1.30:00 AM
Seraphina opened her eyes.
The lids lifted slowly, like a theater curtain drawn open for a second act. The moonlight slipping through the gap in the curtains greeted her with a cold silver shimmer, casting geometric patterns upon the wooden floor. Dust motes danced within that beam of light, drifting aimlessly, like tiny souls lost between the world of dreams and reality.
She was in her own room. Her back pressed against the soft mattress. Her head sank into the pillow that still held the shape of her sleep. Her hand brushed the sheets—damp. Sweat beginning to dry, leaving salt trails upon the white cotton fabric.
It was all just a dream.
The thought surfaced like a bubble from the bottom of a pond, rising slowly to the surface of her consciousness. It was all just a dream. Ken was not trapped in some dark place. No mad laughter haunted her thoughts. No chase through the empty streets of Elysion. Just a dream. Just an illusion conjured by her exhausted mind, she thought.
She let out a long breath, allowing the air to escape her lungs in a gentle sigh. Her heart still beat faster than usual—an erratic rhythm, like a drum struck by a nervous player. But at least the beats had begun to slow. At least the fear choking her throat had started to loosen.
She gazed at the ceiling of her room. The old timbers forming a grid pattern. The fine cracks that had existed since she was a child in this house, spreading like tiny rivers across a map. Everything familiar. Everything normal. Everything that should have been soothing.
Yet something felt different.
The air in the room felt heavier. Denser. More... crowded. As though something filled the empty spaces between the molecules of air. Something she could not see, yet could feel. Like a presence. Like a stare. Like a breath.
The sound was thin, spilling nearly inaudible. Like air escaping from a tiny crack in the wall. Like the breath of someone standing right behind her head. The hissing slipped from the direction of the pillow, from the direction of the wall, from a direction that should have been empty. The hairs on her nape prickled—every strand stood erect, creating a tingling sensation that spread from her neck throughout her body.
She dared not turn around.
Her hands clutched the sheets, her knuckles whitening from the pressure. Her fingernails dug into the fabric, creating tiny folds that would not vanish until morning. She counted in her mind—one, two, three—hoping those numbers could anchor her to reality. Wind, she thought. Just wind from the window gap. Just water pipes vibrating behind the walls. Just a sound that could be explained by logic.
The hissing came again. Longer this time. Closer.
Ssssssssssssssssss....
The sound slithered into her ears, threading through the dark corridors of her hearing, and settled inside her brain like a seed planted in fertile soil. A seed of fear. A seed that began to grow, sending out roots that spread into every corner of her mind.
She turned her body... Fast. One sudden movement that tangled the sheets around her legs. Her eyes swept every corner of the room—the wall with its faded floral wallpaper, the pillow with its rumpled case, the old wardrobe with its dark carvings. Nothing there. Only shadows.
She needed to go to the bathroom.
The need arose as something urgent, something that could not be postponed. She needed cold water on her burning face. She needed a sip of water for her parched throat. She needed to convince herself that she was fine, that her home was safe, that nothing was hiding behind the door.
She lowered her feet from the bed...
The wooden floor greeted her soles with a sharp cold—a cold that pierced to the bone, creeping from heel to ankle, from ankle to calf, like needles of ice stabbing from below. The same floor she had stepped on thousands of times. The same floor that had always felt warm and welcoming. Now it felt foreign. Now it felt like the surface of a lake frozen in winter.
She stepped. One step. The sound of wood creaking softly beneath her body's weight. Two steps. The air around her grew colder, thicker, harder to breathe. Three steps. The bathroom door loomed closer, towering before her like a monument of such darkness.
Something felt strange. The door was slightly open. A gap two fingers wide revealed the darkness beyond it. A thick darkness. A darkness that should not exist in her bathroom. The bathroom that had always been bright, always been clean, always been welcoming. Now it transformed into a small cave holding a mystery she did not wish to solve. The darkness behind that door seemed alive. Seemed to breathe. Seemed... to wait.
She stopped. Her heart beat faster, pumping blood throughout her body in an irregular rhythm—like a drum played by a madman. Her hand reached out, her fingers suspended in the air, only a few centimeters from the door handle. She could feel the cold seeping from that gap. Not a natural cold. Not the cold of water or tile or night wind. But a cold that came from something that should not be inside her home. The same cold she had felt in her dream. The cold that nearly froze her blood.
