The Dark Man, Pt. 1

A haunting binds old friends and a stranger in a fight against a shadow older than memory.

-----------------------------------Part 1-----------------------------------------------------
This week had been so hectic, Nora barely had time to catch her breath. She was looking forward to the weekend—finally, a chance to rest, maybe sleep in, maybe see her friends for the first time in weeks. Just something simple. Familiar.
Twilight was settling in as she drove the winding back road home, a narrow stretch that cut through the hills outside town. The rain had passed, leaving the pavement slick and shining in the fading light. Traffic had slowed to a crawl, unusual for this route. No stoplights. No intersections. Just taillights glowing red ahead of her like a quiet warning.
At the top of the next rise, she saw why: emergency lights flashed in the distance, and a tow truck was struggling to pull a car from the ditch below. The vehicle looked mangled—like it had spun out and slammed through the mud headfirst. Probably someone who hadn’t adjusted for the rain, she thought. Still, the sight left her with a strange, unsettled feeling.
She turned up the music and tried to let it go. Just an accident. It happens.
She made it home without further delay, but when she switched on the radio, the music cut out almost immediately.
“Breaking news,” the announcer said. “Authorities have identified the vehicle involved in this evening’s single-car crash as one registered out of New Jersey. The man found at the scene has no ID and was reported missing several days ago. His condition is unclear. Police are asking anyone with information to come forward.”
Nora froze, fingers resting on the volume dial. The car… the hill… She’d just passed that spot.
Something about the way the announcer had said it—how and why he came to be there—stuck in her mind. Not who he was. How and why.
That felt... strange.
Later that night, curiosity turned to unease. She searched for updates online but found nothing new. Maybe it was too soon. Or maybe the story wasn’t meant to be widely told yet.
Still, the thought clung to her. That road wasn’t a place people just happened upon. And that man hadn’t simply gotten lost.
The scene replayed in her head—the way the car had looked, the way traffic had slowed around it like a ripple in still water. At the time, it had seemed routine. But now, with that voice on the radio echoing in her head, it felt different.
Too quiet. Too neat.
Almost like the world had made room for something that didn’t belong.
Nora sat on the edge of her bed, phone pressed to her ear as she dialed Jessica’s number. The weekend was finally here, but the more Nora thought about it, the more uneasy she felt. She’d been trying to shake off the feeling that something was wrong, but it hadn’t gone away. Jessica had been distant lately—unlike herself—and Nora couldn’t quite figure out why. She hoped that maybe today, they could spend some time together and everything would feel normal again.
The phone rang, each second stretching out longer than the last. She tried to shake off the discomfort settling in her stomach. It was probably nothing, just Jessica needing some space. But still, Nora couldn’t ignore the feeling that something was off.
Finally, Jessica’s voice came through, but it sounded tired, almost like it took her a moment to gather herself. "Hey, Nora."
"Hey, I called because it’s been a crazy week and I need to let off some steam," Nora said quickly, her voice chipper and upbeat, trying to mask the undercurrent of concern that had been building up all morning. "What do you say we hit some bars tonight? Maybe get the whole crew together?"
Nora waited for Jessica’s response, pacing a little by the window as she tried to keep her thoughts focused. She hoped Jessica was up for it, but she couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that her friend didn’t sound quite like herself. Was it just exhaustion? Or was something more going on?
There was a pause. Too long of a pause. Nora’s stomach dropped as she stopped pacing, holding the phone a little tighter. It felt like Jessica was miles away, even though a single call connected them.
"Yeah… yeah, we can go out," Jessica replied, her voice strained. It didn’t sound like her usual carefree response. She wasn’t excited, wasn’t even pretending to be.
Nora frowned, the worry creeping up on her again. She knew Jessica well enough to recognize when something was wrong, even when she was trying to hide it. "You sure everything’s okay? You don’t sound like yourself."
There was more silence, the kind that stretched long and uncomfortably. Nora’s mind raced with all the possibilities, wondering what could have happened to make Jessica so off. Had something happened last night? Did she have another bad dream? Or was there something bigger going on?
"I’ll tell you when we meet up," Jessica finally answered, her voice almost a whisper. "It’s just… It’s been a lot, you know?"
The words hit Nora harder than she expected. It’s been a lot. She repeated them in her mind, their weight sitting uncomfortably in her chest. What was Jessica dealing with that she couldn’t talk about over the phone? Nora’s protective instincts kicked in, but she held back, not wanting to push her friend when she wasn’t ready.

"I’ll see you tonight then. We’ll have fun, okay?" Nora said, trying to sound reassuring, though the doubt still clung to her words. She forced a smile, hoping it would come through in her voice. She just needs time, Nora thought. She’s probably just tired. Maybe I’m overthinking this.
Jessica’s response was a small, almost inaudible, "Yeah… we’ll have fun."
The call ended, and Nora stood there for a moment, staring at the screen, her heart still heavy. She tried to convince herself it was nothing, but the uneasy feeling that had been gnawing at her all week only seemed to grow. She had to trust that Jessica would open up when she was ready—but Nora couldn’t shake the sense that something was waiting just beneath the surface, something neither of them were prepared for. Nora flopped onto her bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering over her contact list. It had been way too long since the girls had done something fun—just something normal. Maybe hitting up a bar, catching a live set somewhere, even just drinks and bad karaoke. Something to break the weird fog that had been hanging around lately.
She started with Camille.
“Can’t tonight,” Camille texted back almost instantly. “I’ve got an early shift and I already promised my manager I’d cover for Amber. Rain check?”
Okay, fair.
Next up was Liza.
“Ugh, I wish,” Liza replied. “My little sister’s in town for one night and I promised I’d hang. Next weekend?”
Nora smiled a little. That was sweet. Still, two down.
She scrolled, landed on Renee.
“Girl, if you’d asked yesterday, I’d be there in heels already. But my cousin's engagement dinner is tonight and Mom will kill me if I bail. You okay?”
Nora replied with a thumbs-up emoji. It wasn’t a big deal. She was just testing the waters.
She paused before texting Sierra. The two of them hadn’t talked in a bit—not for any reason, just life getting in the way. She sent a quick “Drinks tonight? 👀”
Sierra’s answer came ten minutes later.
“Stuck on essay #3 of 5. If I don’t finish this tonight, I’m toast. I hate school.”

