Part 1: The Fear in the City
The city was changing. People could feel it in their bones. Streets that once carried laughter now carried silence. Shops closed before sunset, windows were shut tight, and even stray dogs avoided the old part of town. Everyone had heard the stories—students vanishing without a trace, doors appearing where they shouldn't, voices in the night.
Steve Walker walked with his hands in his pockets, trying to act normal. The morning sun was bright, but it did not warm him. The air itself felt heavy, like it carried secrets.
As he passed the broken fountain near the bus stop, he noticed the old beggar again. The man sat hunched on the steps, his hands black with dirt, his eyes hidden beneath a ragged hood. Most people ignored him, walking faster when they heard his muttering.
But today, his voice was clear.
"The curse has returned," the beggar rasped, lifting one shaky hand toward Steve. "One by one… gone… until none remain. He waits in the dark, boy. He waits."
Steve stopped in his tracks. His chest tightened. For a second, it felt like the whole street had gone silent, every sound sucked away. He swallowed hard and forced himself to keep walking, ignoring the weight in his stomach.
It's just a crazy old man, he told himself. Nothing more.
But his footsteps felt heavier.
Part 2: The Nightmare
That night, Steve tossed in his bed, unable to sleep. The words of the beggar looped in his mind. Finally, he drifted off, but sleep brought no peace.
He found himself standing in pitch black. The ground beneath him was wet and cold, as though he was standing on stone soaked with water. His breath came out white in the air.
Then the voices started. At first, only whispers. Then louder. Screams.
"Help us…""Don't leave us here…""Steve… save us…"
He spun around. His throat tightened. The voices were young—boys and girls. They sounded like the ones who had gone missing.
His chest pounded. He tried to run, but his legs felt heavy, like chains bound them.
Then, suddenly—hands. Cold, bony hands clawed at his arms, pulling, dragging. A face appeared in the dark, pale and twisted, its mouth stretched unnaturally wide.
"Steve…" it hissed, inches from his ear.
Steve screamed and woke with a violent jolt. His body was drenched in sweat. His father rushed into the room, worry written across his face.
"Again?" his father asked quietly.
Steve wiped his forehead, forcing a weak laugh. "Just a dream, Dad. Nothing serious."
But his hands still shook as he pulled the blanket tighter.
Part 3: Fear in College
Morning came. Steve tried to bury the memory of the nightmare, but it clung to him like smoke. At college, Tom waved him over, his usual grin nowhere to be found.
"You heard?" Tom whispered as Steve sat down. "Another girl. Gone. They said she was last seen near the library."
Steve froze. "The library?"
Tom nodded, his voice low. "Bro, this is getting worse. People say it's… paranormal."
Steve forced a scoff, though his stomach twisted. "Come on, man. Don't start with that. It's just rumors."
Tom leaned closer, his eyes tired. "Do I look like I'm joking? My cousin lives near the old city. He told me at night, doors appear where there weren't any before. People hear knocking… and whispers."
Steve didn't answer. For the first time, he saw real fear in Tom's face, and it scared him more than the stories.
At lunch, the cafeteria buzzed with low voices. Amrin walked in with Raiyan, her boyfriend and Steve's rival. Steve looked away, pretending to focus on his food. But then, Amrin slowed down as she passed his table.
Her eyes met his. For a second, the whole room faded. Her lips moved silently—words too soft for anyone else.
"Be careful."
Steve blinked. "What?" he whispered.
But Raiyan pulled her along, throwing Steve a sharp glare. Steve sat frozen, replaying those words over and over.
Part 4: The Footsteps
That evening, Steve sat by his window, pretending to study. But the words on the page blurred. His mind was stuck between Amrin's warning and the nightmare's echo.
That was when he heard it.
Footsteps.
Slow. Steady. On the street outside.
He frowned, leaning closer to the glass. The streetlight flickered, casting long, broken shadows. Nobody was there. Yet the sound of walking continued, circling, scraping against the silence.
Steve's throat tightened. He forced himself to open the window. The air outside was icy.
Still—nothing.
But then he noticed it. On the ground below his house.
Footprints.
Dark, wet, muddy prints leading from the street straight to his front door.
Steve's chest went tight. He rushed downstairs, heart pounding louder with every step. His hands shook as he pulled open the front door.
The night air slapped him in the face. He stared at the ground.
Yes—prints. Fresh ones. Too fresh.
They started at the street and ended at his doorstep.
But that wasn't the worst part.
His eyes followed the trail again—and froze.
The prints didn't stop at the door. They climbed upward. One step. Two. Crawling up the wall like something had walked straight up, defying gravity.
His mouth went dry. His skin prickled with ice.
The prints ended at his own window.
The second-floor window. The one where he had just been sitting.
Steve stumbled back, his pulse racing so hard he could hear it in his ears. He couldn't breathe. The night was too quiet—too still. But deep inside, he felt it.
Something was watching him.
And it wasn't human.