The image still burned behind Matteo's eyes that fleeting shape in the dark, the figure with wings that shouldn't exist. He rubbed his eyes hard, whispering to himself,
"Was I... hallucinating?"
A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Maybe I've been working too much."
He brushed it off, the sound of his motorbike filling the silent, empty streets. The cold wind cut against his skin as the city lights flickered some broken, others fighting to stay alive. Every corner seemed to hide something watching.
When Matteo arrived home, the warmth of the house greeted him a soft light spilling from the kitchen where his parents waited. The air smelled of old wood and faint herbs. His mother smiled, frail but gentle, while his father, stoic and tired, looked up from the radio that muttered the latest news.
"Another victim," the announcer said. "The killer remains at large… the scene, once again, a church."
The room fell silent for a moment. His mother looked at him with worried eyes.
"Matteo… please, don't stay out so late anymore."
He smiled faintly. "Don't worry, Ma. I'll be careful."
They ate quietly, the sound of spoons against porcelain echoing in the stillness. After dinner, Matteo washed the dishes his reflection in the dark window looking back at him, eyes shadowed under the dim light.
He guided his parents to their bedroom, helping his mother settle into bed. She reached for his hand, whispering softly,
"I love you, Matteo."
He smiled again, though his voice trembled. "I love you too, Ma."
When the lights went out, he retreated to his room. The silence was thick, almost heavy. Lying in bed, he let out a long sigh.
"What should I buy them tomorrow?" he murmured, his voice fading into the dark.
Outside, the moon hid behind the clouds. And in the distance somewhere near the old church a single bell rang at midnight.
Matteo woke up with a violent gasp.
His chest rose and fell, his breathing ragged. Sweat clung to his skin, soaking through his shirt as though he'd been running for hours. His sheets were tangled, twisted tight around his legs. For a moment, he couldn't move only stare blankly at the ceiling, his heart pounding in his ears.
Then he noticed it.
The smell.
Earth.
Cold, damp earth.
He sat up slowly, eyes widening in disbelief. His hands were smeared with dirt. His fingernails, blackened as if he'd been clawing at the ground. His hair was disheveled, speckled with bits of soil. Even his clothes the same ones he swore he'd folded neatly before sleeping were stained.
"What the hell…" he whispered, his voice cracking. "Did I… go outside?"
He stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over his boots. The wooden floor creaked beneath him as he searched his room the corners, the windows, even under the bed. Nothing was out of place. No open window. No footprints leading in or out.
Just him.
And the dirt.
His heart pounded harder. "No. No, this isn't real. I just maybe I dreamt it."
He splashed cold water on his face from the basin. The reflection that stared back at him was pale, drained of color, his eyes rimmed with fatigue.
But for a brief moment, he swore he saw something move in the mirror a flicker of a dark silhouette behind him.
He turned instantly.
Nothing.
A sudden knock broke the silence.
"Matteo!" It was his father's voice, muffled but stern. "You're going to be late for work again!"
Matteo jolted. "Y-Yeah! I'm up!" he shouted back, forcing a shaky laugh.
He rushed into the bathroom, scrubbing his hands until the dirt faded into pink skin. His thoughts ran wild as the water splashed against the porcelain.
Was he sleepwalking again?
Or… was it something else?
He didn't want to think about it.
Throwing on his uniform, he headed to the kitchen where his mother had already set breakfast. The smell of eggs and coffee filled the air, but he could barely taste it. His parents chatted softly about the market, about errands but Matteo's mind was still in his room, replaying every second, every faint trace of dirt.
He forced a smile as he stood up. "I'll see you later, Ma. Pa."
His father nodded. "Be careful on your way."
Matteo grabbed his helmet, hopped on his bike, and sped off down the narrow streets. The city was just waking shops opening, people hurrying, car horns echoing in the distance. Yet beneath all that morning noise, something felt off. The air was heavy, the kind that pressed down on you.
When he reached the workshop, his coworkers were already there.