One by one, the group fell away. Legit reasons. All of them were believable, but none of them—none—had mentioned hearing from Jessica.
Not even a “Jessica already asked me about tonight” or a “didn’t Jess want to do something?”
Nora hadn’t said anything about her yet. She’d assumed Jessica would be in the group text once plans got rolling.
But now that she thought about it… Jess hadn’t been the one to suggest anything in weeks. She hadn’t tagged anyone in memes. Hadn’t replied much in the group chat. Hadn’t even liked the last few selfies Liza posted.
She’d just sort of… faded.
And now, with everyone out for the night and Jess nowhere in the loop, Nora felt it settle in her chest like a weight.
Something wasn’t right.
Nora lay back on her bed, her phone cooling against her stomach. The group chat was dead quiet now. One by one, the girls had dropped out—work, family stuff, migraines, just not feeling it. All valid reasons. All understandable.
Still, it didn’t sit right.
She scrolled back through the messages, her thumb hovering. No one had mentioned Jessica. Not once. And that was the part she couldn’t shake.
Normally, Jess was the first one hyping everyone up. She’d have had memes, outfit picks, a countdown going. Tonight should’ve been her night to shine—and she hadn’t even stirred the pot.
It wasn’t just tonight either. Jess had been slipping, slowly, for weeks now. Missed calls. Delayed replies. Flaky plans. Always with a vague excuse or none at all. And Nora had let it slide, figuring maybe she just needed space.
But this? This silence felt different.
She sat up and pulled her hoodie over her head, and grabbed her keys off the nightstand. She fired off a text—“Hey, might swing by. You home?”—then tossed the phone into her bag. She wasn’t going over there to stage an intervention or anything. She just needed to see Jess. In person. Eye contact, body language, all the stuff you can’t fake through a screen.
Maybe she’d find Jess curled up in sweatpants, burnt popcorn in the microwave and a movie paused mid-plot twist. Maybe she wouldn’t find her at all.

Either way, she had to go.
As she slid behind the wheel and turned the ignition, a feeling settled in her chest—not quite dread, but definitely not peace.
She pulled out of the driveway and headed toward Jessica’s place, the quiet hum of the road doing nothing to shake the question pressing at the back of her mind.
What’s really going on with her?
The drive across town felt longer than usual. Maybe it was the way the sky had turned that hazy shade of late afternoon gray, the kind that pressed down on everything like a weighted blanket. Or maybe it was just the silence in the car, with no playlist loud enough to drown out the growing knot in her stomach.
Nora turned down Jessica’s street, a quiet row of narrow houses with overgrown hedges and sun-faded welcome mats. Jess’s car was in the driveway, parked crooked like she always left it. That was... normal. But the blinds in the front window were still drawn, and the porch light was already on, even though the sun hadn’t fully dipped yet.
She parked along the curb and walked up the path, pausing at the front door. No sound inside. No music, no TV, not even the faint clatter of someone moving around. She knocked once. Then again.
Nothing.
She tried the knob.
It was unlocked.
“Jess?” she called, pushing the door open. “Hey, it’s me.”
No answer.
Nora stepped inside, letting the door fall closed behind her. The house had that stale kind of quiet, like no one had moved in hours. Her sneakers made soft thuds against the hardwood as she crossed the living room and climbed the stairs, her hand grazing the chipped rail out of habit. She made her way upstairs to Jessica’s room, the door slightly open. She walked in and was stunned by the scene in front of her.



Marcus was an ordinary man. He lived a quiet, uneventful life in New Jersey, clocking in and out of his cashier job at ShopRite, then retreating to the loneliness of his small apartment. No family waiting for him, no close friends, just the routine. But on this dull Friday evening, everything changed.
As he drove home from work, the night was uneventful—until the man appeared, stepping into the headlights without warning.
Marcus slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching in protest, but it was too late. His bumper clipped the man, sending him sprawling onto the pavement. Heart racing, Marcus jumped out of the car, his mind spinning with confusion and panic.
"Hey—are you okay? I didn’t see you—"
The man rose slowly, unnaturally steady. His gaze was fixed on Marcus, not with anger or pain, but something much colder. He stared, unblinking.
"You will take me to Texas," the man said, his voice calm, almost devoid of emotion.
Marcus froze, his voice caught in his throat. "W-What?"
The man stepped closer, his eyes never leaving Marcus's. "Jessica. You will find her."
Marcus took a step back, his pulse thundering in his ears. "I don’t know what you're talking about. Who are you?"
The man didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Instead, his cold hand rested against Marcus’s forehead. Ice spread through Marcus’s skin, and something twisted inside him—a pressure behind his eyes, a sickness in his gut. Then came the words, not his own, filling his head with a force he couldn’t fight:
Drive. South. Find her. Find Jessica.
His body moved without him, as if guided by invisible hands. He stumbled back into the car, heart still racing, and turned the engine over. He didn’t question it—he couldn’t. He just drove.
The man sat quietly in the passenger seat. No words. No movement. Just... waiting.
The drive stretched on, endless. Marcus barely registered the passing miles. No radio played. No conversations were exchanged. The only sound was the monotonous hum of the road beneath the tires. And the man beside him, a silent presence watching him.
When Marcus finally realized how far he’d gone, the roads had narrowed, leading him deeper into rural Texas. There was no turning back.
“We’re close,” the man whispered, leaning forward ever so slightly.

Marcus's hands gripped the wheel, trembling.
The man placed his hand over Marcus’s, cold as ice. Marcus gasped, but no air came.
The car swerved.
His vision blurred, and the world around him began to dissolve. The man beside him faded, his features dissolving into the night like smoke.
The last thing Marcus saw was the sharp curve of the road before the world tilted. Tires screamed, metal crunched, and everything went silent.

—--xxx—---
The sheriff crouched beside the sedan, which was crookedly lodged in the roadside ditch. The vehicle wasn’t too badly damaged, but it had slid off the road as if it had lost its way. The deputy leaned in through the driver’s side window, his breath fogging the glass.
“He’s breathing,” the deputy muttered. “But he’s... not there. Like he’s not all the way back.”
The man in the driver’s seat sat upright, eyes unfocused, his hands limp in his lap. He didn’t blink. He didn’t speak. His expression was vacant.
The sheriff looked at the license plate. “Car’s registered to Marcus Fields. New Jersey plates.”
“No obvious injuries,” the paramedic confirmed. “No signs of drugs, at least not on the quick test. Could be signs of shock, but...”
“But something’s off,” the sheriff finished, his voice low. He leaned closer, his gaze narrowing. “Mr. Fields?”
Nothing.
The deputy stood back. “Dispatch said they’d already put out a BOLO on him. His employer reported him missing on Tuesday after he didn’t show up for three shifts. Co-workers said it’s not like him.”
The sheriff glanced at the man again. “No luggage, no phone, and a half-empty tank of gas. Just a man and his car.”
Just then, Marcus stirred, his head tilting slightly, and his lips moved.
“I had to find her,” he whispered, barely audible.
“Who?” the sheriff asked.
“Jessica,” Marcus breathed, the name hanging in the air like smoke, cold and foreboding.

