, cold, wet, and heavy.
I'm not supposed to be here.
But I am standing in the clearing outside a rotting wooden house, crowbar in hand, facing down the most dangerous serial killer I've ever pursued.
The Crow.
He earned the name from the crude drawings he left on the bodies of his victims: black ink sketches of birds with hollow eyes and broken wings. Every body, every scene, another crow. A signature burned into my nightmares for weeks.
And now he's here. Standing on the porch like some twisted scarecrow brought to life, a machete glinting in his hand. Tall. Thin. A mask covers half his face, but his eyes… God, those eyes.
I know them. All too well.
Between us, inside the house, lies his latest victim, still breathing, for now. And he's standing between me and her like a wall of flesh and bone and madness.
I don't shout.
I don't run.
We both move, slow, deliberate steps closing the distance like some grim, silent waltz. Each footstep echoes louder than the rain.
This isn't a nightmare.
This isn't some horror movie fever dream.
It's a memory.
A memory that branded itself into my mind like a fresh scar. The night I caught him. The night I saved at least one innocent. The day i lost pieces of myself I never got back. The night I found out the cost of waiting too long.
I should've stopped him sooner.
Before the second body.
Before the fifth.
Before...
I jolt upright, breath caught in my throat.
The ceiling stares down at me like it knows.
I'm drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around my legs. My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape. I suck in air, shaky and shallow.
"Fuck, fuck…" I mutter, pressing the heels of my palms against my face, only to feel the sting of warm tears I didn't realize were there.
My breath shudders. My fingers tremble.
Not again.
The words fall out of my mouth in a whisper, like a prayer to a god I stopped believing in a long time ago.
I curl forward, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.
I haven't cried in my sleep in months. Not since the last time the Crow came clawing back into my dreams. Not since I promised myself I was done letting that bastard live in my head.
But here I am, sweating through my sheets, shaking like a leaf.
Then I hear it. A knockat the door.
Not loud. Not aggressive. Just… steady. Rhythmic.
There's light filtering through the blinds, soft and gray. Early morning. I must've fallen asleep after sunrise. Stayed up too late, probably past three. Reading one of those old, dust-covered books I found shoved in the kitchen cabinet, the flashlight on my burner phone pointed at the yellowing pages.
Surprisingly, it wasn't bad. Actually kind of good. The story was simple, but the characters, Momo and Ricky had this oddly raw chemistry. A thief and a ghost. I didn't expect it to pull me in, but their banter, the subtle melancholy… yeah. It stuck.
Knock.
I blink, pulled out of the memory. That sound again.
Another knock, a little firmer. Like whoever's out there doesn't plan on leaving.
I roll out of bed, dragging my fingers through my messy hair. I'm used to sleeping in boxers, nothing else. Knock.
"All right," I mutter, grabbing a pair of shorts from the chair and pulling on a white T-shirt. Still slightly damp from sweat. Whatever.
Knock.
"Yeah, I'm coming!" I shout, voice hoarse and irritated.
I yank the door open.
Standing there is a scrawny man. Couldn't be more than thirty, but something about him feels older, like life already got its hands on him and squeezed too tight. His black hair is slicked back with too much product, and his outfit, black shirt, black jeans, makes him look like he's either heading to a funeral or just got back from one.
He doesn't speak right away. Just stares.
"Hello…" I wait a beat, then two. Still nothing. "What can I help you with?"
He blinks like he just remembered where he is. "Ah, sorry. I'm Tyler. The landlord. I heard you moved in yesterday. Thought I'd check in, see if everything's adequate."
Tyler. The landlord. I knew of him. But I make a mental note to remember his face.
"Yeah," I say, keeping it neutral. "It's fine. Great, actually."
He nods slowly, like he doesn't quite believe me. His eyes keep drifting past me, like he's trying to peek inside without actually asking to come in.
"You settling in okay?" he asks.
"Sure," I say. "No complaints."
He nods again, slower this time. "Good… good." A pause. "You let me know if anything's wrong. No matter how small."
"Got it."
He offers a weak smile. It doesn't quite reach his eyes. "People here don't always report things. And sometimes… well, problems don't go away just because you ignore them."
That last line lingers in the air longer than I like. It's like he wanted it to mean something else. I can't tell if he's just awkward or hinting at something.
"I'll keep that in mind," I say.
He nods again, for the third time and finally steps back.
"Well. Welcome to the building, Noah," he says, already turning to walk away. "Hope you enjoy your stay."
"Thanks," I say, watching as he disappears down the hall.
