Chapter 5 – The Darkness That Watches
I finally got to my house, soaked to the bone, my hair clinging to my skin like seaweed dragged from the bottom of some forgotten lake. The storm had followed me all the way back, rattling the streets, pounding the roofs, clawing at the windows of every house I passed. My heart wouldn't stop racing. Every step inside, every creak of the old wooden floor beneath my feet, felt like someone was following behind me, mimicking my movements.
I froze in the hallway, listening.
There it was again.
Voices.
Faint, muffled, like whispers leaking through walls not meant to exist. They slipped between thunderclaps and the shatter of rain, weaving in and out of the storm as if the sky itself was speaking in secret tongues.
I held my breath, straining to make out words. My name—was that my name? Or just the storm playing cruel tricks?
"Stop it," I whispered sharply, shaking my head, forcing myself to move. My own voice sounded foreign, too loud in the empty space of the house.
But the silence after was worse.
Was I finally losing it?
The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth, like I had swallowed rust. I sighed, dragging myself toward the door. My hand trembled on the lock, twisting the key until I heard the heavy, satisfying click of the bolt. For a moment, a fragile sense of safety cocooned me, but it was fleeting, false. Like being safe inside a cage—protected, yes, but also trapped.
And then it came again—the heaviness, the sinking, the hollow space inside me.
The book.
The only thing that tethered me to meaning, the one project that gave me a reason to sit up at night, pouring pieces of my soul into words. Gone. Swallowed by that cursed well. Worse than that—it wasn't only gone; my memory of it was unraveling, fraying like a rope burning at both ends. I couldn't even recall half of what I had written. Whole chapters blurred, whole sentences dissolved until all that was left was the ache of absence.
I pressed my back to the door, feeling the cold wood against my spine, and stripped off my wet clothes. They clung to me stubbornly, second skin peeling away, leaving me shivering, my skin marked with goosebumps. But the cold wasn't what unsettled me. No—it was that emptiness, the silence in my mind where there should have been words, worlds, characters. I felt robbed, hollowed out.
I stumbled into the bathroom, desperate to wash the day off me. The hot shower roared to life, steam billowing around me, swallowing the glass until the mirror blurred. My reflection became faceless, a smear of shadows and fog. I watched it until my chest tightened, until I couldn't stand to look at it anymore.
When I stepped out, wrapped in only a towel, I didn't bother searching for pajamas. My body moved on autopilot, barefoot against the wooden floor, carrying me to the kitchen. I needed warmth. Normalcy. Something to ground me.
Hot chocolate. Yes. Something simple, something mine. I stirred the cocoa slowly, watching the powder dissolve into swirling brown clouds, watching steam curl up and brush against my face. The smell filled the kitchen, rich and sweet, pulling me back from the edges of panic. I made toast too, just to hear the crunch between my teeth, to remind myself that I was here, alive, present.
I sat by the window as I sipped, staring out into the storm. It hadn't let up for even a second. Sheets of water slammed against the glass, relentless, as if trying to force its way inside. The street outside was unrecognizable. Rivers carved paths where sidewalks once were, trash bins floated like small wrecks, branches from broken trees scattered like bones. The world looked undone, unraveled.
And yet… it felt more than a storm.
It felt targeted.
Almost aware.
Like it was here for me.
My stomach flipped, dread rising. I slapped my cheek. Hard. The crack of skin against skin cut through the silence.
"Stop. Stop overthinking," I ordered myself.
Slap.
Another sting across my cheek.
Slap again until my skin burned, until my face felt like it didn't belong to me.
But the thoughts wouldn't stop crawling back. They slithered in no matter how hard I fought them, multiplying like roaches hiding in the cracks of an old house.
I clenched my fists. This wasn't working. I was spiraling. I was exhausted, and everything—everything—was too much.
Sleep. That's what I needed. Sleep would reset my brain, clear the fog, silence the whispers.
My bed seemed to understand, pulling me toward it like an embrace I couldn't refuse. My body felt heavy, drained, every muscle aching. I slipped under the covers, inhaling the faint smell of detergent, a small comfort that should have soothed me.
I tried to pray, like I always did before bed. The habit was as ingrained in me as breathing. But when I closed my eyes, the words refused to come. They tasted empty, hollow. For some reason, tonight, I felt there was no need.
As if something had already been granted.
Or maybe… maybe this was the first time I was giving up on wishing for the impossible.
The thought broke something inside me. I had always been the dreamer, the stubborn believer, the one who held on even when there was nothing to hold. But tonight, I was too tired. Too drained to carry even the smallest spark of hope.
So I let go.
My eyes closed, and the world vanished.
But it wasn't sleep.
No.
I was swallowed.
By an unfamiliar darkness.
It wasn't the simple black of closed eyes—it was thicker, heavier, suffocating. Like tar pressing against my skin, like velvet curtains drawn too tight around my body. There were no drifting dreams here, no scattered thoughts, no release. Just silence. Endless. Heavy. Absolute.
And yet… I wasn't alone.
I knew it. I felt it.
Something else was in the dark with me.
Breathing.
Slow, deliberate breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Not mine. Each exhale brushed against the back of my neck though nothing was there.
I tried to move, to reach for the blanket, to kick, to scream—anything. But my body didn't respond. My limbs felt pinned, locked in place by unseen hands.
The air grew colder. Damp. The scent of wet earth filled my lungs, rich and suffocating.
The smell of the well.
My heart lurched, stuttered against my ribs.
And then I heard it.
A page turning.
Crisp. Clear. Too loud in the silence.
I tried to scream but only silence came out, swallowed instantly by the dark.
And then—
My eyes opened.
But I wasn't in my room.
I was standing in a place I didn't recognize.
The air here shimmered faintly, thick and unreal, and yet… it felt familiar. Close. Like I had been here before, maybe in dreams I couldn't remember. The shadows stretched too far, and the ground beneath my bare feet pulsed like it was alive.
I looked around, my pulse pounding in my ears.
Somewhere, the sound of pages turning continued.
Closer now.
Waiting.
Watching.