TheWeightofShadows
The morning sun barely pierced the fog blanketing Raven Hollow, casting the town in a muted gray that felt more like dusk. Ethan hunched over his workbench in the basement, the drone's guts splayed out—wires, a cracked lens, a fried circuit board. His earbuds dangled, blasting static-laced metal to drown out the unease prickling his skin. Last night's radio snippet—containment failing… Eclipse Protocol—looped in his head, a puzzle he couldn't crack. He'd always been the loner, the tech guy who fixed problems, not faced them. Now, something was fixing him—watching, waiting.
He soldered a wire, hands steady despite the tremor in his gut, when the lights flickered. His music cut out, replaced by a faint hum—the lullaby, slinking through the basement like a snake. He yanked the earbuds out, spinning in his chair. The room was empty—tools scattered, concrete walls bare—but the hum grew, curling around him. A shadow stretched across the floor, tall and thin, spilling from the stairwell. No one was there.
"Knock it off," he muttered, grabbing a screwdriver. His voice echoed, brittle. The shadow twitched, and a whisper rasped: "Ethan… alone…"
He bolted up, knocking the drone to the floor. The lights died, plunging him into dark, and the stairs creaked—slow, deliberate steps descending. He fumbled for his phone, flashlight beam slicing the gloom, but it caught only dust motes. The air turned cold, his breath fogging, and the whisper sharpened: "You'll break…"
A hand—clawed, pale—peeled from the shadows, reaching. Ethan swung the screwdriver, stabbing air, and ran for the stairs. The hand grazed his jacket, icy, as he stumbled up, heart slamming. He burst into the kitchen, slamming the door, and the lights flared back on. The humming stopped, but his phone buzzed—Sofia: It's at my place too. Help.
Sofia's house was chaos when Ethan arrived, bike skidding to a stop. Luna barked furiously at the back door, hackles up, while Sofia stood in the living room, clutching her abuela's rosary. The TV blared static, flickering with glimpses of a face—pale, eyeless, smiling. She'd texted the group, but Ethan was closest, his face flushed from the ride.
"It won't stop," she said, voice shaking. "Luna saw it first—outside, in the fog."
Ethan peered out the window. The backyard was a wall of mist, but claw marks scarred the glass, fresh and deep. "Same as my place. It's screwing with us."
The TV snapped off, then on, the face clearer now—Sofia's abuela, but wrong, her eyes gouged out, mouth stretched too wide. A voice crackled through: "Mi niña… come home…"
Sofia dropped the rosary, a sob choking her. "That's not her. She's gone—three years."
Ethan grabbed her arm, pulling her back as the floorboards groaned. A shadow loomed in the hall—tall, eyeless, limbs bending like a spider's. Luna lunged, snarling, but it swatted her aside, the dog yelping as she hit the wall. Sofia screamed, "No!" and Ethan shoved her toward the door.
"Run!" he yelled, snatching a lamp and hurling it. The shadow caught it midair, crushing it, and laughed—a sound like breaking glass. They bolted outside, fog swallowing them, Luna limping behind. The house shuddered, windows rattling, as they pedaled away, Sofia's tears streaking her face.
Liam's basement was their refuge by noon, the group huddled around the card table. Maya clutched her sketchbook, the cellar map half-drawn, her mom's sobs still echoing in her ears. Noah pored over the journal, glasses fogged, while Ethan patched his drone, hands unsteady. Sofia cradled Luna, the dog's whimpers soft but constant, her optimism cracked open.
"It's hitting us one by one," Liam said, pacing, bat propped on his shoulder. His dad's photo burned a hole in his pocket, that badge—Eclipse Protocol—a splinter he couldn't pull. "Noah last night, Ethan and Sofia today."
"It knows us," Maya said, voice low. "My aunt, Sofia's abuela, Liam's dad—it's digging up what hurts."
Noah looked up, pale. "The Watcher feeds on fear. Elias says it 'tastes the soul' before it takes. We're… appetizers."
Ethan snorted, bitter. "Awesome. I'm tech support for a demon."
"It's not a demon," Noah corrected. "It's older—cosmic, maybe. Banished here, stuck until the ritual's complete."
Sofia wiped her eyes, fierce again. "Then we stop it tonight. Cellar, runes, whatever it takes."
Liam nodded, but his phone buzzed—his mom: Come home. Now. He frowned, texting back: Busy. What's up? No reply. Dread coiled in his gut.
"We need a plan," he said, shoving the phone away. "Weapons, timing—everything."
Maya tapped her sketch. "Five stones, five of us. If we disrupt the circle—"
"It might lash out," Noah warned. "Or worse."
A thud shook the basement ceiling. Dust sifted down, and footsteps creaked above—too heavy for his mom. Liam grabbed the bat, motioning them back. "Stay here."
He climbed the stairs, heart pounding, and pushed the kitchen door open. His mom stood by the sink, staring out the window, a knife in her hand. Photos littered the floor—his dad, Blackwood, that suited man. She didn't turn.
"Mom?" Liam asked, voice tight.
She hummed—the lullaby, slow and off-key. Her head jerked, unnatural, and she faced him. Her eyes glowed, too bright, like his dad's in the gym. "He begged for you," she said, voice layered, not hers. "So will you."
Liam staggered back, bat up. "Get out of her!"
She lunged, knife flashing, and he swung, hitting her arm. She dropped it, laughing—a guttural rasp—and collapsed, eyes clearing. "Liam?" she gasped, real again.
He knelt, shaking. "What the hell was that?"
"I don't know," she sobbed, clutching him. "I saw him—your dad—outside. Then… nothing."
The group burst in, weapons raised, freezing at the sight. Liam helped her up, fury replacing fear. "It's done playing. Tonight, we kill it."
That evening, they armed up in the garage—bats, knives, a crowbar for Ethan, a wrench for Sofia. Maya packed her sketchbook, Noah the journal. The fog thickened outside, the eclipse hours away. Liam's mom sat upstairs, dazed, muttering about 1998. He hadn't told her the plan—she'd lock him in if she knew.
Ethan's drone buzzed, patched but shaky. "One last scout," he said, launching it. The feed flickered—woods, manor, then static again. A voice crackled through: "Too late…"
"It knows," Sofia whispered, gripping her wrench.
"Then we move fast," Liam said, leading them out. The fog swallowed their steps, the lullaby humming faintly, a countdown ticking down….