Upstairs in Simon's room...
The soft hum of the night pressed against the windowpane, and Simon lay sprawled on his bed, one arm draped over his eyes, the other clutching the pillow.
Jessica.
He smiled to himself, quiet and small. Her laugh had echoed in his chest all through dinner. The way she'd nudged his knee under the table had made him flutter. And the hallway moment... God, that moment. Her face so close. Her voice a whisper in the dark. That look in her eyes.
His thumb brushed over his bottom lip, remembering the way her breath had ghosted there.
She was... just a friend. His best friend. Always had been. But tonight? Tonight felt different it in ways words couldn't touch.
Then—
A muffled voice.
No, two.
His brows pulled together.
It was faint, just a murmur at first, then a sharper edge. His parents. Talking in the kitchen. No, not talking. Arguing.
Simon sat up, the back of his neck prickling. They never argued. Not like that. At least, not where he could hear them. He stood slowly, feet sinking into the soft rug as he padded toward the door.
The knob clicked as he twisted it.
Then—
The air changed.
Suddenly, the hallway felt colder. Not by degrees, but in pressure. Like something unseen had taken a breath and held it. The shadows along the walls stretched just a little longer than they should have, as if reaching for something... or someone.
Simon paused, his hand still on the doorknob.
His heart skipped once. Then again.
The warmth of dinner. Of Jessica. Of laughter.
It all felt so far away now.
He stepped out, barefoot, each movement slow, calculated. His pulse thundered in his ears.
Halfway down the stairs, he froze.
The living room was cloaked in shadow, darker than it should be at this hour. The moonlight outside barely pierced through the curtains, just enough to silhouette something, someone standing by the window.
Tall and umoving. It was out of the ordinary.
Simon blinked hard. The figure didn't disappear.
A shiver crept up his spine. Something in him turned animal. Without thinking, his feet bolted, he didn't even remember the stairs as he sprinted back up to his room. He slammed the door, locked it, and leaned against it, chest heaving.
Why did I do that?
He didn't know.
He didn't know what exactly he saw. Or why it made his stomach drop.
But something was off. Something was wrong. Seriously wrong.
He sighed, shaky. Reached for the doorknob to double-check the lock. But the second his fingers touched the cold metal...
He froze.
The air behind him had shifted. The room felt heavier and suffocating.
Simon turned.
And that was when his heart plummeted into his gut.
It was here.
That thing.
The thing from downstairs was now standing in his room.
In the corner. Unmoving. Facing the window.
Its back to him.
The tattered cloak it wore rippled with no wind, and its entire frame stood unnaturally still, too still. Like the air around it didn't dare move. Its reflection in the window glass stared right back, warped by the glass into something darker like a black scepter, twisted and regal.
Simon didn't scream. He couldn't.
His breath caught somewhere in his throat, frozen like his body.
He tried to speak. Tried to find words, anything, but all that came out was a whisper:
"Who... who are you?"
The thing didn't turn. Didn't flinch.
Its head remained locked toward the window, its hollow stare still pinned to whatever lay out there in the night. As if Simon wasn't even worth turning for. As if it hadn't just bypassed the laws of space to stand in his room.
The silence stretched.
Then, slowly, so slowly the figure began to move.
Its body creaked like strained leather as it turned, inch by inch, until its face came into view.
And that was when Simon's legs nearly gave out.
Its face or what could be called one was a nightmare of bone and shadow. Gaunt, skeletal, with four jagged horns spiraling backward like a twisted crown. No skin. No lips. Just teeth. So many teeth.
And its eyes, hollow sockets burning with a sick, amber glow landed directly on him.
It saw him now.
And it hated that he was alive.
Simon pressed himself harder against the door, trying to shrink into it. He barely managed the words through a shaking jaw.
"Wh-what do you want?"
Still, the thing said nothing.
It stared.
The creature took a single step forward.
The shadows pooled toward Simon's feet like liquid smoke.
It raised a hand, thin and bone-white, the fingers gnarled and sharpened like splintered wood and pointed straight at him.
Simon's breath caught. His body screamed to move, to run, to do something, but he was paralyzed and rooted to where he was.
Its voice followed.
"You—you will obey me."
The sound wasn't sound. It scraped through the room like rust dragged over broken stone. It rattled in Simon's chest. Echoed in his teeth.
He shook his head, breath shallow. "No. No, I—I don't—"
"You will obey me." Louder now. More forceful. The walls groaned, the bulb above him flickered violently.
The room grew colder. The shadows stretched as Simon's back was already against the door, but he clawed at it now like it might open, like it might save him.
"Or else."
The words echoed in his skull, bleeding into his thoughts like poison.
It raised its hand again, but this time to reach for Simon.
The shadows on the floor crept like spilled ink, pooling toward Simon's feet, reaching for him.
And that's when his body moved before his mind could catch up—
Both hands shot up against his face, a weak shield against the impossible. As if defending himself from being grabbed. His fingers trembled. His arms felt like paper.
Like that could stop whatever this thing was.
And then—
Boom.
A blinding flash of light exploded through the room. Thunder followed instantly, rattling the floorboards. White overtook everything.
Then silence.
When Simon opened his eyes, he was sprawled on the floor. His room looked… normal.
Mostly.
The window was still open. Curtains swayed in the breeze like nothing had happened. Moonlight spilled across the floor, calm and blameless. Thick. Humming. Like the aftermath of something that didn't belong. A faint tang of ozone clung to the air, sharp and electric, like a storm had just passed through.
He sat up slowly, his limbs heavy. His breath unsteady.
A dream? That would've been nice.
He almost believed it. Almost.
Until he heard it:
A soft, deliberate scratch against the glass.
Simon flinched, turning toward the sound.
There, drifting in through the open window like it had been waiting for the right moment, came a single black feather. It spun lazily, unnaturally, before touching down beside him.
He stared at it, heart pounding.
And just like that, the comfort of denial shattered.
This wasn't a dream.
That had happened.
Simon stared at the feather.
The thing hadn't moved. Not really.
It just left a trace.
A calling card.
His heartbeat felt like it didn't belong to him anymore—too fast, too loud.
He moved involuntarily. Quick. Stumbling to his feet. Gripping the doorknob. Yanking the door open. He wasn't sure why—what he was planning to do. But his body had decided on its own.
The hallway was normal now. No warped shadows. No dripping air.
He ran.
Not from fear—
From the certainty that if he stayed in that room another second, he wouldn't leave it human.
His breath scraped as he stumbled down the stairs, the air felt too normal.
His heart punched against his ribs like it was trying to warn him. Not to be deceived by his environment.
You will obey me.
That voice was still in his skull. Crawling.
He turned the corner into the kitchen like something was chasing him.
And then he saw it.
Just for a split second—
In the reflection of the kitchen window behind them.
That same twisted figure.
Watching him.
From the ceiling.
Clinging to the corner like a shadow made flesh, head twisted upside down, eyes burning into his.
Simon's breath left him in a silent gasp.
But when he blinked again—
Gone.
Gone.
Only his parents.
Only white tiles and sounds of clattering Silverware.
He stepped into the kitchen, legs trembling, trying to act like he hadn't just felt the devil breathe down his neck.
"Mom! Dad!"