I was four when my parents died.
I don't remember much from that age not my toys, not my favourite show, not even the smell of my father's jacket.
I only remember parts of that night. I woke up because something felt wrong, and the house was too quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your stomach drop, I walked to my parents' room. The door was slightly open, so I looked inside and saw enough to know something was very wrong. My parents weren't moving, and someone else was in the room. I didn't see a face or anything clearly, just a shape that shouldn't have been there. That's all I remember.
The next morning, I woke up on the floor. The house was silent again, and there were marks on the back of my neck that hadn't been there before. They told me I was too young to understand what really happened, and that it was better if I didn't think about it too much.
Nobody asked me what I thought happened.
They just kept telling me it wasn't my fault and that I should try to forget it., so I stopped talking about it. But I know I wasn't alone in that room, and nothing has felt the same since.
Sixteen now. Different place, same world.
I'm in my apartment, finishing leftover noodles straight out of the container. Not because I forgot to heat them because I don't care enough to.
The place is small, but it's mine. And quiet. I like quiet. It lets me think. The tattoos on my neck itch sometimes, not painfully just enough to remind me they're there.
If someone's confident, I match it. If someone's reckless, I might follow. If someone challenges me, I never back down.
That's just how I am.
I work evenings at "Balls and Squares", the cheap big-box store five blocks away. Shelf stocking, helping customers, doing whatever the manager yells about. It's not amazing, but it keeps my rent paid, and it gives me something to do when the apartment starts feeling too quiet. It's just another night. Just me. Just the usual.
After eating, I put the empty container in the sink and check my phone. Damon's called twice. Rafi once.
They call again before I can even respond.
I answer. "What's going on?"
"You coming out?" Damon asks. His voice is too casual for how late it is.
"For what?"
"Willow Church,"
he says. "We're filming something."
I sit back on the bed. "That place is falling apart."
"That's the point," he replies. "Looks good on camera."
Rafi's voice comes through in the background. "We're already on the way. Just be ready."
"I have work tomorrow." I say
"You always do," Damon says. "Come for an hour. We'll drop you back."
I could say no. I probably should. But I don't.
"Fine," I say. "Just don't take forever."
"Five minutes," Damon says, and hangs up.
I grab my jacket, lock the apartment, and head downstairs. Their car pulls up as I reach the gate. The music is low for once. That's how I know they're actually trying tonight.
"Let's just get this done." I say, getting in
Damon starts driving. The streets are mostly empty just streetlights and quiet houses.
No big plan.No excitement.No fear.
My friends wanted me along, so I'm here.
That's all.
We head toward the old church at the edge of town
The church looks worse on the inside than outside.
Most of the floorboards are soft. The air smells old, like damp wood and dust. We step inside quietly, partly because it feels wrong to be loud here, partly because everything echoes too much.
Damon walks ahead with his phone light. Rafi stays close behind him. I walk last.
We don't talk much.
Just the occasional:
"Watch that step."
"Careful."
"Move your light a little."
The place isn't dramatic, just abandoned and uncomfortable. Every small noise sounds bigger than it should. A bit of plaster falls somewhere, and all three of us stop, then keep moving, pretending it was nothing.
We look around
Nothing exciting.
Nothing supernatural.
Just a place people forgot.
We reach the hallway at the back. It's darker here, colder too. Damon lifts his light higher, and we walk a bit slower.
Rafi mutters, "Feels weird in here."
He's not wrong, but I don't say anything.
We keep going.
A door somewhere down the hall creaks a little not opening, just moving with the air. None of us comment on it. We just look at each other for a second and move on.
Then Damon stops.
At the end of the hall, near the far doorway, someone is standing.
Or something shaped like a person.
It's not doing anything.
Not walking.
Not waving.
Just standing there, like it's been there a long time.
The light doesn't hit the face clearly. It's too far, too dim. The proportions look… off. Maybe. Or maybe it's the lighting. We can't tell. The longer we stare, the more wrong it feels, but not in a way we can explain.
Rafi speaks first, quiet: "Do you see that?"
"Yeah," I say.
Damon doesn't say anything. He just keeps the light pointed toward it, but his hand shifts slightly nervous.
We wait to see if it moves.
It doesn't.
It doesn't react at all.
Rafi steps back once. "Let's go."
Damon nods, still staring. "Yeah. We're done.".
Suddenly the thing shifts its weight forward, it launches at us, fast. faster than anything should move in a place this dead.
Rafi stumbles back. Damon grabs my arm. I don't move.
The ghoul is halfway down the hall when…
BANG.
A single gunshot echoes through the church, painfully loud in the tight space.
The thing twists mid-charge and slams into the wall. It then collapses.
The bullet glints on the floor beside it when it rolls out gold, even under the weak flashlight beam.
Not shiny jewelry gold.
Dull, heavy gold.
Meant for killing things that people don't talk about.
We all turn toward the doorway.
She stands there.
Not dramatically
just there, like she'd been watching the whole time. A girl a little older than us, maybe seventeen.
Her clothes don't look expensive, just practical. Nothing about her is styled everything looks chosen for a job.
She looks at the dead ghoul, then at us.
Her eyes stop on me slightly longer than the others, as if she recognises something about me that I don't even know.
"You guys need to leave," she says quietly.
Her voice is calm.
Not dramatic.
Not trying to be mysterious.
Just someone who knows exactly what she just saved us from.
And none of us know who she is.
We start moving toward the exit. Slow at first, then quicker once the hallway feels a little less claustrophobic.
Damon keeps glancing over his shoulder.
Rafi stays close to me, still shaking.
I'm the last one to turn.
As we walk past her, Anastasia's eyes lift for a moment. I don't think anything of it until her gaze stops on the back of my neck.
She sees the markings, her face barely changes, but something in her does.
Her gaze stays there only a second, then moves on, like it didn't mean anything.
I pull my collar up without thinking. She barely registers the movement.
No comment, No question, Nothing.
She just watches us walk away, steady and unreadable.
We step out of the hallway.
I don't look back. But I can still feel her stare on my neck long after we're gone.
After awhile, Damon and Rafi drop me off outside my apartment complex.
The car peels away fast neither of them wants to talk about what happened, and honestly, neither do I.
The building is quiet. A few windows lit. A dog barking somewhere far off. I shove my hands into my pockets and start walking toward the stairs.
Halfway there, I get that strange feeling..
the one where you're sure someone's behind you, even if you didn't hear anything.
I turn a little, casually.
Nothing.
I keep moving.
Footsteps follow mine, soft enough that I almost miss them. They aren't rushed. Not sneaky. Just… steady.
I stop walking.
The footsteps stop too.
I take one more step.
They match it.
"Great," I mutter.
I turn around fully this time.
She steps out from the side of the building, from the darker part where the streetlight doesn't reach. She's not hiding. Not trying to spook me. Just walking forward calmly, hands visible, not touching her weapons
Same jacket.
Same boots.
Same expression neutral, unreadable, like nothing surprises her.
Up close, she looks even younger than I expected. Not a kid, but not old enough to be doing what she did back in the church.
She stops a few feet away, keeping enough space to not seem like she's cornering me.
"Don't freak out," she says first, voice even. "If I wanted to attack you, I would've done it back there."
"…That's not helping," I say.
Her mouth twitches almost a smile, but not really.
She adjusts her jacket, as if trying to look less like someone who carries weapons.
"I'm Anastasia," she says. "I should've said that earlier."
I don't answer immediately. I'm still catching up with the fact that she followed me here.
She nods like she understands the silence.
"I'm not here to scare you," she adds. "I just needed to talk."