"Just need to wash my face," she whispered to herself. Her voice trembled like a dry leaf blown by the wind. "Just need to wash my face."
But she did not believe her own words. Those words were hollow. Those words were only a mantra she chanted to fill the suffocating silence.
She pushed the door. Slowly.
The hinges creaked. A long, piercing sound, like a small scream trapped inside the wood. Like the sound of a creature in pain. Like a warning given by the house itself. That creak echoed inside the dark bathroom, bouncing from wall to wall, creating a terrifying little symphony—a symphony consisting of only one note, one note repeating, growing louder, growing more deafening.
The darkness inside welcomed her. So thick. So cold. So... crowded. As though the darkness were not merely the absence of light, but something alive. Something with consciousness. Something that had been hiding inside her bathroom all this time, waiting for the right moment to emerge.
That laughter—
Struck not from within her thoughts. Not from within her dream. But from within the darkness before her. From inside her own bathroom. A long laughter. A fractured laughter. A laughter rising and falling like a madman dancing upon graves.
HAH.....AH....AH—AHAA....HAHAHHAAHHA.
Every shard of that laughter stabbed like a dagger hurled from the darkness. Every burst of its sound tore through the silence of the night that should have been sacred. That laughter was the same laughter she had heard in her dream. The same laughter that haunted Ken. The same laughter that now... was here. Before her. Staring at her from within the darkness.
She collapsed.
Her knees buckled—the two pillars supporting her body suddenly lost all their strength. Her body fell to the floor with a dull thud, like a sack of rice thrown to the ground. Her hands braced her trembling body, her fingers clawed at the cold floor, searching for a grip, searching for stability, searching for something to hold her within reality. Yet the floor felt slick. The floor felt like ice beginning to melt.
Her chest was pressed down. As though something heavy—something invisible, something formless—sat upon her ribcage. An unseen giant crushing her ribs, making every breath a struggle. Her breathing came in gasps—short intakes that were never enough, like someone drowning in water.
Her head felt painful...
Throbbing... As though something was trying to break free from inside her skull. As though a tiny hammer was striking from within, creating cracks in the walls of her cranium. The same fear from her dream now returned. Crawling beneath her skin like tiny insects searching for a way out. Choking her throat like a rope tied too tight. Filling every corner of her mind like black smoke she could not dispel.
"No... Please... Leave this place..."
Her words came out as a shattered whisper. Not a command. Not a scream. Only a plea. Only a prayer lifted to whoever would deign to listen. But the laughter did not leave. The laughter kept echoing, filling the bathroom, filling her room, filling her entire house.
HAH.....AH....AH—AHAA....HAHAHHAAHHA...hahahHAHHAHA....!
As though Helel—or whatever hid behind that laughter—wanted to show her that this place was a place so safe.. so soothing.. like a heaven that always invited laughter within...
It wiLL be fINE....!!!
HAHAHAHAHA—HAHA—...HAHAH.....!
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•
Seraphina ran. Not a planned run, not a measured run. A run born of pure panic—of the most primal instinct screaming at her to get away, as far away as possible, from the darkness inside her own bathroom. Her bare soles struck the wooden floor with an unrhythmic sound. Tap-tap-tap. Fast. Erratic. Like her own heartbeat now pounding loud in her ears. The cold air slashed across her face, piercing her open pores, but she did not care. She only wanted out.
The first step—the old wood groaned beneath the weight of her body—a long wailing sound that, in the silence of the night, sounded like a scream. She could feel the vibration of that groan traveling through the soles of her feet, climbing up her shins, settling in her trembling knees.
The second step. Louder. The wood seemed to shriek, informing the entire house that she was fleeing. Every step was a confession. Every creak was a betrayal.
Her hand reached out, searching for the railing. Her trembling fingers touched the cold wood—a cold that soothed, a cold that felt like iron in winter. A cold that bit the tips of her fingers, numbing them. Yet she gripped it tightly, afraid she might fall, afraid she might stumble. The darkness kept chasing her, wanting to swallow her whole. The creaking of the stairs kept accompanying every step, a symphony of fear she composed herself.
