I don't remember opening the door.
One moment, I was standing in that silent storage room, the lantern burning in my hand, shadows pressed flat against the walls like they were afraid to move.
The next, cold air rushed over my face.
I stumbled forward and nearly fell, catching myself against a brick wall slick with damp. My lungs burned as if I'd been running for hours, even though my legs barely moved. My ears rang, a dull, constant tone that swallowed every other sound.
The lantern was still in my hand.
That was the first thing I checked.
Its weight hadn't changed, but the warmth had. It no longer felt like a gentle heat. It was deeper now, seeping into my palm, crawling up my wrist like it had found a path and decided to follow it.
I swallowed hard and looked around.
The alley was empty.
Too empty.
The street beyond lay bathed in weak yellow light, streetlamps buzzing softly as if nothing had happened. No claw marks. No broken doors. No signs of the thing that had screamed in anger just moments ago.
My heart hammered anyway.
Because the night felt different.
Not closer.Not farther.
Aware.
I took a step forward.
The shadows shifted.
Not away from me — around me.
They bent subtly, like water flowing around a stone, leaving a narrow corridor of dim light wherever the lantern pointed. The flame didn't flare or flicker. It simply burned, steady and calm, as if this was exactly what it was meant to do.
"I don't want this," I whispered.
The lantern didn't react.
I tried to lower it.
My fingers wouldn't open.
Panic surged up my spine. I clenched my jaw and forced my hand to relax. Slowly, painfully, my grip loosened until the lantern hung from my fingers by habit alone.
It stayed lit.
A sharp pain bloomed beneath my skin.
I gasped and dropped to one knee, clutching my left forearm. Heat pulsed there, matching the rhythm of the flame. I tore back my sleeve with shaking fingers.
Something dark was spreading beneath the skin.
Not blood.
A mark.
Thin lines like veins of ash traced their way up my arm, converging just below my elbow. They weren't raised, weren't bleeding — just there, as if they had always been part of me and I'd only just noticed.
The lantern grew warmer.
"I get it," I breathed. "I get it. Just—stop."
The pain eased.
Not gone. Never gone.
Just… accepted.
I forced myself back to my feet and started moving.
Standing still felt dangerous now, like the night might take it as permission. Every step away from the alley felt wrong, like I was leaving something unfinished behind me.
Halfway down the street, I heard it.
A wet sound.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Behind me.
I didn't turn around.
I didn't need to.
The lantern's flame leaned backward, stretching toward whatever followed me. The shadows at my feet thickened, trembling like nervous animals.
My pace quickened.
So did the sound.
Not footsteps.Dragging.As if something heavy was being pulled across the ground by patience alone.
I broke into a run.
The street ahead narrowed, buildings leaning in too close. Windows were dark. Doors were sealed. The city had already decided I didn't exist tonight.
The dragging sound sped up.
The lantern flared suddenly, light pushing back the darkness just enough for me to glimpse movement in a reflective window.
Too tall.
Too thin.
Its limbs bent wrong, joints folding where they shouldn't. Its head—if it had one—tilted as it followed, curious rather than enraged.
It wasn't afraid of the lantern.
It was… interested.
I ducked into another alley and nearly collided with a trash bin. The lantern swung wildly, casting warped shadows across the walls.
The thing hesitated.
I felt it pause, its attention snapping fully to the flame.
The darkness between us thickened, pressing inward like a held breath.
Then—nothing.
The pressure vanished.
The dragging sound retreated, fading into the distance, unhurried.
I slid down the wall and sat there, shaking, lantern clutched tight against my chest. My breath came in short, painful bursts. Sweat soaked through my clothes despite the cold.
The night didn't close in again.
It didn't need to.
It had already made its point.
When I finally forced myself to stand, my legs felt weak, but they held. I kept moving, slower now, every sense stretched thin.
I made it home without seeing the thing again.
That didn't comfort me.
Inside my apartment, I locked the door and pressed my back against it, listening. The silence here felt different from the storage room's silence — thinner, fragile, like it could shatter at any moment.
I slid down to the floor and looked at the lantern.
The flame burned steadily, its reflection fractured in the cracked glass. For a moment, I thought I saw shapes moving within it — shadows folding and unfolding, as if the light remembered things I didn't.
I tried again to set it down.
My fingers released this time.
The lantern didn't fall.
It stayed upright, resting on the floor as if placed there intentionally.
Still burning.
I backed away until my shoulders hit the couch.
"You're not staying," I said hoarsely.
The lantern's flame dipped.
Not in obedience.
In amusement.
A chill ran through me.
I wrapped my arms around myself and stared at the mark on my forearm. The ash-veins pulsed faintly, warm and alive. No matter how hard I rubbed at them, they didn't fade.
Outside, the city was quiet.
No sirens yet.
I realized, with a sinking weight in my chest, that surviving the night hadn't ended anything.
It had confirmed it.
The night hadn't chased me.
It had accepted me.
And it knew exactly where I lived.