A sound dragged him back to reality. His phone vibrated insistently, three times before he finally woke up.
He let out a soft yawn, rubbed his eyes, and shuffled into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and stared at its empty interior, as if something might magically appear—but, of course, nothing did.
He grabbed a bottle of water, drank straight from it, and collapsed onto the couch. Stretching his arm, he turned on the TV—just to have some background noise.
The local news popped up immediately:
…another body was found this morning in the Vargedo area, following the same pattern as the previous seven—bite marks and unusual injuries.
He turned up the volume just enough to catch the rest.
Residents are anxious, and the police have yet to determine what could have caused such wounds. It is advised that no one goes out alone at night.
The reporter continued, her voice firm, describing the situation, but he wasn't listening anymore. He reached for the remote and turned off the TV—he had his own problems. The word fired still hammered in his mind, and just thinking about another job drained the energy from his body.
" I should buy something. "
A sigh escaped as he realized that, small as it was, this task required more effort than he was willing to give at the moment.
He stared at the white ceiling, as if drawing a dose of courage, while a low rumble from his stomach reminded him there was no escaping.
He stood slowly, heading toward a cardboard box—his makeshift wardrobe. He rifled through it for a few seconds until he found a simple shirt and his usual loose pants. He grabbed the old boot leaning by the door and slipped it on without much thought.
Before leaving, he gave his wallet a quick glance. Inside, just a crumpled twenty.
" Hope it's enough… "
His small apartment fell behind him the moment he stepped out the door. He descended the stairs, hearing each step creak. The corridor smelled of mildew, and the dim light flickered whenever someone passed.
The building's odor followed him onto the street. The sky was overcast. It looked like it might rain—or maybe it was just a threat.
" Another reason to get back quickly. "
He crossed the street, head down. The neighborhood seemed normal: children playing on the sidewalks, cars passing by, the neighbor's dog barking—just like always.
Then a familiar voice called out:
— Caleb, going to the market?
He looked up automatically. Mrs. Tereza stood in front of her house, her spine slightly bent, as if time had slowly folded her in half. Her completely white hair was tied in a simple bun, and her floral dress swayed in the wind.
— I am, he replied, trying to sound more awake than he felt.
She adjusted her bun.
— Could you do me a favor? she asked sweetly. If you can, bring a pack of sugar… and some eggs too.
It wasn't the first time Caleb had run an errand like this for her. And it certainly wouldn't be the last.
— Sure, I'll bring them.
She handed him some coins to cover the purchase.
— Be careful, she added, a smile forming on her wrinkled face.
Caleb just nodded and walked toward the market, dragging his feet. The dirt road was pockmarked with holes and loose stones that groaned under his shoes, and the simple houses lined the street irregularly: plank fences, crooked walls, some looking unfinished.
The sun timidly peeked through the heavy clouds, barely enough to cut through the gray mood of the day.
" At least it probably won't rain. "
The market appeared ahead, small and modest. The shelves were neatly organized despite the cramped space.
He grabbed the sugar and eggs Mrs. Tereza had requested and added a few things for himself: a pack of cookies, a cheap soda, instant noodles. Nothing luxurious, but enough for the next few days.
He placed the items in the basket and walked to the counter; the constant hum of the fridge filled the silence of the small shop.
" Lucky me, no lines. "
He put the groceries on the counter, paid, packed them into bags, and stepped outside, feeling the fresh air hit his face as the bags swung lightly with each step.
Then, for some reason, his gaze fell on an orange cat, busy grooming itself on a wall—completely unconcerned.
" Living the good life, huh. "
The animal didn't even seem to notice him. Still, the moment didn't last long; the cat paused, lifted its head for a moment, then jumped off the wall and disappeared between the houses.
Caleb blinked once, as if the spell had been broken. Silence settled back in. He adjusted the bags in his hands and moved on. Mrs. Tereza's house was just a few meters away.
The old wooden door, marked with cracks and dark stains. He stopped in front of it and knocked twice, hard enough to be heard.
— Mrs. Tereza?
He waited. Nothing.
He knocked again, a little harder. This time, he heard footsteps on the other side.
— Coming!
The door creaked open.
— I brought the things, he said, lifting the groceries slightly.
She opened the door wider, stepping aside to make space.
— Come in, dear. I baked a small cake—have a slice as thanks.
Caleb hesitated for a moment, thinking how much he just wanted to go home—but he didn't know how to refuse the invitation of this sweet lady.
— All right, he murmured, stepping over the threshold.
A strong smell of mothballs hit his nose as he entered. The room was full of old furniture, and the short, faded curtains filtered the light, casting shaky shadows on the creaky wooden floor.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
— Put these here, said Mrs. Tereza, pointing to the old wooden table in the center of the room. And sit a bit; I'll bring you a piece of the cake.
Caleb placed the bags on the table and rolled his wrists, feeling a small relief at finally setting down the weight.
As he settled, his eyes roamed the interior. Everything seemed frozen in time.
Mrs. Tereza returned, carefully setting the plate in front of him, placing the fork beside it.
— Eat… eat, she said, her voice calm, almost singing. Don't let anything go to waste, okay? Some things… must be fully enjoyed.
Caleb picked up the fork, bringing the first bite to his mouth.
" Just what I needed—I'm starving. "
She wiped her hands on her dress and sat beside him.
— You know, dear… young meat is always more flavorful… and blood full of life has a special taste…
He froze mid-movement and lifted his head.
— What?
Mrs. Tereza leaned slightly toward him, a wide smile spreading across her face—far too wide, almost unnatural.
— I mean… some parts are always better than others… the neck, the arms, she murmured, touching the edge of the plate. The taste changes when it's still full of life…
Caleb felt a chill crawl down his spine. He lowered his gaze, placing the fork on the plate carefully.
— I… I should go. I've taken too much of your time, he said, trying to laugh, but the voice came out low.
Her gaze dropped slowly to the plate… then back to him.
— But you haven't even tried it, she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It's not polite to leave unfinished, Caleb.
He swallowed hard. The silence that followed felt heavy.
The soft dragging of Mrs. Tereza's finger across the plate stopped suddenly.
Then came the sound.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Her nails struck the table, one after another, slow, rhythmic—as if keeping time. Caleb's eyes stayed down, locked on the untouched cake before him.
— I really need to go, he repeated, moving the chair back carefully. Could you… open the door?
" Don't look at her… keep your head down. "
Each tap seemed to echo inside his head, like a drum embedded in his temples.
— Don't like this sound? she murmured, as if commenting on the weather. I've always found it comforting… reminds us that time doesn't stop.
Tap.
Tap.
Caleb stepped back—one step. The floor seemed to tilt beneath him.
Her nails stopped.
— Don't go… she said, almost in a soft lament. It's been so long since I had a visitor.
A dry snap echoed through the room.
— It was so much fun.