I walk up to the front door, my bare feet cold on the concrete. My hand hovers over the doorknob, hesitating just for a second before I grip it tight. The metal is freezing, but it turns without a fight.
The door creaks open.
I step inside.
It's my house. Same hallway. Same scuffed floorboards. Same pictures hanging crooked on the wall. But it doesn't feel right. It's like I'm walking through someone else's memory of my home.
I head straight for the kitchen. Deep down, I already know it's pointless. If every other place in this world is empty, this one won't be any different. Still, I open every cupboard. I check the fridge.
Nothing. Empty bags. Dead silence.
Figures.
But I don't leave empty-handed. I spot a kitchen knife on the counter. I grip the handle. "Better than nothing"
I make my way upstairs, every step creaking under my weight.
My room is just how I left it… almost. Same bed. Same posters peeling off the walls. But everything's coated in this thin layer of dust, like the world forgot about this place years ago.
I dig through my drawers. Find a pair of black jeans, a black shirt, and a pair of white sneakers tucked in the closet corner. Not flashy, but tough. Durable. Best I've got. I slide into them slowly, the fabric scratching against my skin. It feels weird. After all that's happened, to be clothed again.
I tighten the laces on the sneakers. White's not ideal in a place like this, but screw it. At least I won't be barefoot anymore.
Knife in hand, I stand in the middle of my room and breathe deep. It's not much. But it's a start.
This house might not be safe. Hell, this world isn't safe. But I've got clothes on my back, a weapon in my hand, and a pulse still beating.
That's enough for now.
Now that I had clothes on my back and a knife in my hand, the next priority hit me hard.
My throat burned.
My stomach twisted.
"I'm so damn thirsty… and hungry," I muttered, wiping my cracked lips with the back of my hand. The dryness was setting in, my mouth felt like sandpaper, and my stomach wouldn't stop groaning.
Water. Food. Anything.
Surviving another hour in this place meant I had to find something soon. Otherwise, I'd end up as hollow as everything else in this dead world.
I've been searching for food and water for what feels like hours now—checking every abandoned corner store, raiding fridges, smashing vending machines. Nothing. Just dust, decay, and silence thick enough to choke on.
But I did find something.
Not food. Not water.
Tall, faceless things in suits.
They're everywhere.
I've already seen five of them. Looming shadows standing perfectly still, like mannequins forgotten in the street. Always in pairs or alone. Always... watching. But that's the thing.
They don't watch.
They don't have eyes.
It hit me when I knocked over a trash can in an alley, one of them whipped its head toward the noise and came stomping right at me, silent and fast. I barely escaped by ducking behind a dumpster and holding my breath.
They don't see.
They hear.
They follow sound like bloodhounds in tailored suits. That's how they find you.
And now that I know that…
…I can use it.
...
As I walked along the cracked road toward the woods near the school, the cold wind slicing through me like glass, I kept my eyes sharp. Maybe… just maybe, there's something out there. Something that can get me back to my world. A door. A sign. Anything.
That's when I saw it.
A faceless monster—tall, rigid, dressed in a suit—dragging a man by the leg across the asphalt. But this time… the man was awake.
He thrashed and screamed, nails clawing at the pavement, voice raw with desperation. I could see the terror carved into every twitch of his face. The way his mouth moved without forming words, like he couldn't even believe what was happening.
And for a second, I froze.
That look in his eyes. It hit me like a punch to the gut.
I'd seen that same look.
The first time I saw Than eight foot tall bitch—when I didn't know what it was, what it could do. When I still thought maybe this was a nightmare I'd wake up from.
But there's no waking up from this place.
But this time… I could do something.
I knew now. These tall freaks can't see. They hunt by sound.
And if I could use that… maybe I could save him.
Maybe I could finally get some answers. Maybe he knows how he got here. How to get out.
I crept closer, sticking to the shadows. The man was still fighting, sobbing, his voice hoarse from screaming. The monster dragged him like a sack of meat, unaware of me crouching just a few feet away.
I spotted a loose chunk of concrete on the ground. Quietly, I picked it up, aimed, and hurled it past the creature. It clattered against the pavement, bouncing off a rusted pole.