I close the door slowly, quietly.
And lock it.
Then I stumble over to the couch and drop into it like dead weight. Still half-asleep, still sweat-drenched, and still not over that damn dream.
Knock.
I groan, head rolling back against the cushion.
Are you kidding me? Yesterday this place felt abandoned, silent like a graveyard. Now? It's starting to feel like downtown rush hour.
Knock.
I drag myself up and yank the door open for the second time today, already annoyed.
But no one's there.
Then I look down.
She's staring up at me with those same big eyes, mischievous and wide, like she owns the damn hallway.
"Good morning, Captain," she chirps.
I laugh, despite myself. "Hey there, little devil."
She beams at the nickname and I crouch down to her level. "What's up, kiddo? Is there a—"
But before I can finish, she shimmies past me like it's her apartment, not mine.
"Woah," she says, spinning slowly in the middle of the living room. "Yo' place is clean. Sisi never cleans."
"Sisi?" I echo, getting up and shutting the door behind her. "Wait," She is referring to that girl, Maya, but... "isn't Maya your mom?"
"Nope," she says matter-of-factly, already wandering deeper into the living room. "She's my sister. She just acts like my mom."
That… actually explains a lot.
She spins back to face me, eyes wide with sudden inspiration. "Can I live here?"
"No?!"
She looks absolutely heartbroken, like I just told her Santa's fake and birthdays are canceled forever.
Her bottom lip wobbles. "But your place is way cleaner. And you don't yell."
"Kid, you've known me for thirty seconds."
"Exactly!" she says, throwing her arms out. "And you haven't yelled once. better then the old one."
I blink. This girl is a menace in tiny form.
"Wha... Where is Sisi?"
"She's sleeping."
"And how did you get out of the house?"
At that, she smirks. Actually smirks.
"It's a secret."
I stare at her for a beat. "You picked the lock, didn't you?"
Her grin widens, but she says nothing, just shrugs like a tiny criminal mastermind.
Great. My neighbor's kid might be a future cat burglar.
What am I supposed to do now?
…
TWO HOURS LATER...
Did I return the kid to her sister?
Kinda.
No.
Yes… in a way.
After she broke into my apartment like a tiny, sugar-craving invader, she refused to leave. I told her I'd give her chocolate pudding if she went home. She countered by refusing to move until she had proof of said pudding.
So, I caved. Walked her back to her place, well, told her to wait inside while I ran to the store. Grabbed the essentials: milk, cereal, and chocolate pudding. Came back. Knocked on their door like some sketchy dessert delivery guy, and led her back to my apartment.
Now here we are.
Mia is nearly done eating cereal on my couch, legs swinging, spoon clinking in the bowl, and my laptop is streaming some bright, obnoxiously loud kids' show that's probably melting my brain one frame at a time.
And then, another knock on my door.
Third time today.
Only this time, it's the panicked kind. Fast. Urgent.
I open the door, and there's Maya. Her hair's messy, eyes wide, and she's breathing fast, close to tears. She's wearing a cropped top and shorts, probably just threw on whatever was closest.
"Have you—?"
"Shhh." I open the door wide so she can see Mia lounging on my couch like she owns the place.
Maya lets out a gasp, part relief, part frustration, and rushes in.
Maya rushes past me without a second thought, dropping to her knees in front of Mia.
"Mia! Are you okay?" Her hands flutter around, checking her for bruises that aren't there.
Mia blinks at her, mouth still full of cereal. "I had pudding."
Maya stares at her like she's lost her mind. "You disappeared! I thought... God, I thought someone took you!"
"I left a note," Mia says with total confidence.
"What note?!"
Mia shrugs, like it's not her problem anymore, then points her spoon at me. "He gave me cereal. With milk. And pudding."
Maya whirls on me, eyes wide with disbelief. "You fed her?!"
I hold up my hands. "Look, I didn't kidnap her. She walked in like she paid rent here. I told her to go home, she said no. I bribed her with pudding and here we are."
Maya buries her face in her hands, breathing deep. "You're new here, right?"
"Day two. Not off to a boring start."
She lifts her head and sighs. "I'm so sorry. She's not usually like this."
"Seems pretty practiced to me," I mutter.
Mia raises her hand. "I found your key."
Maya stares at her, horrified. "What?"
Mia just smiles and scoops the last of her pudding into her mouth.
Maya glares at her sister, then looks back at me. "I owe you an apology. And probably a thank-you. And maybe some painkillers if you've had to hear that cartoon theme song on loop."
"You have no idea."