"Finally, Torres! You almost missed the shift," one joked, wiping grease from his hands.
Matteo grinned faintly, still catching his breath from biking too fast. "Yeah, yeah, traffic."
The radio in the corner was buzzing with static. One of the men turned it up the familiar grim tone of a reporter filled the room.
"Breaking news this morning another body has been found. Authorities report the victim was discovered hanging upside down from the top of a downtown building. Details are still unclear, but police are linking the murder to the ongoing serial case that has terrified the city."
The room went quiet. The hum of machines stopped. One worker muttered under his breath, "What the hell was the serial killer thinking… hanging someone like that?"
Matteo froze.
The image of the figure from the night before the white eyes, the stillness flashed through his mind.
He swallowed hard, forcing a dry laugh.
"That's… more crazy than any serial killer I've ever heard of," he said quietly.
But deep inside, his hands trembled. Because beneath his fingernails…
there was still a faint trace of dirt.
"Have any of you ever sleepwalked?" Matteo asked, his tone half-serious, half-curious.
Lando looked up from the counter, grinning. "Sleepwalking? Bro, only old folks do that. You okay, Torres?"
The others burst into laughter, tossing jokes back and forth while stacking boxes and counting inventory. Matteo forced a chuckle, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn't forget the dirt under his nails, the faint smell of earth that still lingered on his skin. Every time he blinked, he saw the dark stains on his fingers reminders of a night he couldn't remember.
He rubbed his hands together, as if he could erase what he didn't understand. Maybe I just forgot... maybe I walked outside... maybe I'm just tired, he thought. But deep down, a strange unease pressed on his chest something heavy, ancient, and nameless.
When night fell, he left the shop early. The streets were dimly lit, fog curling along the narrow alleys as his bicycle wheels hummed quietly on the pavement. The city looked half-asleep its lampposts flickering like dying fireflies. Matteo pedaled faster, the cool wind stinging his face. He only wanted to grab food for his parents and head straight home.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, shadows moved.
Eight men stepped out from the alley faces hidden beneath hoodies and masks, their voices rough with laughter. "Hey, what's in the bag, boy?" one of them sneered.
Matteo stopped, gripping the handles tighter. "Just groceries. Don't start anything."
But they already had. One grabbed his arm, another snatched for the small bag strapped across his chest. Matteo struggled, twisting, pulling away as they jeered. "Come on, we just wanna borrow it!"
He hugged the bag close. "No! This is for my family!"
A hard kick slammed into his side. He stumbled, hitting the pavement, still clutching the bag against his chest. Pain shot up his ribs; laughter echoed around him.
"Pathetic," one said, readying another kick.
Matteo's breath came ragged. His mind blurred with panic and anger. Why… why now? He pressed the bag tighter, his pulse racing. The sound of his heartbeat grew louder then louder still, until it drowned everything else. The air felt thicker, colder.
Then something shifted.
From deep within, a strange vibration crawled through his body like static. His vision darkened around the edges, his pupils tightening. The laughter faded into a muffled hum. He raised his head, slowly.
The men froze.
Matteo's eyes once brown now glowed with a faint, white circle of light, ringed by blackness. It pulsed, like the faint halo of a dying star.
"What the" one of them muttered.
A low, trembling sound escaped Matteo's throat a whisper, or maybe a growl. He didn't know what it was. His mind screamed, Stop! but his body didn't listen.
"Stay away from me…" he whispered.
The air around him cracked.
Then, with a sudden roar
BOOM.
A shockwave burst outward, invisible but immense. The eight men were thrown off their feet, crashing against walls and scattering across the street like rag dolls. Dust and paper flew into the air. The nearest lamppost flickered violently, its light stuttering before going out completely.
When the silence returned, Matteo was on his knees, gasping for air. His eyes dimmed back to their normal color. He looked around at the bodies groaning on the ground, at the fractured concrete, at his trembling hands.
"What… what did I just do?" he whispered, his voice breaking.