Even in ordinary times, I would never dare walk alone at night in the dark. And now? The fact that I resisted going home to my parents already felt like an act of courage.
Stay here, and guilt gnawed at me, as if I had done something wrong. If I weren't too lazy to get up, I might have paced circles around the sofa. But to leave? My feet refused to cross the threshold. Just looking at the darkness outside filled me with dread. Go, or stay? The endless hesitation consumed me.
I went back to the window. If I could adapt to the darkness, maybe I wouldn't be so afraid. Then I could try. If not… then forget it.
The sky was moonless, black as midnight, though it was only eight o'clock. Silent as an empty city. No—not empty. I couldn't ignore the pair of glowing eyes not far away.
Why was I so sure they were eyes? Instinct. As if they were staring straight at me. Looking closer, I could even make out the figure—a man. Do human eyes glow in the dark? A dull, murky, cold light.
We stared at each other. I looked away first, scanning elsewhere. More eyes. All glowing. I snapped the window shut, pulled the curtains tight. Enough. I set an alarm, determined to wake early tomorrow.
Clutching a pillow, I didn't dare close my eyes. I feared that if I did, something would appear in the room. Better to keep them open, to see everything. Strangely, my vision was sharp—I could even see the wallpaper patterns.
Sleep. I had to sleep. Otherwise I wouldn't wake in time. Forcing myself, I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the urge to open them in fear.
Closing them tightly should have tired the muscles. But I felt nothing. Why? Because I wasn't human anymore.
I didn't need sleep.
Not long ago, I thought being able to skip sleep would be wonderful. More time for shows, games, movies, novels. Even books, though I rarely read them. At first, the idea thrilled me.
But reality was different. No phone, no games, no books. Nothing to do but sit in silence, trembling, aware of their presence outside.
Death itself isn't frightening. What terrifies is the fear and anxiety before it.
I tried to think of other things. My mind was blank. My hearing sharpened.
I heard a low growl—like a beast before attack. Threatening, menacing, yet hesitant. I heard wind through leaves, rustling layer upon layer, like floating in a sea of forests.
And then—I heard a child crying.
A jolt ran through me, like electricity. I opened my eyes, forgetting the glowing eyes I had seen before, and rushed to the window.
Yes. A child's cry. Likely an infant, muffled, broken sobs. I opened the window, listening.
I couldn't pinpoint the house. But clearly, I wasn't the first to hear. They had heard too.
Three or four already stood below, staring up at the balcony, pacing, restless. They wanted to climb, but didn't try the door. More were drifting closer.
Soon, eight or ten might gather. And then—one might strike the door, and the rest would follow.
I paced inside, searching for something. For what, I didn't know. Hoping for inspiration, anything to act instead of waiting.
I picked up a vase. Light. I could throw it halfway to that house. Enough to distract them, but not too close. I hurled it.
"Crack." The sound echoed. Then silence. I crouched under the window, heart pounding, whispering to myself: I am a stone. I am a stone…
Time passed. No growls. No cries. Relief. But I stayed still, listening intently, unwilling to move.
Finally, certain nothing stirred, I stood. In the past, my legs would have gone numb.
I peeked through the curtain. Met a wall of glowing eyes. All staring. I felt the futility of struggle, the inevitability of surrender.
After a long stare, I dropped the curtain, lay on the sofa. Eyes open to the ceiling. Then closed.
Strangely, this time I slept. No fear. No thoughts. Like a human. Tomorrow might not be good. But it would come.
…
I woke. Adjusted to the light. My mind returned. Checked my phone. Just past five. Alarm set for half an hour later. I didn't need it. Battery at sixty percent. I needed a watch.
Opened the window. The eyes were gone. The house from last night—only dents on the door. Nothing else. Relief.
Before dawn, I returned to the bus. My scooter was untouched. The figures inside unchanged, except for more black smears on the glass.
They saw me. Still terrified. Retreating to the far side. I hurried, ignored them, rode away.
At my aunt's house, I unloaded everything into the tricycle. Flour bags—forty kilograms—I lifted at once. Not heavy. Just bulky. The rest, small items, easy.
I parked the scooter in the alley between houses, hidden from view.
Would my parents see the supplies? Would they take them? What would they think? Troubling questions. But more important was their safety. Their survival.
Back in the room, I stood at the window. Then sat with a chair. Not from fatigue—I didn't feel tired. Just habit.
Silence. As before. Most people still asleep. The gray eyes were only dreams. I told myself that.
But no. I couldn't lie. I reminded myself again and again.
Today would be good weather. Clear skies, blazing sun. I didn't like it—it brought bad memories. But it was good news.
They feared sunlight. Not fatal, but it slowed them, made them cautious, hiding away. Like now. Only two lingered in the woods, unmoving.
A human detector? I didn't want to detect them. But the ability mattered.
Then I heard crying again. This time, two voices.
Sadness struck me. But honestly, I had no right. If I had been consumed at the start, or changed like them, maybe it would have been better. My parents might be next door. I didn't dare call out. If only one of them remained, what could I do? If neither, where had they gone? What meaning did my existence have?
Questions piled up. No answers. My mind blank, like theirs. Maybe I was becoming them. Was that good or bad?
It didn't matter. Death, in materialist terms, is complete dissolution.
Then—I heard it. A faint sound.
A door opening.