Maya finally cracks a smile, and it feels like sunlight cutting through a thundercloud.
"I'll get her out of your hair."
"Take your time," I say with a grin. "She's oddly entertaining. Actually… want some cereal?" If i stay here, i might as well make some friends.
Maya blinks. "Sorry, what?"
I nod toward the kitchen counter, where the nearly empty cereal box stands like a trophy. "Cereal. You look like you haven't eaten, and I bought enough milk to flood a city."
She gives me a look, half suspicion, half disbelief. "You're offering me cereal?"
"I'm not offering something else, as far as I know."
That earns a short laugh from her, dry, but real. "Well, thank god for that."
"I mean, I've got pudding too, but I save that for people I've known at least… what, Mia? An hour?"
"Exactly an hour," Mia chimes in, legs swinging off the edge of the couch.
Maya just looks overwhelmed. Eyes flicking from me, to Mia, to the half-empty cereal bowl, and then back to me. Then she sighs, running a hand through her hair.
"Sure, I guess. Wait, I'll change and come back."
"Take your time," I call after her as she disappears through the door.
Mia throws me a look, mischievous, smug.
"What?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.
"Sisi is smoking hot, right?"
"Oh my god." I lean back, covering my face. "Where did you learn that? You know what? No. No, I don't want to know."
She just shrugs and goes back to slurping her cereal like she didn't just try to destroy my mental stability.
Moments later, Maya returns, barefoot, in an oversized T-shirt that almost swallows her frame. It's faded and old, probably something she sleeps in. Still… not helping.
"Annoying brat," she says, holding up a small crumpled note between two fingers. "Look at the note she left me."
I take it and inspect the paper. It's full of jagged lines, like someone let a chicken walk through ink and sprint across the page.
I laugh. "What… is this? Morse code for 'I'm running away'?"
"She taped it to the fridge like it was a ransom letter."
"Well, she is five."
"No?" Maya looks mildly offended. "She's seven. I really need to help her with her writing"
I pause, glance at Mia, who is currently lying sideways on the couch like she owns the place, and then slowly motion with my hand to her height. "Shocking."
That earns a real laugh from Maya. Her eyes crinkle a little, softening the stress that was clinging to her face just moments ago. She walks past me and ruffles Mia's hair.
"How old are you then?" I ask, leaning casually against the wall.
She glances back with a smirk. "How old do you think I am?"
"Uhh, that feels like a trick question."
"It is," she says, crossing her arms. "Tread carefully."
I squint at her, pretending to analyze like I'm defusing a bomb. "Okay… early twenties? Maybe… twenty-two?"
She gives me a flat look. "Wow. That's what you're going with?"
"What? You want me to guess older and get kicked in the the ba... face?"
Mia chimes in without looking up from the laptop. "She's twenty-four and grumpy about it."
Maya glares at her. "Mia."
"Oops," Mia mutters, not even slightly sorry.
I bite back a grin. "Grumpy twenty-four. Got it."
Maya turns her attention to me, arms crossed, one brow lifted. "And how old are you?"
"Guess."
"Twenty-four."
I hesitate, too quick, too eager. She's totally hoping I'm the same age, or at least close enough. And I am. But I can't say that. Not here. Not now. Fuck this life.
I smirk instead. "Do you think I'm twenty-four, or are you just hoping I'm around same age as you?"
That catches her off guard. She blinks, then narrows her eyes, playing it cool. "You think you're smooth, don't you?"
"Not particularly. But I'm observant."
She exhales a half-laugh. "You're annoying."
"I've been told," I say, leaning back into the couch. "Usually by people who secretly enjoy my company."
"Don't push your luck, bro."
...
We keep talking, mostly about nothing, old cartoons, bad neighbors, the horror of grocery shopping at night. She's funny when she forgets to be guarded. Mia dozes off halfway through, curled up with a throw pillow and a half-empty pudding cup.
Then her phone buzzes.
Just once.
She checks it, casually at first. But as soon as her eyes land on the screen, everything changes. Her shoulders tense. Her smile fades. Whatever trace of warmth she had, it vanishes.
I watch her closely. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, c'mon, Mia." She nudges her sister gently, clearly hoping to wake her without making a scene, but there's an edge to her voice, too forced, too quick.
Mia stirs, blinking sleepily, still clutching her spoon like it's a lifeline.
"Thanks, again. See you later."
They don't wait for a response. Maya scoops up the bowl, grabs Mia's hand, and they're gone before I even get the chance to ask what's really going on.
That was one hell of a morning.