—--xxx—---
Detective Grant Walker arrived on scene just as the tow truck hauled Marcus’s car out of the ditch. A string of early calls had already put him in a foul mood, and this one wasn’t helping.
“Guy’s just sitting there,” the sheriff told him. “Out of it. Says he was looking for some girl—Jessica. Won’t say anything else.”
Walker crouched beside the ambulance where Marcus sat wrapped in a blanket, his vacant stare fixed on the horizon.
“No head injury?” Walker asked the paramedic.
“Clean scan. No drugs, no alcohol. Physically, he’s fine.”
“Mentally?”
The medic just shook her head.
Walker watched Marcus for a long moment. Then, softly: “Marcus. Who told you to find Jessica?”
Marcus flinched—just slightly—but his gaze didn’t move.
“Was it someone you know? Family? A friend?”
A pause.
Then, barely a whisper: “He was in the car. The man in the dark.”
Walker stiffened.
“Did he hurt you?”
Another pause. Marcus looked down at his hands like he was seeing them for the first time.
“No. He just... took everything.”
Walker rose slowly. “Get him somewhere safe. And keep him under observation. I’ll start digging.”
The sheriff gave him a skeptical look. “You think this is more than just a breakdown?”
Walker didn’t answer. He was already pulling out his notebook, flipping to the first blank page.
He wrote one word: Jessica.


Detective Grant Walker wasn’t the kind of man to believe in monsters. At least, that’s what he used to tell himself.
He grew up in the pine-thick backwoods of Louisiana, in a creaky house that always smelled like sawdust and old books. His grandfather, a retired sheriff, had raised him after his mother disappeared when Walker was nine. They’d never found her—just her car, door ajar on a lonely dirt road, keys still in the ignition. The official report said “likely abduction,” but Walker’s grandfather always insisted it was something else.
“He’s back,” the old man had whispered the night they found the car. “The man in the dark. I saw him once, a long time ago. Thought it was over. Guess not.”
Walker had dismissed it back then—chalked it up to trauma and age. But something about the way Marcus spoke, that dead-eyed fear, that same name— man in the dark—brought everything flooding back.
Now, standing in the brisk Texas wind, Walker rubbed a hand over his jaw, felt the old scar just below his chin—a gift from that same summer his mother vanished. He didn’t remember how he got it. Just flashes: a silhouette in the doorway, a voice like wind through trees, and an overwhelming pressure, like something crawling inside his mind.
That was thirty years ago. But if the man in the dark was real—still out there—Walker needed to find him. Not just for Marcus. Not just for
Jessica. For every name scrawled in forgotten files, every missing person who left no trail.
He looked back toward the ambulance.
“I’m not losing another one,” he muttered. “Not this time.”
That night had never left him.
It returned in fragments, like torn pages from a burned book—bits and pieces that refused to fit together, but haunted him all the same.
He was nine, barefoot on the front porch, the wood damp with evening dew. His mother had stepped out to feed the dogs. The sky was heavy, bruised purple, as if a storm was waiting just beyond the trees. Walker remembered calling for her, once, twice. No answer.
The stillness stretched. Then… a call, distant, barely a whisper on the wind. It came from the woods.
His breath caught in his chest. He knew the sound wasn’t right, not like any animal or human he’d ever heard. Something primal, something wrong.
Without thinking, he stepped off the porch, his bare feet sinking into the soft earth as he walked toward the trees. His heart hammered as the world around him seemed to close in, the air growing colder, thicker. The call echoed again, pulling him deeper into the dark.
Then he saw it.
A figure stood just beyond the treeline, its form draped in something darker than night. Cloaked in shadows that seemed to shift and swirl, it towered before him. The face—it wasn’t a face, not really. Just a shifting void, something that played tricks on the mind. No eyes. Just two pinpricks of pressure, like holes in reality.
Walker froze, unable to move, his throat dry, his limbs numb.
“You’re too small,” the figure rasped, its voice like ice cracking over deep water. “But you’ll remember. That’s enough.”
And then pain. Blinding, splitting pain behind his eyes. A sensation like the world was tearing itself apart inside his head.
When he opened his eyes again, he was back on the porch. The front door stood open, but his mother was gone. No signs of struggle. No footprints in the soft earth. Only a single black feather, brittle and dry, lay on the ground before him. Too large, far too large, for any bird from Louisiana.
The feather didn’t stay. It dissolved in the wind, like ash scattering before a storm.
His grandfather had never doubted him. He’d handed Walker a battered hunting knife and said, “You see that thing again, you run. Don’t try to be brave.”
But Walker hadn’t run. He’d grown up, gone into law enforcement, become a detective. His life had been a chase—a search for shadows. He’d convinced himself it was just a child’s imagination, a coping mechanism to explain the unexplainable.
And now Walker knew: the man in the dark was real. And he was back.