The faceless thing froze mid-step. Then turned and started shuffling toward the sound.
Good.
I grabbed another stone, this time throwing it through the window of a car near where I was hiding. The glass shattered with a sharp crack. The monster whipped around and charged.
It slammed into the car, one hand crumpling the metal door like paper.
That was my moment.
I crept up behind it, my fingers white-knuckled around the kitchen knife. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would give me away.
Then—I plunged the blade straight into the back of its smooth, featureless head.
There was no scream. No roar. Just a sickening, wet crunch as it collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.
The body hit the ground in a limp heap… and then came the smoke.
That familiar tendril of black mist curled up from the corpse and drifted into me, cold and strangely comforting. I shivered as it soaked into my skin.
Another kill. Another jolt of power. Another step deeper into whatever the hell I'm becoming.
But at least this time, I saved someone.
I walked toward the man, who was now slumped on the ground, staring up at me with wide, terrified eyes.
Yeah… I get it.
I probably look like a monster myself, dried blood all over me, one eye missing, skin pale and cracked from dehydration. I haven't had food or water in nearly a day, and it's starting to show. My body's running on fumes and smoke… whatever the hell that black stuff is.
As I got closer, I could see him more clearly now. He looked to be in his mid-forties. Scruffy beard, thinning hair, and a deep gash on his forehead. His clothes were torn and stained with blood, but his chest was rising and falling fast. He was alive… and conscious.
"Hey," I said, keeping my voice low and calm. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
He flinched, eyes darting to the knife still in my hand. I quickly tucked it into my waistband.
"See?" I added, raising my empty hands. "Not here to kill you. Just saved your ass."
He didn't respond. Just kept staring, breathing heavy like a cornered animal.
God… I must really look like shit.
I crouched a few feet away, giving him space. "You okay? Can you talk?"
His mouth opened, but no words came out at first. Just shallow, panicked breaths. Then, finally, a whisper:
"W-who are you?"
"Someone stuck in this hell, same as you.
I gave the guy a moment to catch his breath. He was still shaking, eyes locked on me like I might lunge at him any second.
"What's your name?" I asked, keeping my voice as calm as I could.
He hesitated, then swallowed hard. "Mark."
"Alright, Mark. How'd you end up here?"
His eyes flicked toward the woods, and I saw something else behind the fear—grief.
"My daughter… she went missing two days ago. Just vanished." His voice cracked. "Last place anyone saw her was near the woods, so I went looking. Figured maybe she wandered off, maybe someone took her. I didn't care. I just had to find her."
He paused, staring past me like he was still there.
"But then… I heard something. Whispering. Next thing I know, one of those tall things grabbed me. I tried to fight, screamed my lungs out, but it didn't even flinch. Just dragged me like I weighed nothing. Then… this place."
I stayed quiet for a beat. That whisper again. Always the damn whisper.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly.
He nodded, but his eyes were hollow. "I don't know if she's here. Or if… she's already…"
His voice trailed off, and I didn't have anything to say to that. Hell, what could I say?
"We'll keep moving," I finally said. "Try to find her. Or a way out."
Mark looked at me, his face still wary, but now there was something else there too. Hope.
For the first time since I woke up in this nightmare, I wasn't alone.
There was a real human beside me now. Not some faceless freak, not a whisper in my head. A person. Flesh and blood. Breathing. Scared.
I didn't let it show, but something warm stirred in my chest—relief, maybe even a flicker of hope. I wanted to smile, to say something light like, "Hey, at least now I've got company in hell." But I didn't. Because Mark looked like a man hanging by a thread, and cracking jokes wouldn't help either of us.
He was terrified, heartbroken. I could see it in the way his shoulders slumped, in how his eyes kept drifting toward the woods like he was trying to will his daughter to appear.
So I kept my voice steady and my face blank, burying the small joy deep down.
"We should get moving," I said, standing up. "Staying in one place too long… that's how they find you."
He gave a weak nod and struggled to his feet, wincing as he did.
I didn't reach out to help. Not because I didn't want to but because I knew he needed to feel like he still had control over something.
So we started walking, side by side, two broken strangers in a world gone to hell.