The peace purchased at the pet store lasted precisely seventy-two hours.
It ended at midnight.
Maya was woken not by a sound, but by the absence of one. The familiar, low hum of the refrigerator had vanished. The distant, comforting rumble of city traffic had been erased. The world had been plunged into a vacuum of absolute silence. The only thing she could hear was the frantic thumping of her own heart.
Then, the cold came. It was not the chill of a winter night, but a deep, invasive cold that leached the warmth from her bones and made the air feel thick and heavy. Her breath misted in the darkness.
She scrambled out of bed, her first instinct to find Mal. She didn't need to go far. He was already in her doorway, a small, tense silhouette. His eyes were wide, the molten gold blazing with a fear she had never seen in them before.
"They are here," he breathed, the words barely stirring the dead air. "The silence... it is their cloak."
A shadow in the far corner of the hallway deepened, congealing from mere darkness into a solid, humanoid shape. It had no features, no face, no discernible limbs. It was a man-shaped hole in reality, a walking void. It didn't step forward; it flowed, gliding over the floorboards without a whisper.
Mal raised a trembling claw. A wisp of shadow, feeble and thin, shot from his paw and passed straight through the creature, dissipating against the wall behind it.
"Physical attacks are useless," he whispered, his voice tight with panic. "They have no substance to harm!"
The Unseen glided closer, the air around it freezing, a layer of frost crackling across the family photos on the wall. Maya stumbled backward, her mind racing. No substance. They phase through things.
Her back hit the wall next to the kitchen entrance. Her hand brushed against the light switch. She flicked it. Nothing. The power was dead.
The Unseen was almost upon Mal, raising a limb that tapered into a blade of solidified darkness.
No substance. They phase.
A desperate, insane idea sparked in her mind.
"Mal! The kitchen!" she yelled, her voice shockingly loud in the silence.
She didn't wait to see if he followed. She dove into the kitchen, her eyes scanning the counter in the oppressive gloom. There. The large, industrial-sized bag of flour she used for baking.
The Unseen flowed through the hallway wall as if it were water, re-forming in her kitchen. It was between her and the back door.
"MAYA!" Mal shrieked, a sound of pure terror.
As the creature lunged, Maya hefted the bag, ripped it open, and with a grunt of effort, hurled a massive cloud of pure white flour directly into its path.
The effect was instantaneous and grotesque.
The fine particles could not be phased through. They coated the creature, clinging to its non-corporeal form, outlining it in stark, shocking white. It was no longer an Unseen; it was a floured, man-shaped phantom, its form flickering and writhing in confusion. It had substance now, however temporary.
It was visible.
Mal didn't need a second invitation. Seeing his target defined, he unleashed his power. This time, the shadow that erupted from him was not a wisp, but a torrent of pure annihilation. It slammed into the flour-coated creature. There was no dramatic explosion, only a silent, swift unmaking. The white outline imploded into a shower of harmless, glittering dust that settled on the kitchen floor.
For a single, hopeful second, they thought it was over.
Then, the cold intensified. From the living room, two more shapes emerged from the shadows beneath the sofa. From the bedroom, a third seeped up through the floorboards. They had been surrounding them the entire time.
Mal was panting, his small body shuddering with exhaustion. "I cannot... I do not have the strength for more..."
They were cornered in the kitchen, the bag of flour nearly empty. The three new assassins glided forward, the silence pressing in, a physical weight about to crush them.
This was it. The hunt was over.
Suddenly, a different sound tore through the unnatural quiet—a sharp, piercing, electronic warble.
The smoke detector.
The cloud of flour had drifted up, triggering the battery-powered alarm. The shrill, insistent beeping seemed to physically pain the Unseen. They recoiled, their smooth forms rippling, their advance faltering. The high-frequency sound was an agony to their soundless existence.
It was the distraction they needed.
"THE BATHROOM!" Maya yelled, grabbing Mal.
She slammed the bathroom door shut and locked it, the cheap lock feeling flimsy against the horrors outside. The room was small, windowless. A tomb.
Mal was huddled in the sink, trembling uncontrollably. "They will flow under the door. It is only a matter of moments."
Maya's eyes darted around, landing on a single, half-used jar of Vicks VapoRub on the sink. Another desperate idea. She scooped out a large glob and smeared it under her nose, then did the same to a protesting Mal.
"The menthol... it's strong... might confuse their senses..." she gasped, her own eyes watering.
They waited, backs against the cold tiles, listening to the silence return as the smoke detector's battery died. The only sound was their ragged breathing and the frantic, muffled scratching of Mr. Whiskers from inside the linen closet, where he had hidden.
A sliver of darkness began to seep under the bathroom door.
It was over.
Then, a new light flashed—not green or black, but a brilliant, golden white. It was accompanied by a sound like a ringing sword and a voice that boomed with righteous authority.
"BY THE LIGHT OF THE DAWNSTAR, YOU SHALL NOT PREVAIL!"
From the living room came sounds of conflict—sizzling energy, pained, silent shrieks that were felt rather than heard. The sliver of darkness under the door recoiled and vanished.
The oppressive silence shattered, replaced by the familiar hum of the refrigerator and the distant wail of a siren.
Maya unlocked the door and pushed it open, her legs weak.
Her living room was a mess. The new scratching post was slightly scorched. Standing in the center of the room, his armor gleaming and his sword held aloft, was the last person she ever expected to see.
It was the hero from before. Sir Galadrian. And he was surrounded by the dissipating, fading forms of the Unseen.
He turned, his handsome face stern, his gaze falling on Mal, who was still shivering in the sink.
"Dark Lord," Galadrian intoned. "It seems you have made powerful enemies. And it seems," he added, his eyes shifting to the bag of flour and the smeared VapoRub on Maya's face, "you keep... unusual company."