—---xxx—---
A month ago, Jessica’s nights began to change.
The dreams started subtly—just flickering at first. A shadow beneath the trees. A cold wind carried an unintelligible whisper. But then came the stone circle. Every night, it was the same: she stood barefoot in the center of a mossy clearing surrounded by towering stones, each one carved with symbols that pulsed with a faint, amber glow. Around her, figures in dark robes chanted in a language she didn’t know, yet somehow understood.
She always woke at the same moment—the final phrase of the chant echoing in her ears, and a woman’s face hovering in her mind. Older, regal, with sharp eyes and streaks of silver through her black hair. The woman would raise her hand, revealing a pendant with a black stone at its center… and then Jessica would bolt upright in bed, heart hammering.
She told no one. Not even her closest friends.
Something about the dreams felt personal. Ancient. She began sketching the stone circle and the sigils without realizing she was doing it. Her journal was filled with strange drawings and transcriptions of the chants. When she touched the pages later, they felt faintly warm.
And then, last week, while digging through a box of old things her grandmother left behind, Jessica found something impossible.
A pendant—jet black, set in tarnished silver. Exactly like the one from her dreams.
Jessica held the pendant in the palm of her hand, its weight strangely heavy for something so small. The moment her fingers closed around it, a sharp chill rippled through her chest, like stepping into icy water. She flinched, instinctively wanting to drop it, but couldn’t make herself let go. Her eyes remained locked on the smooth black stone, and the world around her went still.
Far away—though not in distance, not exactly—the dark man stirred.
He had been waiting.
The presence of the stone, long buried and dormant, flared like a beacon. Not just the stone, but the blood that now held it. Her blood. The same blood that once stood in the circle. The same blood that bound him, however briefly, so many years ago.
Now she had touched it. Woken it. And through it, him.
Jessica didn’t know why her hands were shaking, or why the lights in her apartment flickered for a full five seconds. She chalked it up to nerves. Maybe she was just tired. She tucked the pendant into her pocket, meaning to forget about it—but it didn’t stay there long.
By the next day, she was wearing it.
It just felt right. Familiar, even comforting, despite how cold it remained against her skin.
From the moment Jessica slipped the pendant around her neck, her life began to unravel in ways she couldn’t quite explain.
At first, it was small things—misplaced objects, forgotten errands, her phone alarm never going off even though she was sure she set it. She blamed stress. She'd been working overtime, and the dreams weren’t helping. They grew more vivid every night. Always the same stone circle. Always the chanting. Always the woman who looked like her, standing at the center.
Then came the whispers.
They started one evening while she was brushing her teeth—just a faint murmur, like someone talking in another room. She paused, toothbrush still in hand, and listened. Nothing. She turned off the faucet. Still nothing. But the moment she looked away from the mirror, she heard it again. Just at the edge of hearing. Soft. Insistent.
By the end of the week, her cat refused to come into her bedroom. It sat in the hallway and hissed at the door.
Lights flickered. Electronics acted up. Her laptop keyboard typed gibberish on its own until she yanked the battery out. Her television would turn on at 3:03 a.m., always to static, no matter what channel it had been on before.
Once, in a half-asleep haze, she woke up to the sensation of someone sitting on the edge of her bed. Her eyes flew open. No one was there, but the weight remained for several seconds, pressing down like something watching her breathe.
She stopped sleeping. Started drinking. Anything to shut her brain off.
The pendant grew colder.
A week before the man knocked on her door, the dreams changed. She wasn’t watching the ritual anymore—she was in it. She could feel the grass under her bare feet. Smell the smoke from burning herbs. Hear the rhythmic hum of ancient voices that seemed to come from her own lungs. And she knew their names, somehow. Knew the words to the spell.
She woke up with dirt under her nails and strange symbols drawn in charcoal on her bedroom wall.
Her reflection in the mirror would sometimes smile when she didn’t.
And then, finally, came the knock.
Three slow, deliberate taps at 3:03 a.m.
When she opened the door, the hallway was empty. But the pendant burned like ice against her chest, and the shadows on the walls no longer belonged to her.
Jessica hadn’t slept the night before. She’d tried tea, whiskey, meditation apps, even breathing techniques from some yoga blog—but every time her eyes began to flutter shut, the circle was there again. Flames rising. Chanting louder. The pendant thrummed against her chest like a second heartbeat.
She called in sick. Turned off her phone. Tried to smash the pendant with a hammer. It didn’t crack. Didn’t dent. Just vibrated harder, like it was warning her.
That night, she curled up on her couch, cold tea untouched beside her. The TV buzzed with static, though the screen was dark. The city outside was eerily quiet.
Eventually, her eyes gave in.
She was standing barefoot in the woods.
Mist clung low to the ground, swallowing her feet. Trees loomed above, twisted and wrong, their branches curling like claws. She turned slowly, heart thudding. In the distance—flames. That same circle, etched in fire and ash, flickering in the dark.
She moved toward it, helpless. Drawn.
A figure stepped out from the trees. Tall. Cloaked in black that swallowed the light. His face shifted when she tried to focus on it. Two dark hollows where eyes should be.
“You’re almost ready,” he said, voice like wind over a frozen lake. “She tried to stop me, you know. The silver-haired woman. But it’s your turn now.”
Behind him, something moved—a flicker of silver.
A woman stood there, partially in shadow. Her hair streaked with gray, her face familiar but unreadable. She raised her hand, palm out, and the flames around the circle faltered.
Jessica blinked—
And she was sitting upright on her couch, drenched in sweat, her mug shattered on the floor.
Her heart thundered. The pendant was warm against her skin, pulsing gently. She reached for her phone—3:03 a.m.
On the armrest beside her, a black feather.
It dissolved when she touched it. Like ash in the wind.


