The night is getting late. The road lights outside the window faded by the fog of the rest of the rain, leaving a long shadow on the walls of the house. I lay on the sofa, not really sleeping, just closed my eyes while listening.
The sound of a pocket clock from the back room is still clear -*ICT ... No ... ICT ... No ...*—The truth never stops. The more I try to ignore it, the harder it sounds in the ears, as if sticking directly to my pulse.
I turned around, trying to find a comfortable position. But right when my eyes were almost closed, a faint sound was heard.
*…dead…*
I opened my eyes wide. My heart was beating fast. I held my breath, my ears tried to catch the source of the sound. But the living room remains quiet, only accompanied by the wind inside the outside and the time of the clock that continues to repeat.
I sat, staring at the dark hallway that was pointing to the back room. It feels like the hallway is longer than it should, the shadow swallowed the lights.
My hands trembled. I know the sound is real. Not from the outside, not from my mind. There is something in this house, something that comes with the pocket clock and the black book.
I stood slowly, walking into the kitchen. I put the empty glass under the tap, the water flowed swiftly. I gulped him deeply, hoping that the cold in the throat could calm my mind. But when I turned to the kitchen window, the shadow in the glass made me silent.
I saw myself - but with a different face. Not the young face I was wearing now, but my face in the next three years, the face of a man tired, covered in blood, with empty eyes staring straight at me.
The glass in my hand almost fell. I blinked once, twice. The shadow disappeared, changing ordinary reflection: my young face, pale, with eyes full of fear.
I swallowed hard, cold sweat soaked my nape.
"This is not real ..." I tried to convince myself. "Only hallucinations."
But I know it's a lie. Just like the sound earlier, just like the red writing in the book. Everything is real.
I returned to the living room, turning on the television, hoping the sound of advertising and midnight program could get rid of the strange silence. But even with a light screen, I felt as if something was peeking from behind the shadow.
Jam beats. The book was silent. And I know, sooner or later, both of them will demand me to open more than what I should see.
That night, I sat alone on the sofa, staring at the television that I barely understand. Tubuhku ada di sini, tapi pikiranku tahu—aku sedang diawasi.
Not by humans.
Nor is the creature from another world.
But by something older, bigger, and far more dangerous.
___
My body is stiff, the eyes can not be separated from the light television light. The shadow of my face in the window was still imagined - a broken future, with blank eyes staring straight into me. My breath is heavy, irregular, as if every pull of the chest only increases the panic that rotates in the head.
I closed my eyes with both palms, trying to get rid of anxiety. But the sound of a pocket clock from the back room still echoed, penetrating my ear, refusing to be forgotten.
Finally, I dropped my body knelt on the floor. I haven't done this for a long time. In the ruins that are in ruins, prayers are only the remnants of traditions that are forgotten, the sound lost is swallowed by the screams of war and the screams of humans. But at this time, with a world that is still intact, prayer again feels like the only way to survive.
My hands trembled when I put it in front of my face. My voice is hoarse, almost whispering:
"Oh my God ... if this is real ... if I really give you a second chance ... then protect me. Protect my family. I don't know who puts those things, I don't know what is staring at me from behind the darkness. But I don't want to give up. I don't want to fail again."
I was silent for a moment, waiting for an answer that never came. The television remained on, his blue light blinked on the wall. Outside, the night breeze blows, shakeing a tree branch that causes shadows like claws on the window glass.
I took a deep breath again, this time deeper. Although there was no answer, even though there was no light down from the sky, there was a little calm that infiltrated my chest. Thin calm, fragile, but enough to keep me sane.
I sat back on the sofa, still in a calm position. Prayer is not just a request, but a reminder: that I am not completely alone. That there is something bigger than me, even bigger than the shadow peering from behind the veil of the world.
Even so, in the corner of my mind, doubts still whispered. What if the prayer is also heard by something else? What if there are other ears, not from God, but from foreign entities that are thirsty for attention?
Pocket clock beats echoed again. *ICT ... No ... Tik ... no ...*
I closed my eyes, letting my body slowly sink into the silence of the night. Between gratitude, soft prayer, and fear of the answers that might come from the wrong direction.
That night, I learned one thing: praying can calm my heart, but prayer can also be a call for something that shouldn't come.
Slowly I closed my eyes and fell asleep on a night that I didn't understand.
________________________
Morning approaches with pale light through the window curtain. The sound of a faint bird was heard from a distance, mixed with the roar of the first vehicle engine that began to fill the highway. I woke up on the sofa, the body felt stiff, heavy head. Television is still on displaying monotonous shopping programs, and cold air is still hanging, as if last night had not yet gone completely.
