I was walking home taking my time stopping at multiple stores scrambling to buy snacks and supplies for school, I wasn't supposed to be out this late. The streets were empty.
Quiet.
Clean, if you ignored the drizzle making the pavement glisten like spilled ink.
For some reason I didn't notice the sound at first.
CREEEK.
I froze.
Not because I was brave.
Because I wasn't.
Because my brain instantly tried to convince me it was nothing.
But the sound repeated.
CREEEK.
Closer now
Metal scraping against metal.
I hugged my jacket tighter.
Nothing to worry about, I told myself.
I even muttered it out loud. Quietly.
Nothing to worry about.
But my legs had already taken the lead.
shoes pounding wet pavement. Breath sharp in my ears.
I wasn't running from anything I could see.
Not exactly.
Yet the sound followed.
I peeked around the corner, and that's when I saw them.
Shadows slipping between the gravestones of the cemetery across the street.
Not one. Not two. A handful.
Moving with precision. Like they'd done this before.
Something glinted in the moonlight. Something small.
I stayed still. Too still.
Whispers from school floated back to me:
"Ren. Daigo Ren. Him and his crew. Don't mess with them."
I didn't want to mess with them.
Obviously.
But curiosity has a funny way of tying your feet to the ground.
The figures vanished into the night as easily as they'd appeared.
I stayed crouched until my knees ached.
By the time I finally made it home, my shirt smelled faintly of wet earth. Like I'd dragged the cemetery air home in my pockets.
My sisters pounced on me the second I opened the door.
"Where were you, Itsu?"
"Why are you late?"
"You smell weird!"
"Relax," I said, ruffling the younger little sister's hair and dodging a kick from the older little sister "School stuff."
They weren't convinced, but they were distracted quickly enough by their own wrestling match.
Our house echoed with laughter and chaos. Mom was still at work, Dad was on call, and everything felt… safe.
Which made it worse.
Because while they fought over the TV remote, I couldn't stop thinking about those figures in the graveyard.
And the way one of them moved, like they weren't just digging—they were hunting.
Wouldn't it be nice if this was just a ghost story?
I almost wish it was.