Jessica sat on the edge of the couch, the phone buzzing in her hand. It was Saturday morning, but it felt like she hadn’t slept in days. Her mind was a jumbled mess of fragmented thoughts—shadows that seemed to move when she wasn’t looking, whispers that wouldn’t leave her alone. The pendant in her pocket felt warm, almost too warm, like it was pulsing with something that didn’t belong.
The events of the last week had spiraled into something unmanageable. The dreams. The nightmares, really. Those godforsaken stone circles. And that feeling, always lurking—that something was watching her. It was overwhelming. Every corner of her apartment felt like a trap, every room holding its breath. She couldn’t escape it. No matter how many times she told herself it was all in her head, the fear wouldn't loosen its grip.
Her phone buzzed again.
Nora.
Jessica almost didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure she had the energy to pretend everything was fine. To smile and laugh like she always did when they went out. But she’d been so tired, so exhausted, and maybe a small part of her wanted to forget it all, even if just for a few hours. Maybe tonight she could find some semblance of normalcy.
She answered the call, forcing her voice to sound cheerful. “Hey, Nora.”
Nora’s voice came through with its usual energy, but Jessica could hear the underlying concern. “Hey, I called because it’s been a crazy week, and I need to let off some steam. What do you say we hit some bars tonight? Maybe get the whole crew together?”
Jessica paused, a weight settling in her chest. Her fingers gripped the pendant tightly, almost like she could feel it pulling at her, demanding attention. She hated the way she felt. She hated that everything she’d known before—the comfort, the freedom, the laughter—was slipping through her fingers like sand. Still, she forced herself to speak.
“Yeah… yeah, we can go out,” she said, but her voice felt tight, strained. It wasn’t the usual enthusiasm, the energy that Nora expected from her.
There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line before Nora spoke again, softer now. “You sure everything’s okay? You don’t sound like yourself.”
Jessica took a shaky breath. It wasn’t like her to hesitate. She always said yes to a night out with Nora. But everything had changed. She couldn’t explain it—not over the phone, not now, not when the weight of the last few days felt like it was suffocating her. She glanced toward the window, the light outside too bright, too glaring.
“I’ll tell you when we meet up,” Jessica said, her voice quieter than she intended. “It’s just... it’s been a lot, you know?”
The words hung in the air, and Jessica could feel the unspoken questions hovering between them. She had to keep this conversation short, had to keep the truth buried for a little longer. She could barely make sense of it all herself, let alone explain it to Nora. She didn't want to burden her.
Nora’s voice was still concerned, but she relented, sensing the tension. “Alright, well, I’ll see you tonight then. We’ll have fun, okay?”
Jessica nodded, even though Nora couldn’t see her. She tried to muster some energy for a smile, but it felt forced, hollow. She gave a small laugh, but it was half-hearted at best.
“Yeah,” she whispered, more to herself than to Nora. “We’ll have fun.”
Jessica ended the call and set the phone down more gently than she realized. The room fell quiet again. The kind of silence that didn’t feel empty but full, like the air was holding its breath.
She leaned back against the couch, the warmth of Nora’s voice still lingering like a fading ember. For a moment, she let her eyes close, trying to hold on to that flicker of normalcy, of connection. But it slipped away almost instantly, like a dream you try to recall the moment you wake up.
Saturday slipped by with a weight Jessica couldn’t name pressing down on her shoulders. The pendant around her neck had grown warm again. Not searing, not painful—just… aware. Since holding the pendant, her world had subtly shifted—shadows clung too long to corners, reflections lingered a beat too long in the mirror, and the creaks of the old house seemed to whisper just below hearing.
By dusk, the place was silent. The kind of silence that didn’t feel empty but full, like the air was holding its breath. Her roommates had left hours ago. She hadn’t told them anything—what would she say? That something was wrong with the air? That the shadows in her dreams had started bleeding into real life?
A faint hum filled the silence. She blinked, focusing on the television. The screen was off, but a soft, high-pitched frequency buzzed in the background, barely audible, like the whine of an old CRT. Jessica rubbed her ears and looked around. The corners of the room felt darker somehow, like the shadows had thickened.
She turned her attention back to the sink, absentmindedly scrubbing the last of the dishes from the meager dinner she’d prepared. The cold water ran over her hands, grounding her for a moment, but even the sound of running water felt different tonight—like it wasn’t quite washing away the tension in the air. The shadows in the kitchen seemed to stretch longer than they should have.
A chill crept through the room, but the heater was still running, the hum of it almost too quiet now, as if trying to keep pace with the stillness. Without thinking, her hand reached for the kitchen knife, her fingers curling around the handle. The weight of it felt strangely reassuring in her grasp, the cool steel grounding her in this uneasy moment.
Her fingers tightened around the pendant, which now pulsed softly against her skin—rhythmic, insistent. Her breath caught in her throat.

At 7:00 p.m., just as the last golden light dipped behind the horizon, a breeze stirred, though no windows were open. A chill crawled across her arms.
Then came the sound—a single, sharp knock at the door.
She froze.
Three knocks—measured, deliberate. Not loud. Just certain.
Jessica’s stomach turned. Something about it was wrong. Not the knock itself, but the weight of it. Almost as if whoever stood on the other side wasn’t asking permission. Like they already knew.
She stepped quietly toward the door, dish towel still in one hand, the knife in the other. She peered through the peephole.
A man, standing perfectly still on the porch. No knock. No motion to ring the bell. JustAs... watching.
Jessica hesitated. The porch light flickered once, then steadied. She cracked the door an inch, her fingers curled tight around the edge.
“Uh... can I help you?” she asked, voice uncertain, more out of reflex than anything else.
The man smiled—thin, polite, like he’d been waiting for the question.
“Yes, Jessica,” he said. “I believe you can.”
There was something wrong with his voice. On the surface, it was clear, measured, and even calm. But beneath it, buried like a second breath, was another sound. A whisper not meant for her ears, spoken from somewhere just outside reality. It clung to the edges of her thoughts, cold and echoing, like someone wearing a human voice like a mask that didn’t quite fit.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” it said.
She swallowed hard. “Then go away.”
“I’ve come a long way,” the voice said, gentler now. “And you’ve felt it too, haven’t you? The pull. The knowing.”
Silence stretched. She tightened her grip on the knife.
“You’ve dreamed of me,” the voice went on. “The sea of crows. The burning door. The woman with the stitched mouth—your blood remembers. You know who I am.”
Jessica’s lips parted, but no sound came out. She had dreamed those things. She’d never told a soul.
The doorknob didn’t turn. He made no move to enter. Just stood there, letting the silence build like pressure behind her eyes.
“You’ve been searching for something,” he said softly. “Answers. Truth. You won’t find it in books. Or prayers. Or running. Only in me.”
Her heart pounded in her ears.
“Please,” he said. “Let me in.”
It didn’t sound like a demand. It sounded like comfort. Like surrender.
Jessica’s hand reached for the lock before she realized she was moving. The click echoed like a gunshot. She opened the door.
And there he was.
He stood tall, impossibly tall, his form wrapped in a cloak that wasn’t made of cloth but of something darker—shadows stitched together, shifting and alive. He didn’t walk so much as drift, the edges of his coat trailing behind him like smoke that refused to dissipate.
His face was wrong in a way the mind couldn't hold onto. It shifted if you looked too long—sometimes smooth like wax, sometimes etched with deep, ancient lines. He had no eyes, just two sunken hollows where gravity seemed to pull inward, like the world was being sucked into them. His mouth, when it moved, was barely there—just a split that peeled open to let out a voice colder than frost and deeper than a grave.
Jessica backed away, her grip tightening on the kitchen knife, fingertips white with tension. The dark man stood just inside the doorway, unmoving, as if the shadows had shaped themselves into his figure.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, voice cracking.
He smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“You invited me,” he said.
“I didn’t—”
“You asked if I needed help,” he said softly. “And then you opened the door. That’s all it takes, Jessica.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t mean—”
“You meant it enough.”
He stepped forward, one slow footfall at a time. She didn’t hear the floor creak. No sound at all, as if the room held its breath.
Her eyes widened.
“You’ve always known I’d come. You just didn’t know when.”
She started to close the door.
He didn’t move, didn’t raise his voice. But what he said next made her blood turn to ice.
“Your blood remembers. That pendant was never meant for comfort. It’s a beacon. And now the old things know where to find you.”
Jessica’s breath caught.
Something in the air shifted—thicker, heavier. She didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Her feet moved before her mind caught up, slamming the door shut and throwing the bolt, then she was sprinting—barefoot across hardwood, the pendant bouncing against her chest—up the stairs, down the hall, into the master bedroom. She barely managed to wedge herself inside the walk-in closet before the floorboards below creaked.
He was inside the house.
The silence was unbearable. Every creak of the old floor felt deliberate. Close. Closer.
She crouched low, clutching a knife she had grabbed from the kitchen. It looked so small in her shaking hands.
Thump. The bedroom door opened.
She bit down on her knuckles, trying not to breathe.
His footsteps were slow. Unhurried. Like he already knew where she was.
The closet door handle turned.
She couldn’t help it—a choked gasp escaped her lips.