I sat slowly, rubbing my face. Dreams and mixed reality; I find it difficult to distinguish between what really happens and which one is just my mind play. But once my ears caught the smooth beat from the back room, all doubts vanished. The pocket hours are still there. The black book is still there. And with them, the anxiety that continues to stick to my chest.
I stood up, walking into the kitchen. Turn the tap, washed my face, then gulped down cold water directly from the glass. The sound of water flowing makes this house feel more normal, more alive. But the silence afterwards actually emphasized how empty this house was.
When I opened the window, the outside world welcomed me with the usual busyness: neighbors who were preparing to go to work, the sound of motorbikes that roared, school children who jogged with a bag on their backs. Everything went normally, as if there was nothing strange in this world. They did not know that in my house, in my room, there were two things that should not be there - two objects that could change everything.
I took a deep breath. *Today must go as usual.*
If I want to survive, I can't show irregularities. No one can know I'm different.
I returned to the room, standing in front of the door that was tightly closed. My right hand had wanted to reach the door handle, but I undo it. Not yet now. The objects will stay there, waiting. I have to organize myself first, before dare to touch them again.
I changed clothes, took a backpack, and prepared to leave the house. When opening the door, the morning sun highlights my face. Warm, bright, but somehow it feels not enough to erase the cold that is still attached to my body since last night.
Before actually walking away, I looked briefly into the house. The living room is calm, neat sofa, simple table, family photo still hanging on the wall. Everything looks normal.
But I knew - behind the back of the door, something was waiting.
The pocket clock was beating. The book keeps words that I can't forget.
And sooner or later, I have to face both.
With a deep breath, I stepped out, blending with the crowd of the city, trying to live a day like an ordinary person. But far in my heart, I realized: Today is not just a new start. Today is the first count of something much bigger.
---
That morning the city air was still cool, the sky was pale blue with the rest of the dew attached to the roadside leaves. I walked casually, trying to familiarize myself again with the daily routine that I forgot for a long time. The next three years will be full of disasters, that I know. But for now ... the world still feels normal.
I stopped at a small shop in the corner of the road. The seller, a middle -aged mother with a friendly smile, greet me like an old customer. I ordered a simple uduk rice, sitting on a rather cool plastic bench, then observing around. People arrive: office workers with neat settings, motorcycle taxi drivers who stop by for a while, school children who are in a hurry with tangled uniforms. Everything looks so ordinary.
For a moment, I felt like a normal person again. A simple hunger, the scent of chili sauce and fried foods that have just been lifted from a pan, the sound of light chat on the next table - all reminds me that life is not merely about death or destruction.
After eating, I walked to the small bookstore which was located not far from there. I often visited that place, but in the future totally destroyed when the surrounding buildings collapsed. When entering, the aroma of paper and old wood immediately welcomed. Shelves are filled with textbooks, popular novels, to the latest edition newspaper.
I flipped through a few books, letting my fingers walk along the back of the cover as if looking for something. But what I'm looking for is actually not a certain book, but a sense of calm. The feeling that I can still choose to sit, read, and forget for a moment what will come.
The shop owner, a bespectacled man who looked fifties, had greeted me. Small chat occurs: About the price of books that are increasingly rising, about young people who rarely buy readings. I responded just as much, but secretly I felt relieved. There are people who are still alive without burden, without a bad feeling about the future.
After buying a notebook, I continued my journey. At the bus stop, I sat down while writing a few things: daily schedule, financial plan, even a list of needs that I had to prepare slowly. It feels strange, writing a survival strategy in the atmosphere of a peaceful city. The people around me are busy with cellphones, listening to music, or joking with friends. Only I know how fragile all this is.
The bus finally came. I went up and sat near the window. The city streets are stretched out: tall buildings sparkling, giant billboards display new product advertisements, hawkers who are busy offering merchandise. A scene that did not signal disaster.
I leaned, sighed deeply. Maybe this is the biggest paradox of the second chance I got: On the one hand, I know what will destroy this world; On the other hand, I remained attached to simple small things-morning eating, buying books, staring at the city sky.
For now, I chose to live the day as usual. Because maybe, only by resting on this normal thing I can stay sane, before a big storm finally comes.
_____________
The night swallowed the city with the lights that flicked like a fake star. From the quiet apartment window I was occupying, I stared out, watching the flow of vehicles that were still milling even though it was late. But my mind is not on the streets, but in something that is much darker, deeper, and more dangerous.