Once she reached the ground floor, the living room welcomed her with a different kind of silence. Here, in the darkness lit only by moonlight from the window, every object seemed foreign. The sofa she sat on every morning while sipping tea now appeared as a great sleeping beast, ready to pounce if she dared draw near. The dining table with a flower vase atop it had transformed into an altar for some ritual she did not recognize. Every corner of her own home had changed into something alien, something menacing.
Shadows danced upon the walls, conjured by the moonlight piercing through the curtains. She could see strange shapes moving at the edge of her vision, always vanishing when she turned her head. A gust of wind from the window gap touched her nape and she immediately spun around, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. No one was there. Only shadows. Only her own fear now manifesting as ghosts in every corner.
Her disheveled hair went uncombed. Her thin, rumpled nightgown went unstraightened. She merely grabbed the jacket hanging by the door—her hands trembling as she put it on, inside out, imperfect. Yet she did not care. She only wanted out of this house, out of this fear, out of the sound of laughter that might—just might—still be following her.
At last she reached the front door. Its metal handle gleamed faintly beneath the moonlight. Her fingers touched that metal, and its cold immediately spread through her entire body—like gripping ice that would never melt. She pressed, twisted, pulled. The door swung open, and the cold night air immediately welcomed her like an uninvited guest. That wind touched her burning cheeks, drying the sweat that had begun to trickle down her temples. Yet this cold was different. This cold was liberating.
She stepped outside, turning back to lock that door. Her numbed fingers fumbled for the keyhole. Once, twice, three times—the key slipped from her grip, too slick with sweat. "Quick... quick..." she whispered to herself, her voice trembling, her breath racing. Finally the key slid in, and she turned it swiftly—click! The sound echoed inside the empty house, like a small gunshot marking the end of her escape.
She retreated one step from the door. Then two steps. Then three. Her chest heaved, her lungs still fighting for air. But she was outside. She was safe—or at least, she hoped so. Her home now stood before her, dark and silent, harboring all the fears she had just left behind. The moonlight shone upon its roof, casting a shadow that fell like a black cloak over the window. She stood in the empty street, in her disheveled nightgown and inside-out jacket, staring at her own home as though seeing it for the first time. The night cold pierced her bones, but she did not move. She only stood there, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to convince her heart that the fear was over.
"Father..."
The name fell from her mouth like shards of broken glass—sharp, bleeding, cutting her own tongue before touching the air. Her knees pressed against the freezing cobblestones, and she could feel that cold creeping upward, piercing the fragile bones of her legs, spreading to her trembling thighs. Yet the cold outside was nothing compared to the cold within—the cold crystallizing inside her chest cavity, the cold freezing every drop of her blood, the cold turning her heart into a lump of ice beating slowly.
"Cleanse that house with Your holy power..."
The words slipped out like the final whisper of a condemned soul before the executioner swings his blade. Not a plea. Not a prayer. But a muffled scream, a strangled howl, a lament murdered before it could be born. She clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her own palms, creating tiny crescent moons that began to bead with blood.
"That house... that house is my second womb... The placenta that wrapped me after I came out of my mother's body. Every wall of it is a rib protecting the organs of my dreams. Every window is an eye that taught me how to see the world. Every corner is a fold of memory storing laughter, storing tears, storing every version of myself that ever existed."
Her tears fell. But they were not gentle tears. Not tears flowing softly like a river in springtime. Her tears boiled, spilling like lava from a newly erupted volcano—hot, searing her own cheeks, leaving trails of redness on her pale skin. She did not wipe them away. She let her tears carve tiny trenches down her face, because holding them back would only make her chest explode.
"I learned to walk on that floor, holding that table, bumping into that chair. Every corner holds a memory. Every wall holds laughter. Every window holds light. I... I was never afraid in that house. Never. Even when storms shook the windows. Even when lightning struck in the distance. I always felt safe. I always felt protected. Because it was my home. Because it was my place. Because it was there I grew, there I dreamed, there I... became who I am now."
"And now... now that house is a graveyard. A graveyard that refuses to bury its corpses. Every memory planted in its walls is rotting, emitting the stench of decay that only I can breathe. Every laugh stored in its corners has changed into a different laugh—a laugh that does not belong to me, a laugh that belongs to no one, a laugh that belongs only to madness. Father... Father... Why did You let my home become hell? The home that always protected me—now feels like a prison? Why did You let the place I loved most become the place I fear most?"