Silence again.
The door exploded inward with a deafening crack, tearing free from its hinges with a shriek of splintering wood. Jessica stumbled back, her body shoved against the tight walls of coats, the fabric scraping painfully against her skin. Her heart hammered in her chest, and through the smoke and debris, the dark man filled the doorway.
He loomed there, a hulking shadow, his presence warping the space around him, darkening the room like a living storm.
She didn’t think. She didn’t aim.
She lunged.
The knife drove into him once, twice, again, and again—her breath a jagged, desperate thing with every strike. Warmth splattered her face, her arms, the blood slick and thick, a burning flood against her skin. It hissed as it hit the floor, pooling beneath his feet. The air in the room was choked with the scent of metal and something older, like turned soil, decaying flowers.
He didn’t cry out. He didn’t speak. He just staggered back, his smile faltering, flickering before it vanished completely, swallowed by the shadows.
Jessica kept stabbing, the blade sinking into him with a sickening squelch, each thrust meeting something hard, something yielding, the knife slipping through him like butter. The desperation in her movements turned frantic, the air thick with the stench of his blood. His body shuddered under the force of each strike, but he didn’t resist. Not in the way she expected. Not like a man, but like something else.

Finally, the resistance stopped, and with it, the dark man crumpled backward, his legs giving out beneath him. He was no longer in the closet—he was sprawled across the floor, his form folding in on itself like a ragdoll tossed carelessly aside.
The room spun as Jessica staggered backward. Her heart raced in her chest, the adrenaline flooding her system, making her light-headed. She was numb, disconnected, standing amid something incomprehensible.
And then, she looked down at him. The dark man lay near the bed, his body still.
Jessica’s breath caught as she saw the blood—red. Warm, wet, and alive. It wasn’t black, like some twisted reflection of the darkness he brought—it was blood. His blood, thick and glistening under the faint light, a strange irony in its hue.

She didn’t move for a long time. Only when the weight of the moment settled on her did she sit on the side of the bed, her body too weak to stand any longer. The room was silent now, save for the raggedness of her breath.

Moments later, Nora opened the bedroom door. Jessica sat there, drenched in blood. The dark man lay on the floor, unmoving.
“I... I didn’t want to kill him,” Jessica stammered. “But he attacked me. I had no choice.”
The man was surrounded by a pool of blood, clearly the result of multiple stab wounds. There was no way he was alive.
Nora moved cautiously to sit beside Jessica, her heart racing. Every instinct screamed to call the police, but something in Jessica’s voice kept her there. The terror in her eyes made it clear: this wasn’t something she’d planned. It felt like a nightmare.
“Jess…” Nora whispered, trying to steady her voice. “What happened?”
“I don’t know him. I swear. He came to the door, said he needed help. But he started saying weird things. He knew me... but I’ve never seen him before. He wouldn’t leave, then—” Jessica broke off, her hands trembling as she wiped at her blood-streaked face. “He attacked me.”
Nora’s blood ran cold. This wasn’t just a random attack.
“I tried to make him leave. I didn’t want to hurt him, but—" Her voice cracked, the weight of it hanging in the air. "I didn’t know what to do."
Nora’s mind raced. "We need to call the police. Jess, we have to tell them what happened."
Jessica shook her head, still crying. "What if they don’t believe me? What if they think I did this on purpose? I didn't mean to..."
“Jess, we’ll figure it out. We need to be honest. But first, we need to get out of here—right now.”
But Jessica didn’t move. She was staring at the man on the floor, her face pale with dread.
Nora stood up, her heart pounding. “Jess, listen to me. We need to leave. Now.”
Jessica blinked, as if snapping out of a daze. “But… he’s still alive. He—he’s—”
Before she could finish, the man moaned, his chest rising in shallow breaths.
He was alive.

Jessica froze, eyes wide with fear. "No... no, this can’t be happening..."
Nora didn’t wait. She grabbed Jessica’s arm. "We need to go—NOW."
The man’s eyes flickered open. They were glazed, unfocused, but there was something in his gaze—a malevolent presence.
"I told you..." His voice was raspy, barely a whisper, but his words cut through the room like a knife. "You can't hide. You’re part of this now."
The air in the room thickened with terror. Nora pulled Jessica toward the door, but she was frozen. Her eyes were locked on the man.
“What does he want with me? Why—” Jessica whispered, her voice breaking.
“He’s not human,” Nora snapped, her grip tightening. "We need to move. NOW."
The man’s grin twisted. "You can't escape what’s already begun. You can't outrun me."
Nora shoved Jessica forward, but the man’s eyes snapped to them, his face distorting in rage. “You think you can run?” he hissed, his voice low and guttural. "I’m already here."
Nora’s pulse raced. "We don’t have time for this, Jess." She forced Jessica toward the door again, but the man pushed himself up, his body unnaturally strong despite the blood soaking him.
“You think you can run?" he repeated, his voice becoming more distorted, more unnatural.
"Move!" Nora shouted, trying to get Jessica to the door.
They ran down the narrow hallway, the air around them thick with dread. The floorboards creaked beneath their feet, the oppressive silence broken only by the pounding of their hearts.
Just as they reached the stairs, the man’s voice echoed down the hall. "You can’t hide from me! It’s already too late!"
Jessica’s breath hitched. “We can’t outrun him, Nora…”
“Yes, we can. We have to,” Nora snapped, gripping her arm tighter, practically dragging her toward the stairs.
They descended rapidly, their shoes thumping on the old wooden steps. At the bottom, the air seemed colder, darker. The front door was just ahead, but the man’s footsteps followed, heavy and relentless. He was gaining on them.
“Please, don’t let him catch us,” Jessica gasped, eyes darting to the front door. She was nearly there. Just a few more steps.
They burst into the living room, but as Jessica reached for the door handle, it slammed shut forcefully, with a deafening thud.
Nora spun, heart racing. The man had reached the base of the stairs, his figure dark and looming in the hallway.
“No!” Nora screamed, yanking at the door. It was stuck. Jammed. She pulled harder.
The man stepped forward, his footsteps slow, deliberate. “You can’t leave. You can’t escape.”
Nora could hear the panic in her voice. "Please, come on, come on!" She slammed her shoulder against the door.
Jessica was staring, frozen in terror, unable to move.
“JESSICA! NOW!” Nora shouted, turning toward her.
With a frantic, panicked breath, Jessica bolted toward the door, shoulder slamming into it with enough force to crack it open. But the man’s hand shot out, his fingers closing around her wrist in an icy, vice-like grip.
“No…” Jessica whimpered, struggling against him.
“Let go of her!” Nora screamed, lunging forward. She kicked at the man’s leg, hitting him with everything she had. He didn’t even flinch. His grip tightened, pulling Jessica closer.
Nora grabbed a vase from the table and smashed it over his head. For a split second, his hold loosened. Jessica yanked free, and they both stumbled forward.
“Move!” Nora shouted, and this time, Jessica didn’t hesitate. She dove for the door, pushing it open just enough to escape.
With one final burst of energy, they flung open the front door, and just as they spilled onto the porch, a shadow loomed in the doorway. The dark man stepped forward, his form blurring like a mirage, the night bending and twisting around him.

