For the next few days after meeting the man in the black coat, I felt as if something had quietly shifted inside my world. Everything looked the same on the outside—Old Lane still smelled like damp wood, my father still came home covered in coal dust, my mother still read books at night with tired eyes.
But inside me, something was different.
It felt like a door had opened somewhere deep inside my head.
Not a real door.
Not something I could touch.
But a door of awareness… a door of attention.
As if the world had turned its gaze toward me.
---
I. The Weight of a Silent Secret
I wanted to tell someone about the man.
About his voice.
About the way the air bent around him.
About how I felt like he knew everything about me, even things I didn't know myself.
But every time I opened my mouth, the words refused to come out.
It felt like if I spoke, something terrible would happen.
The silence became so heavy that I thought I would collapse under it.
On the third morning, while I sat at the small wooden table eating bread and butter, my mother looked at me closely.
"Evan," she said gently, "are you feeling sick? You look pale."
I shook my head.
I wanted to tell her the truth—I did.
But when I remembered the man's voice saying, I will come again, my throat tightened like it was tied with rope.
"I'm fine," I lied.
My mother didn't believe me.
She stared at me for a long moment, the worry in her eyes deeper than usual. But she didn't push me.
I was grateful for that.
But I also hated how alone it made me feel.
---
II. The Strange Day at the Workshop
Four days after the encounter, my father didn't take me to the workshop.
He said he was going early.
But something felt wrong.
The air outside was colder than normal, even though the sun was bright.
I walked slowly through Old Lane, noticing small things I normally ignored:
A lamppost flickering, even though no wind hit it
A dog staring at the sky as if watching something invisible
A thin layer of frost on the bakery window, in the middle of spring
Each detail looked normal if seen alone.
But together… they felt like signs.
Signs of something approaching.
Around noon, I was sitting on a wooden crate near the workshop gate, waiting for my father. He had told me not to come here anymore—but I couldn't help it.
I needed to see something familiar.
Something safe.
Suddenly, the workshop door burst open.
Two workers ran outside, shouting.
One of them yelled, "Get the supervisor!"
The other kept repeating, "It wasn't supposed to glow like that—what did he bring in?!"
My heart jumped.
Glow?
Like the box I saw years ago?
I stepped closer, but before I could reach the entrance, someone grabbed my arm hard.
"Evan? What did your father tell you?"
It was the bakery owner, Mrs. Hollow.
Her hands were rough but warm.
"You should not be near the workshop today," she said firmly. "Something dangerous is happening inside."
"Do you know what it is?" I asked, my voice small.
She hesitated.
Her eyes moved toward the sealed workshop door, then away.
"No. But whatever it is… it's not for children."
She pulled me back.
But before she could take me away, I heard a sound.
A deep thud.
Then silence.
Then another thud.
This one louder.
Like something inside the workshop was breathing.
I froze.
Mrs. Hollow dragged me away quickly, her grip almost painful.
"Home, Evan. Now."
I didn't argue.
But as we walked away, I felt something—something watching me again.
A familiar presence.
A cold one.
---
III. The Night He Returned
I couldn't sleep that night.
I tossed and turned on my thin straw mattress, replaying the events over and over again. The glowing object. The workers shouting. The strange thud. The frost on the bakery window.
Everything felt like pieces of a puzzle—
a puzzle I did not want to solve,
but one that was slowly assembling itself around me.
Around midnight, the whisper in my head returned.
Soft.
Cold.
Unfamiliar.
It felt like someone was standing behind me, reading a book out loud, but I couldn't hear the words clearly.
My body froze.
Then I heard footsteps outside.
Slow.
Measured.
Heavy.
My heart hammered inside my chest.
No one walked Old Lane at night.
No one.
The footsteps stopped right outside our door.
For a moment, the entire world went silent.
Even the wind held its breath.
Then—
Knock.
A single, soft knock.
Not like a visitor.
Not like a friend.
Not like a thief.
Like someone who already knew I was awake.
I stood up slowly.
My legs trembled.
My breathing went shallow.
I walked toward the door.
Step by step.
The house was dark.
I could barely see the wooden planks beneath my feet.
Another knock.
Slow.
Soft.
Cold.
I reached the door.
My hand hovered over the handle.
Before I could touch it, a voice came from the other side.
Quiet.
Smooth.
Familiar.
"Evan."
My fingers froze.
It was him.
The man in the black coat.
"I said I would come again," he whispered.
I swallowed hard.
My voice cracked.
"What… do you want from me?"
Silence.
Then—
"To warn you."
My heart stopped.
"Warn me… about what?"
He didn't answer directly.
Instead, he asked a question.
"Did you hear it?"
"H-hear what?"
"The workshop," he said calmly.
"The thing your father tried to keep you away from. The thing that should not have been awakened."
I stepped back.
"Why… why are you telling me this?"
He spoke softly:
"Because the world you see is not the world that exists.
Because the shadows are stirring.
Because you were born under a shifting sky, and those who watched that night… are watching you again."
My hands shook uncontrollably.
The man continued:
"You must be careful.
Your life is tied to things older than this kingdom.
Older than the stars themselves."
I didn't understand.
Not then.
Not fully.
But I felt the truth in his words.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
I finally asked the question I had feared most.
"Who… are you?"
The man paused.
Then he whispered:
"A shadow.
A watcher.
And the first to find you."
Before I could speak again, the sound of a distant whistle echoed through the streets.
A train whistle.
But it wasn't normal.
It sounded broken—twisted—almost mournful.
When I turned back to the door, the presence outside was gone.
The man had vanished.
Silently.
Completely.
As if he had never been there.
But the coldness remained.
The air around me felt heavy, like smoke that refused to clear.
And deep inside my chest…
something shifted.
Like a seed waking up.
Like a truth waiting to break free.
That night, I understood one thing clearly:
My life would never, ever be ordinary again.
---