Forty-eight hours. Then what?
He gets back to Brennan. Insurance fraud doesn't solve itself.
Motorcycle arrives next morning. Custom build. Matte black. Silent engine that purrs like threat.
Delivery guy hands him keys. "Mr. Venn says be careful. One of a kind."
Of course.
Test drive. Fast. Smooth. Handles perfect.
Marcus texts: Like it?
Perfect.
Good. Site goes live tomorrow night. Pushing it everywhere. Hope you're ready.
Ready or not.
Site launches Sunday at eight PM.
Folklore Investigations. Simple design. His number at top. Form for submitting cases. Forum for sharing.
Within an hour it explodes.
Hundreds of posts.
Zefar reads through. Looking for patterns. Anything real.
Most of it's garbage. Jokes. Made up stories. Performing scared.
"My toaster is possessed."
"Bigfoot stole my bike."
"A demon told me to do homework."
Wrong tone. Details too vague or too specific. Fake fear.
Phone rings constantly. Same fake terror every time.
"Help me, ghost in my bathroom."
"Something's following me." Giggling.
"I saw a monster." Then laughter. Multiple people.
Zefar hangs up each time.
This was a mistake. Marcus spent millions and all Zefar's getting is pranks.
Time passes. Forum's still active but nothing real. Nothing like Claire.
He's about to tell Marcus to pull the ads when his phone rings.
Different number. Local.
Almost doesn't answer. Probably another fake.
Something makes him pick up.
"Folklore Investigations."
"Please." Barely a whisper. Male. Older. "Please help me."
Zefar sits up. That's real fear.
"Listening."
"It won't stop. Keeps saying it. Over and over. Louder each time." Breathing ragged. "Everyone can hear it now. Everyone knows."
"Slow down. What's happening?"
"The voice. Started three days ago. Grocery store. Someone whispered what I did. The thing I never told anyone. I thought—" He chokes. "It got louder. At work. At the gym. Always when people are around. Always my secret."
Zefar grabs his notebook. "What does it say?"
"I can't—" Voice cracks. "Nobody can know."
"Your name?"
"David. David Chen."
Chen. Like downstairs? Common name though.
"David, where are you?"
"Coffee shop. Downtown. Hearing it start again. Whispering. Getting louder." Panic rising. "Can't go anywhere. Can't go home. Can't work. Everyone's going to know."
"What coffee shop?"
"Jade Cup. On Fifth."
Ten minutes. "Stay there. Coming now."
"Hurry. It's getting louder."
Call ends.
Zefar's already moving. Jacket. Keys. Notebook.
Motorcycle roars. He weaves through traffic. Sunday night. Streets crowded but he finds space.
Jade Cup's packed. People reading. Laptops. Normal weekend.
Zefar scans.
There. Corner table. Fifties. Gray hair. Hands over ears. Rocking.
Nobody looking at him. Too busy.
Zefar walks over. Sits across from him. "David?"
Eyes snap open. Red. Terrified. "The investigator?"
"Zefar Folklore. Tell me what's happening right now."
Not difficult. Just needs the rhythm fixed.
Give me a minute.
David's hands stay clamped over his ears. Knuckles white.
"Tell me what's happening right now," Zefar says again.
"Can't you hear it?" Voice strangled. "So loud."
Zefar listens. Espresso machine hissing. Two women laughing at the next table. Someone's phone ringing. Normal coffee shop noise.
Nothing unusual.
"I don't hear anything out of the ordinary."
David's eyes go wild. "Right there. Right behind me. Saying it over and over."
Zefar pulls out his notebook. Fresh page. "Okay. Start from the beginning. When did this start?"
"I told you on the phone. Three days ago."
"I need details. Exact time. Exact place. Everything."
David's jaw clenches. Whole body trembling. "Does it matter? Can't you just make it stop?"
"I need to understand what we're dealing with first."
"There's no time—"
"There's time." Zefar keeps his voice level. "Take a breath. Start from Thursday morning."
David makes a sound. Frustration or fear or both. Takes his hands off his ears. "Thursday. Seven AM. Grocery store buying milk."
Zefar writes. "Which store?"
"Morrison's. On Eighth."
"What happened?"
"Dairy aisle. Someone whispered." Hands clench on the table. "Said what I did. Exact words. I turned around but nobody was close enough."
"What were the exact words?"
David's face goes pale. "I can't say it."
"You have to. I need to know what we're dealing with."
"No." Shaking his head hard. "Nobody can know. That's the whole point."
Zefar taps his pen. This is going to be difficult. "Okay. We'll come back to that. What happened after?"
"Went to work. Tried to forget it. Thought maybe I imagined it." Breathing faster again. "But at lunch, break room, heard it again. Louder. Three times in a row."
"Anyone else react?"
"No. Everyone was talking. Eating. Normal." Voice drops. "But I heard it clear as day."
Zefar writes: Only victim hears it initially. "Then?"
"That night at the gym. Wasn't a whisper anymore. Talking. Normal volume. Same thing over and over." Hands back to ears. "Other people started looking around. Like they heard something but couldn't place it."
Progression. Gets louder over time. Zefar underlines that. "Did anyone say anything? Ask if you heard something?"
"One guy asked if I heard someone talking. I said no. Didn't want—" Chokes on the words. "Didn't want anyone to figure out it was about me."
"Okay. Yesterday?"
"Yesterday it was shouting." Shaking harder. "Grocery store again. Everyone heard something. Looking around confused. Trying to find who was yelling. But nobody could pinpoint it."
"Could they make out the words?"