—---------xxx—---------------



The overhead light flickered faintly. Detective Grant Walker leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on the arms, eyes bleary from hours of staring at printouts and half-legible notes. A small space heater hummed in the corner, but it couldn’t chase away the chill that had settled into his bones.
Scattered across the desk were clippings, printouts from obscure forums, and faded photographs. All of it pointed to the same thing—something just outside the bounds of reason. He’d been chasing it for years. Disappearances that didn’t follow normal patterns. Witnesses who spoke of dreams turning to ash. Always, always, the same images: a shadow in the corner, whispers in empty rooms, eyes that watched from nowhere.
Now, Marcus Fields was part of that pattern.
Found disoriented. No ID. No reason for being hundreds of miles from home. His car totaled on a back road outside of town. All he’d said—over and over, like a prayer—was a single name: “Jessica.”
Walker rubbed his temples. He didn’t know who Jessica was yet, but that name had embedded itself in his mind. It didn’t feel like a lead—it felt like a thread tied to something deep and unseen, pulling taut.
He hadn’t slept in over thirty-six hours. Coffee had stopped helping. His instincts, sharpened by years of chasing what most would call madness, whispered that this wasn’t just coincidence. Something old was stirring. Something he’d felt before—years ago, when his mother vanished without a trace.
Walker rubbed his temples. He didn’t know who Jessica was yet, but something about the name clung like smoke. Not a girlfriend. Not family. A warning.
He leaned forward, flipping back through the file on Marcus Fields. Most of it was useless—standard intake, crash site photos, vague statements. But one item stood out. A small slip of paper, recovered from Marcus’s coat pocket. Faded pencil scrawl, barely legible: an address just outside of town.
Walker tapped it into the system. Property records. One result.
Marlow, Jessica.
He blinked.
He reached into the drawer and pulled out the small, battered leather notebook his grandfather left him. Yellowed pages, handwriting in a careful hand, dates and names spanning decades. One caught his eye.
Evelyn Marlowe.
Last seen: 1890s.
Profession: “Healer.”
An annotation beside it, barely legible: “Bound the darkness.”
Walker frowned. The name Marlowe echoed faintly in his mind. It scratched at something half-remembered, like the shape of a dream dissolving with the dawn. He flipped back a few pages. In his mother’s notes, scrawled years ago, a diagram—symbols, crescent moons, and at the bottom, a family tree.
Evelyn Marlowe.
Below her: Clara Walker—his grandmother.
His breath caught.
“Great-grandmother…” he whispered.
A rush of cold swept through him, not from the heater but from something deeper—ancestral, buried. That meant… Jessica Marlowe, the woman Marcus had named... she wasn’t just some stranger.
She was family.
His hands trembled slightly as he opened the worn leather case on the desk—a box he hadn’t touched in years, one of the few things recovered after his mother’s disappearance. Inside, a yellowing photo rested at the top: a woman with fierce eyes, curls pulled back in a ribbon, the name “Evelyn Marlowe” penned neatly on the back.
Beneath it, folded carefully, a page from a much older journal. The ink had faded to rust, but the words still held weight.
“He who walks in shadow cannot enter where the blood of the binding still lingers.”
That phrase. It had tumbled from Marcus’s mouth in a daze—as if reciting it from somewhere deep, somewhere not his own.
Walker stood slowly, heart thudding against his ribs. It wasn’t just a name or a case. It was his bloodline—a tether through time to something powerful. And dangerous.
He grabbed his coat and the leather case, holstering his sidearm by instinct. The night outside felt darker than usual. But he wasn’t going to run.

Rain tapped steadily against the windshield as Walker’s truck rolled to a stop in front of a quiet house. The windows glowed faintly, shadows unmoving. No signs of struggle. No lights flashing.
But his gut twisted with certainty.
He didn’t kill the engine right away. Instead, he sat in silence, the hum of rain and the low groan of the heater filling the cab. He opened the leather case again, pulling out Evelyn’s photo.
“Marlowe…” he muttered.
Something in him shifted. Not fear. Not suspicion. Recognition.
He didn’t know her—Jessica. Had never met her. But something in the marrow of his bones stirred at her name. The same way it had when his mother vanished. The same way it did every time he got close to the edge of understanding something the world refused to see.
He looked back at the photo, at Evelyn’s wild eyes and strong mouth. He could almost hear her voice in the rain.
“Blood calls blood.”
Walker stepped into the storm.
He didn’t know what waited behind that door, but he knew what he had to do.
Find her. Protect her.