Helel's laughter still echoed in the distance, and every time that laugh was heard, she felt something crawling beneath her skin—something she could not see, could not touch, could not expel.
"The streets of Elysion are silent as a mass grave. I... I am alone. Please... Please cleanse my home. Drive out whatever is in there. Give me back my home... give me back my home as it was before..."
She wept in silence. Her shoulders shook, but no sound came out. Only tears. Only prayer. Only a woman who had lost the most precious place in her life—her home, her place, her little heaven—and did not know whether she would ever get it back.
_ _ _
She stepped out through the gate of her home, closing the small iron barrier with hands still trembling. The night air greeted her with a piercing cold—a cold forced to caress gently like evenings before, a sharp cold, a cold that felt like needles of ice penetrating every pore. Every exhaled breath transformed into a tiny white cloud that vanished at once, like a ghost that appeared only to disappear.
The streets of Elysion stretched before her. Empty. Silent. The cobblestones, usually warm from the sun throughout the day, now reflected the moonlight with a cold silver shimmer. No sound. No footsteps. No children's laughter that usually lingered until dusk. Only a silence so absolute, so profound, that her own heartbeat felt like a drum announcing her presence to the darkness.
She began to walk. Slowly. Casually. She deliberately slowed her pace, forcing her muscles to relax, forcing her lungs to draw steady breaths. "Calm. You just need to be calm. Everything is fine," she whispered to herself, her voice swallowed by the silence of the night. The soles of her feet, clad only in thin sandals, touched the cobblestones, and the cold immediately crept upward, piercing the tiny bones of her feet.
But something began to change.
The sensation crept in slowly—like a feather brushing the nape of her neck, so light she nearly ignored it. Yet that feather kept brushing, kept tickling, transforming into cold fingers slithering beneath her skin. Every shadow she passed felt longer, darker, more... alive. The flickering streetlamps cast dancing shadows upon the stone walls, and she could swear—she could swear—some of those shadows moved slower than her own movements.
The sky stretched above her, dark blue with a scattering of stars that usually brought peace. But tonight, those stars looked like tiny eyes peeping from behind a cosmic curtain, watching her every step, recording her every fear. The moon, usually full and warm, now hung in the sky like a giant eyeball staring at her without blinking. The cold pierced deeper, and she folded her arms across her chest, trying to preserve what little warmth her body had left.
Her steps quickened. No longer a casual walk. But a half-run. The soles of her sandals struck the cobblestones with an increasingly erratic rhythm—tap, tap, TAP, TAP, TAP... Her heartbeat followed the same rhythm. Faster. Louder. The night wind, once only a gentle breeze, began to howl, slapping her pale cheeks, making her eyes water "Calm...calm..." she whispered again, but her voice now trembled, losing all the conviction she had tried to plant.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA....!
A laughter that erupted all at once, filling the entire street, bouncing from wall to wall, echoing among the silent stone buildings. Like the scream of someone burning alive yet savoring every second of their incineration. As though all the madness in the world had been distilled into a single sound piercing her eardrums.
HAHAHAHAHA!.....HA....HAHA!....HAHAHAHAHA!
Every shard of that laughter stabbed like a dagger. Every broken burst struck like a blow to her chest. She stopped running. Her knees trembled. Her hands reached for her ears, trying to cover them, trying to block out that sound. Yet the laughter did not come only from outside. The laughter came from within—from inside her own head, from inside her own thoughts, from inside her own fear.
"Run... Keep running, little girl. Do you think your tiny feet can carry you far from me??... Do you think your fragile wooden door can hold me back??..!? Your home is nothing more than a little hell you built yourself—and you just locked yourself inside it..!..!..!"
HAHAHAH....AHA!HAHA.....HAHA....!..!..HA! HA! HA!
The words stabbed. Not just because of their content, but because of their tone—a tone that belittled, a tone that mocked, a tone that reminded her of all her own fears. She wanted to scream. She wanted to fight. But what could she fight? Something she could not even see? Something that had no body? Something that existed only as a voice and laughter and unstoppable madness?
She began to run again. Faster. Harder. No longer caring about direction. No longer caring about destination. She only wanted to get away—from that laughter, from that voice, from her own home that now felt like a prison, from the entire world that had suddenly turned alien and threatened her very existence.