"Not yet. But soon. Maybe today. Maybe right now." Looks over his shoulder. At nothing. "Getting clearer every time."
Zefar studies him. Terrified. Exhausted. Dark circles. Hasn't slept.
"Have you tried leaving the city? Going somewhere else?"
"Drove to my sister's place yesterday. Two hours away. Voice followed me. In her kitchen. Living room. Everywhere."
Distance doesn't matter. Attached to David specifically.
Zefar writes that. Thinks. Different from the Mannequin Watcher. That was visible. This is auditory. That fed on fear. This feeds on—
"David, what's the secret? What does it keep saying?"
"I can't tell you."
"Is it illegal? Something you did?"
Eyes dart to the side. "Something I didn't do."
Interesting. "Something you didn't do but should have?"
"Yes."
Guilt then. Not fear. Hidden guilt. Shame.
Zefar taps his pen. "This thing, whatever it is, only says this when other people are around. Never when you're alone."
"How did you—" Stares. "Yes. Always in public. Never at home by myself."
"It wants witnesses."
"I don't understand."
"Building toward exposure. Getting louder each time until people can hear it clearly. Until your secret isn't secret anymore."
David's face crumbles. "My wife. My kids. They'll know. They'll know what kind of person I am."
"What kind of person are you?"
"The kind who—" Stops. Shakes his head. "I can't."
Zefar closes his notebook. This isn't working. David's too scared. Too locked up.
Different approach.
"Coffee?" Zefar asks.
David blinks. "What?"
"You want coffee? I'm getting some."
"How can you think about coffee right now?"
"We're going to be here a while. You look like you haven't eaten or drunk anything in days."
Doesn't wait for an answer. Walks to the counter. Orders two. Black for him. Something with sugar for David because the man looks ready to collapse.
When he comes back David's staring at the table. Lips moving. Arguing with himself.
Or listening.
Zefar sets the coffee in front of him. "Drink."
David takes it automatically. Doesn't drink. Just holds it.
"Is it talking now?" Zefar asks.
"Never stops. Gets quieter sometimes. Then louder again."
Zefar sips his coffee. Watches. The man's at breaking point. Whatever this secret is, it's eating him alive.
Has been for a while probably. Long before three days ago.
"How long have you been carrying this secret?" Quiet.
Hands tighten on the cup. "Fifteen years."
"That's a long time."
"Yes."
"Does it involve someone else? Someone who got hurt?"
Jaw works. "My brother."
"What happened to your brother?"
"He died." Voice flat. Dead. "Two years after I didn't help him."
There it is.
Zefar leans forward slightly. "You could have helped him. But you didn't."
David nods. Barely.
"And nobody knows. Your wife doesn't know. Your kids don't know."
"Nobody knows." Finally drinks the coffee. Hands shaking so hard he nearly spills it. "Nobody knows it was my fault."
"But you know."
"I know." Sets the cup down. "Every day for fifteen years. And now this thing, this voice, it's going to tell everyone."
Zefar sits back. Thinks.
Mannequin Watcher fed on fear. Claire stopped being afraid and it disappeared.
This feeds on hidden shame. Secrets that grow in the dark.
So maybe the solution is—
But he's not sure yet. Needs more information. More data points.
Can't just guess and hope. Not with someone's life.
"Has anything else changed?" Zefar asks. "Besides the voice. Any other strange occurrences?"
"Like what?"
"Objects moving. Cold spots. Shadows where there shouldn't be."
David thinks. "My apartment's been colder. Even with the heat on. Yesterday morning I thought I saw—" Stops.
"Saw what?"
"My reflection in the bathroom mirror. Standing wrong. Like the angle was off. But when I looked again it was normal."
Zefar writes that. Physical manifestations. Weak but present.
His mind works through possibilities. Getting stronger as it gets louder. Feeding off David's increasing panic maybe. Or feeding off the secret itself. The weight of it.
"David, have you ever tried to tell anyone? The secret. Ever tried to confess it?"
"No. Never. I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because then they'll know. Know what I did. What I didn't do." Voice rises. "They'll hate me. My wife will leave. My kids will never talk to me again. I'll lose everything."
"You might lose everything anyway. This voice isn't going to stop. Going to keep getting louder until everyone hears it clearly."
"I know." Puts his head in his hands. "I know."
Zefar watches him. This man's been running from his guilt for fifteen years. Now something's caught up. Something that won't let him hide anymore.
But Zefar doesn't know how to stop it yet.
Mannequin Watcher was straightforward. Stop being afraid. Done.
This is more complex. Shame's deeper. More entrenched. Entity seems more aggressive. More determined to expose.
Needs more time. Figure out the pattern.
"I need you to tell me the secret," Zefar says. "Not out loud if you can't. Write it down."
"Why?"
"I need to understand what we're dealing with. Nature of the guilt. Weight of it."
Shaking his head before Zefar finishes. "No. I can't. If I write it down it's real. It's evidence."
"It's already real. Something out there already knows. That's why it's hunting you."
"Hunting me?"
"That's what this is. A hunt. It found you because the guilt was so strong. So loud. Now it's trying to drag the secret into the light."
David goes very still. "You think it's after me specifically."
"I think you're the perfect target. Fifteen years of hidden guilt. That's a lot of energy. A lot of power for something like this to feed on."
"So what do I do?"
Good question.
Zefar doesn't have an answer yet. Not a solid one.
Theories. Ideas. Nothing concrete enough to risk this man's mental state on.
"Let me think," Zefar says. "Keep talking. Tell me more about your brother. How he died. What happened."