—-----------xxx—------------







The scream tore through the quiet night like a blade, raw and primal.
Detective Grant Walker had barely stepped out of his truck when the front door of the house burst open. Jessica stumbled out first, barefoot, her face streaked with blood and terror. Nora followed, clutching her arm, dragging her friend with every ounce of strength she had left. They didn’t look back—they ran like prey fleeing a predator.
Walker’s instincts flared like a wildfire. He drew his sidearm in a single motion, heart pounding.
“Get in the truck!” he bellowed, rushing toward them. “Now!”
The girls didn’t hesitate. Jessica’s eyes locked with his for a split second—just long enough for Walker to see it. The haunted recognition. As if she’d seen him in a dream before this moment. Nora flung open the truck’s rear door and shoved Jessica inside before diving in after her.
And then he came.
The man in the dark.
Tall, unnatural in the way shadows clung to him, as if the night bent to his will. His form shimmered at the edges, like heat off asphalt, not quite real. Not quite there. But the malice—the hunger—was undeniably present. He stepped out of the house, movements too smooth, too deliberate.
Walker fired.
The shot cracked the air, a flash of light in the storm-drenched dark. The bullet struck the dark man square in the chest. He staggered, hissing—not in pain, but in annoyance. As if it were the sting of a mosquito rather than a bullet.
His head turned toward Walker.
And then he stopped.
A long, still moment stretched between them. Rain slid down Walker’s face, and thunder rolled above like distant drums. The man in the dark stared at him—no, through him—with eyes as black as a void.
Recognition flickered.
“You,” the dark man rasped. His voice was wind and rot and echo, a sound that didn’t belong in this world.
Walker’s grip tightened on his weapon. “Yeah,” he said low, steady. “You remember me.”
The thing tilted its head. “The boy who saw. The bloodline that burns.”
And then something changed. Not in Walker—but in it.
The dark man’s lips curled into the faintest mockery of a smile. “We meet again, Grant Walker.”
Walker’s stomach turned to ice.
He didn’t know how it knew his name—but he believed it. The thing had known him all along. Maybe since the day his mother vanished. Maybe since the day his grandfather first whispered of the shadows. Maybe he’s always known.
The girls were screaming for him to drive.
Walker didn’t take his eyes off the dark man as he backed toward the truck, step by slow step, never lowering the gun. The dark man didn’t follow. Not yet. He just stood there, watching.
Waiting.
Walker slammed the door, threw the truck into gear, and peeled away from the house, tires kicking up mud and gravel. Jessica clung to Nora in the back seat, shivering, wide-eyed.
“What was that?” she gasped.
The truck rumbled down the muddy road, the hum of the engine the only sound beneath the relentless drumming of the rain. The dark man was behind them now—always behind them—but for a moment, there was a strange, cold silence. Jessica sat in the back seat, her eyes wide, distant, trembling despite the warmth inside the truck. Nora was glued to her side, her hand tight on her friend’s arm.
Grant's hands were death grips on the steering wheel, his mind racing, but his expression was unreadable as the rain streaked across the windshield. The road stretched out before them, winding and endless, but none of them were certain of the destination. Louisiana. Walker’s cabin. Somewhere, anywhere that felt safe.
Jessica gasped, her breath hitching as she looked out the window, her voice barely more than a whisper. “What was that?” She swallowed hard, trying to steady herself.
Walker didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t. How could he explain what wasn’t explainable? The thing that had haunted his childhood had returned, and now it was hunting Jessica. He wasn’t even sure why.
“That,” he finally said, his voice hoarse, “was the thing that took my mother.”
Jessica’s eyes flickered toward him in the rearview mirror, her brow furrowing in confusion, her lips trembling. “Your mother? What—what does it want with me?”
Walker clenched his jaw, fighting the rising wave of dread that crept up his spine. He wasn’t ready for this conversation. Not yet. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice tight. “But it won’t stop. Not until it has you.”
The rain was heavier now, turning the world outside into a blur of gray and darkness. The road twisted, leading them further away from the town and into the heart of the storm. Jessica sat, staring out the window, lost in thought, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on her like a lead blanket. She had been running on instinct, on fear. But now, now there was only the uncertain silence of the truck and the looming terror in her chest.
Nora gave her a gentle squeeze on the arm, a quiet but unwavering presence. “We’ll figure this out,” she said softly, though her voice trembled just as much as Jessica’s.
Jessica’s eyes flickered up to her, the corners of her mouth twitching into something that might have been a smile if it wasn’t for the tension in her chest. “I… I don’t understand,” she murmured. “How does it know me? How does it know you?”
Walker’s gaze shifted to the rearview mirror, where Jessica sat, pale and frightened. He didn’t know the answer to that either. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “But it has to be connected to my mother. And that damn thing has been following me for years. Maybe even before...”
His voice trailed off, and the truck continued down the winding road. Nora and Jessica were quiet, the only sound now the rhythmic slap of rain against the truck’s roof.
Finally, Jessica’s exhaustion began to catch up with her. She leaned back against the seat, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment, only to snap open again, too restless to fall asleep.
“We’ll get you through this, Jess,” Nora murmured, her eyes searching the shadows of the storm. “Whatever happens, I’m not letting you go.”
Jessica barely nodded, her mind a storm of its own, but sleep was coming anyway—unwelcome, but inevitable. Her body gave in, her head drooping onto Nora’s shoulder.
Walker glanced back at them briefly, the truck’s headlights cutting through the thick fog that had settled around them. His jaw was tight. He didn’t know what was happening. But he couldn’t let the dark man win again. Not when he had the chance to protect someone else.
As the truck roared on, leaving the small town behind, Jessica finally fell into a troubled sleep, her breath shallow and ragged.

The dream came like a shadow, creeping from the edges of her mind, wrapping around her in a tight, suffocating embrace. She stood in a darkened room, the same dark man looming before her, the air thick with the sound of whispers—hissing, soft like the scrape of claws against stone.
“You’re mine,” the voice rasped, its echo a chorus of nightmares.
Jessica's heart raced as she backed away, eyes darting around, searching for escape, but there was nowhere to run. The room was closing in on her, suffocating her.
“You think you’re safe? You think you’ve outrun me?” The dark man’s shadow stretched impossibly long, his form flickering and twisting like smoke. His eyes, pools of pure darkness, were fixed on her, pulling her in, drowning her.
“No,” she gasped, her breath catching. “No, I—I won’t let you.”
The dark man’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. “You don’t get to decide.” His hand reached out for her, the shadow creeping forward like a living thing.
But before it could touch her, a loud crack of thunder echoed, breaking the silence. And then, she felt it—a hand on her arm. A firm, grounding presence.
“Nora!” Jessica screamed, her voice raw with terror, but the words didn’t come out right, distorted by the dream’s grip. She tried to run but couldn’t move, couldn’t break free from the dark man’s hold.
Suddenly, she felt warmth, a steady pressure at her side. Nora’s voice cut through the nightmare. “Wake up, Jessica! You’re safe. Wake up!”
With a gasp, Jessica shot awake, her eyes wide, her body drenched in sweat, heart pounding. She sucked in a shaky breath, looking around the truck. The sound of the rain and the truck’s tires on the road filled her ears.
Nora’s hand was still gripping hers, the steady pressure the only thing keeping her grounded.
“You okay?” Nora asked, her voice soft, concerned.
Jessica nodded, still trembling, but the dark man’s presence was still there, lingering at the edge of her mind, waiting. She couldn’t escape him—not even in her dreams.
“It’s still coming for me, Nora. I think it always has been.”
Nora’s gaze softened, but there was determination in her eyes, the same fierce protectiveness that had kept her alive all this time. “We’ll get through this. I’m not letting it have you. I swear.”
But the dark man’s words echoed in Jessica’s mind: You’re mine.