Cassie had never hated silence so much.
It wasn't the silence of peace or solitude. No, this was the silence before a scream. A silence stretched taut, like a violin string seconds before it snapped.
She hadn't slept all night. Not really. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw them. Her dead body in the rain. The look in Yama's glowing eyes. The thing at the foot of her bed. The whispering.
Now, as daylight filtered through the thin curtains, Cassie sat curled on the couch, a hoodie pulled over her head, a blanket wrapped around her legs. Her hands were shaking.
She hadn't heard from Janey yet. Her phone showed no missed calls. No messages.
She was alone.
Again.
Cassie checked the locks. Again. Three times now. Every latch. Every chain. But it didn't matter. They didn't use doors.
The dead didn't knock.
The first one came just after noon.
Cassie was in the kitchen, trying to warm up leftover rice. The microwave buzzed like an angry hornet.
Then it stopped.
Flickered.
Went dark.
So did every light in the apartment.
Cassie's breath hitched. The air suddenly turned cold.
Not chilly.
Freezing.
She could see her breath in the air.
And then she saw it. Reflected in the dark window above the sink.
Behind her.
A woman.
But not a woman.
Tall. Slender. Her hair dripping wet. Her face was mostly gone, skin melted away like wax, revealing glistening bone and hollow eyes. A red slit of a mouth stretched unnaturally wide, like someone had sliced her cheeks open and pulled.
Cassie turned slowly.
There was nothing there.
She exhaled. Shaky. "It's not real. It's not..."
Hands grabbed her from behind.
She screamed, flailing. Her back hit the counter. Nothing held her now.
But there was a trail of wet footprints on the floor, leading from the hallway.
The second one came that night.
She was in bed, armed with salt around the edges, candles burning near her pillow, and every religious symbol she could remember drawn onto sticky notes and taped to the wall.
Cassie hadn't been religious before. Now she'd try anything.
A low scraping sound pulled her from half-sleep.
It was coming from the ceiling.
She sat up, heart pounding. "Rats. Just rats."
But it wasn't rats.
From the corner of the ceiling, a body uncurled.
Upside-down.
Like a spider.
Its limbs were impossibly long, jointed in wrong places. The face was stitched shut. The eyes glowed faint blue as it crawled, unnaturally slow, its head twisting to stare at her.
Cassie screamed. Fell from the bed. Crawled toward the hallway.
The creature dropped and landed with a sickening crack and began to drag itself after her.
She scrambled to the neighbor's door. Pounded on it.
"Help me! Please! They're..."
The door opened.
Yama stood there, cloaked in shadows, golden eyes faintly glowing.
Behind her, the hallway light flickered.
The creature vanished.
Gone.
Cassie turned back, gasping. "What the hell is happening?"
He looked at her, unblinking. "I warned you."
"They're going to kill me."
"No." He stepped back inside. "They want your help."
And he shut the door.
Cassie collapsed to her knees.
She vomited onto the hardwood floor, sobbing in gasps as her body trembled violently. Her whole frame was soaked in sweat.
"Not real," she whimpered. "Not real, not real..."
But it was. She knew it.
She wasn't imagining things. And she wasn't alone.
She didn't sleep that night. Or the next.
Her apartment became a war zone of sounds and shadows. Feet dragging behind her when she walked. Faces in mirrors. Whispers behind the wall. And always, always, the oppressive feeling that someone was watching.
She screamed. She prayed. She cursed Yama's name.
None of it stopped them.
Janey was still away. Her mother's illness had worsened, so she'd extended her stay. Cassie didn't dare tell her what was happening. What would she say?
"Hey, ghosts are haunting me. Also, I might've become some kind of death magnet. Hope your mom's okay!"
No.
Cassie dealt with it alone.
The third came in the bathroom.
Cassie was trying to brush her teeth. The light overhead was dim, flickering erratically.
She looked up.
In the mirror, her reflection grinned.
But she wasn't smiling.
Her reflection's eyes bled black.
Then the mirror cracked, splintering her face across glass.
She screamed.
Turned.
Behind her stood a man in a scorched suit. His entire face was blistered and peeled, his eyes hollow with smoke pouring from them. His mouth opened and flame spilled out.
Cassie collapsed against the wall.
The ghost walked into her. Through her.
She choked. Couldn't breathe. Fire scorched her lungs. Her vision blurred
Then the ghost was gone.
She coughed, fell to the floor, weeping.
By the fourth day, she stopped eating.
She barricaded the doors. Wrote messages to herself on the wall:
They're not real. They can't hurt you.
But they could. They left bruises. Scratches. Cold burns.
They whispered every time she tried to sleep.
"I can't move on."
"Please tell him I'm sorry."
"Why did I die?"
"Help me..."
One ghost, an old man with half his head missing stood in her closet and cried for three hours straight.
Cassie curled under the covers, sobbing with him.
She hadn't been this afraid since the orphanage.
She hadn't been this alone since she buried her last friend.
Cassie stared at her reflection again, wondering if she was still human. Her eyes were rimmed red. Dark circles hollowed her face.
And somewhere, deep inside, a part of her whispered:
He said they'll come. He knew.
Yama.
The god of death.
He could stop this.
But why didn't he?
Late that night, she stood in front of his door again.
Fists clenched.
Eyes burning.
She pounded.
"OPEN THE DAMN DOOR, YOU COSMIC ASSHOLE!"
The door opened before she could hit it again.
Yama stood there, robe dark as ink, gold eyes faint and bored.
"I told you," he said.
"You didn't tell me I'd go insane!"
"They are your problem now."
"I didn't ask for this!" she screamed.
"You touched fate."
He stepped closer.
"Now you carry it."
Cassie stared at him, furious and broken. "Help me."
He leaned forward, voice low. "Why?"
"Because I'm not like you," she whispered. "I still care."
Yama blinked.
And for the first time, a flicker of something passed through those glowing eyes.
Not pity.
Not guilt.
Memory.
He shut the door.
Cassie stared at it, alone again.
Until a voice behind her whispered:
"Please. Help me find my brother..."
She turned, breath held.
Another ghost. A child. Holding a teddy bear soaked in blood.
Cassie sank to the floor.
And wept.