It wasn't supposed to be that serious, but slowly I realized it was starting to become an obsession.
An obsession that wasn't supposed to harm anyone but myself. But I went too far this time.
I've become a stalker-even though I didn't notice it at first. The late-night searches, the way I sketched every detail I remembered from my dreams, the constant need to "find" him. But why was I doing this?
What was the purpose of it?
I ask myself that question every day, especially when I stand in front of the dozens of canvases crowding my room. Each one holds a version of him-the man from my dreams. Tall, faceless, and hauntingly familiar.
I lean closer, brushing my fingers against the outline of where his eyes should be. A soft smile plays on my lips, though I don't know why. There's something comforting about his presence... yet terrifying at the same time.
A soft growl pulls me out of my trance. I glance down at my dog, Donut, who's trembling by the bed, ears flattened and eyes wide.
"What's wrong, my baby Donut?" I coo, crouching beside him with that same smile still plastered on my face. "Is mommy scaring you?"
I reach out slowly. "Don't be scared, my dear. Mommy's here."
But Donut backs away, tail between his legs, disappearing under the bed with a whimper.
I blink. My hand lingers midair.
"Even my dog doesn't want me," I say with a bitter chuckle, rising to my feet. "Why am I not surprised?"
The laugh that follows is quiet. Hollow. It echoes off the walls lined with sketches of a man who doesn't exist-
or does he?
A soft knock pulls her attention as the door creaks open. Her mother steps inside, freezing in shock at the sight of the room-and her daughter.
"Elisha Louise Cox, what the hell happened to you?!" her mother shouts, rushing toward her, panic in her voice.
"I'm fine, Mother," Elisha replies with a laugh-one that doesn't sound fine at all.
Her mother grabs her by the shoulders, forcing her to face her. "You call this fine? Elisha Louise Cox, do you want me to send you back to the mental hospital again?!"
At the mention of the hospital, Elisha's smile falters.
"No," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "Not again. I'm not crazy, Mother. I'm not."
Her mother's grip tightens. "Then help me understand, Elisha. We are not going back to square one, and I am not going through your bullshit again!"
Elisha flinches at her mother's tone but remains quiet. Her eyes dart around the room, as if searching for something-or someone.
"I didn't mean for it to happen like this," she says softly. "I just wanted to see him clearly. I needed to know he was real."
"He is not real, Elisha!" her mother snaps. "There is no one here but you, me, and this mess!"
"I need my precious daughter to come back to reality," she says, holding Elisha's shoulders. "I need my Elisha-the one who was an outstanding student, friendly, kind... and real."
Elisha's eyes begin to water. For a moment, something in her seems to break-crack just enough for the truth to bleed through. But before her mother can say anything more, a cold breeze sweeps through the room.
The window is shut.
The door is still closed.
Elisha turns her head slowly, eyes locking onto the painting once again. Her voice trembles.
"Then why is he standing right behind you?"
Her mother freezes.
She doesn't turn around. Not immediately.
Her breath catches in her throat, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Elisha, this isn't funny-"
But before she can finish her sentence, the door creaks open.
And in steps-
"Dad?" Elisha breathes out, confusion lacing her voice.
Her mother spins around in shock. "Michael?!"
There he stands in the doorway-Elisha's father, looking pale and breathless, as if he had seen something unimaginable on the other side of that door.
"What's with all the yelling? Have you gone insane, Elisha?" her father asked, his voice rough with frustration and fear.
Elisha doesn't respond immediately. Her gaze stays fixed on the painting, which now seems to breathe with a life of its own. The lines pulse. The colors darken.
"I'm not insane," she finally mutters. "He's real, Father. Please, you have to believe me."
Her father scoffs. "Real? Elisha, he is not real! You have got to get over whoever that man is-or else you'll end up back in the hospital, and this time, you'll never see your parents again."
Elisha flinches. Her breathing quickens. Her mother steps in.
"Michael, stop it. Threatening her won't fix this."
But it's too late.
The temperature in the room drops instantly. Frost begins to spread across the mirror. The lights flicker once, twice-then go out completely.
Silence.
Then-
A whisper, low and hollow, slithers through the dark:
"You said... never again."
Elisha's eyes widen. "Did you hear that?"
Her father's stern expression falters.
"You dare take my Elisha from me."
The voice is no longer a whisper. It's behind him now-sharp, cold, and furious.
Michael turns abruptly-but there's nothing there.
"Who said that?!" he demands, backing closer to Elisha and her mother.
But the room begins to shake. The paintings on the wall rattle violently. The floor beneath them groans as if the house itself is protesting.
Then, a new voice-Elisha's-soft but strange, layered with something otherworldly:
"He's not here for you, Father."
She lifts her eyes slowly. They're no longer just hers-darkened, void-like, as if shared with something else.
"He's not here for you, Father."
She lifts her eyes slowly. They're no longer just hers-darkened, void-like, as if shared with something else.
"This isn't normal anymore. This is madness-insanity, even. We need to get an exorcist or whatever it takes to make this thing go away and get our daughter back," her father said, panic lacing his voice.
But Elisha only tilts her head, her expression unreadable.
"You still don't get it," she murmurs. "You never listened. You never believed. You just wanted me fixed."
Her mother's voice shakes. "Elisha, sweetheart, we're just scared. Please... let us help you."
The room grows darker, as if swallowing the light whole. The shadow near the closet door thickens-taking shape. A tall, faceless figure begins to emerge, cloaked in darkness, its presence suffocating.