The wooden table in the room became my emergency altar. On it, there are only a few simple objects: the small candles that I took from the versatile store, a glass of clear water, and the old pocket clock that this afternoon still felt heavy in the grasp. The book Berkunan black lying beside him, tightly closed, as if waiting for time to re -opened.
I pulled a chair, sat down, then set my breath. This ritual is not for anyone - there is no name, there is no god that I begged. Only a quiet call to something that shouldn't even exist. In the future, I know that the world of fog is only a whisper of legends, a place beyond human reach. There is no exact record of how to penetrate it, except one: Perform rituals with full confidence, even without address and recipient.
My hands trembled slightly when lighting the candle. Small fire dancing, creating a long shadow on the empty wall of the room. I closed my eyes, adjusting words in my heart: praying without name, callless, requests that are not aimed at anyone. I pray not for salvation, not for instant power, but for one thing - license. Permission so that I can set foot into the world of fog, the world that I only know, the world that will be mine if I dare to achieve it.
The seconds are running. The sound of traffic outside is muffled, as if the world get rid of itself so as not to interfere. Candles get stronger, even though the window is tightly closed without wind. The pocket clock on the table vibrates finely, the needle rotates slowly backwards, makes the sound * tick ... no ... tick ... no ... * that echoes is much loud than it should.
I opened my eyes. The room is still the same, but there is an odd feeling-like a thin fog that starts creeping from the corners of the room, even though the air remains dry and cold. The fog is not real, but I can feel it, can smell a damp that is faintly piercing the nose.
I looked down, uniting my hands, praying deeper, softly. My words do not mean anything to anyone, but in the mind, every syllable is the key that reveals thin curtains between the real world and something else.
When the candle blinks once more, I know. The world of fog has heard. Not completely open, but the gate has started to crack.
I took a deep breath, holding back vibrations in the chest. "One more step," I whispered to myself. "One more step, and that place will be mine."
That night, in a simple room that was supposed to be empty, I performed a ritual to a figure that never existed. And precisely because he did not exist, the fog world gave me a place to fill it.
The fog is getting more thick, even though the room lights remain on. Candle fires appear to struggle, the light is distorted as if there is a thin layer between the flame and the surrounding air. I sat petrified, letting the cold feeling running through the skin, while the sound of pocket clocks continued to beat - backward, always backwards.
I know this is the time. The world of fog cannot be forced to enter with strength, cannot be achieved through a real door or path. He only came to those who dared to offer themselves into void.
I closed my eyes, then put both palms on the table. "I'm nobody," I whispered, the voice almost sank into a quiet hum that suddenly felt louder than anything. "I'm just a human being given a second chance. I came not as a servant, not as a follower, but as the ruler of this void. "
The clock stops stop. The room falls into absolute silence. Even the sound of traffic from outside disappeared, as if the modern world I knew had just been pulled away.
I opened my eyes.
The fog now fills the entire room, thick, gray, rotating slowly. The walls disappear, tables and chairs melt into a faint shadow. But the candle is still there, standing before me, the fire glowed in the fog, becoming the center of this new room.
I stood carefully. The foot stepped, but the floor no longer feels like a house tile. The surface is cold, moist, and as if it can disappear at any time. The fog moves following, like living things that observe me.
In the distance, vague, I saw the silhouette of a high -iron chair. The chair stood alone, facing me, waiting. I know without doubt - that's a symbol of ownership, an empty throne in the world of fog. Anyone who dares to sit there will be recognized as the owner of this place.
But the fog whispered. Not with voice, but with a sensation - a feeling that once I approached, I also opened myself to something that I could not expect.
I swallowed hard, my steps slowed down. But this is what I want. The opportunity to have this place, a space that is not owned by anyone, which can be a protection as well as weapons when the invasion comes.
Every step feels heavier. The fog sticks to the skin, the cold enters the bone. The candle that was bright bright now faded, as if the energy was moved to the chair in front of me.
Finally, I stood before the throne. Rusty scrap metal, cold, but the aura of strength radiated clearly from it. I raised my hand, touching his back. The first touch made my heart stop for a moment - not because of fear, but because I felt something staring back from the depth of the fog.
Something without shape. Something without a name.
I strengthen my heart. If I retreat now, then this opportunity will disappear forever.
With a deep breath, I sat.
The fog exploded, rotating violently, swallowing the candle light to the total outages. The world fell into the darkness, and in it, only one thing was heard: the pocket clock that is now returning to go back, but not backwards - rather advanced.
And at that moment, I know. The world of fog has recognized me as its owner.