Part 1: The Fear in the City
The city was changing. People could feel it deep down. Streets that once echoed with laughter now fell silent. Shops closed before sunset, windows remained tightly shut, and even stray dogs stayed away from the old part of town. Everyone had heard the stories—students disappearing without a trace, doors appearing where they shouldn't, voices echoing in the night.
Steve Walker walked with his hands in his pockets, trying to seem normal. The morning sun was bright, but it didn't warm him. The air felt heavy, as if it held secrets.
When he passed the broken fountain near the bus stop, he saw the old beggar again. The man sat hunched on the steps, his hands black with dirt and his eyes obscured by a ragged hood. Most people ignored him and hurried by when they heard his muttering.
But today, his voice was clear.
"The curse has returned," the beggar rasped, lifting a shaky hand toward Steve. "One by one… gone… until none remain. He waits in the dark, boy. He waits."
Steve stopped in his tracks. His chest tightened. For a moment, it felt like the entire street had gone silent, every sound swallowed up. He swallowed hard and forced himself to keep walking, pushing aside the weight in his stomach.
Just a crazy old man, he told himself. Nothing more.
But his footsteps felt heavier.
Part 2: The Nightmare
That night, Steve tossed and turned in his bed, unable to sleep. The beggar's words echoed in his mind. Finally, he drifted off, but sleep brought no peace.
He found himself standing in utter darkness. The ground beneath him was wet and cold, as if he stood on stone soaked with water. His breath came out white in the air.
Then the voices started. At first, they were just whispers. Then they grew louder. Screams.
"Help us…""Don't leave us here…""Steve… save us…"
He spun around. His throat tightened. The voices were young—boys and girls. They sounded like the ones who had vanished.
His heart raced. He tried to run, but his legs felt heavy, as if chains bound them.
Then, suddenly—hands. Cold, bony hands clawed at his arms, pulling, dragging. A face appeared in the dark, pale and twisted, its mouth stretched wide in a menacing grin.
"Steve…" it hissed, inches from his ear.
Steve screamed and woke up with a violent jolt. His body was soaked in sweat. His father rushed into the room, worry etched on his face.
"Again?" his father asked quietly.
Steve wiped his forehead and forced a weak laugh. "Just a dream, Dad. Nothing serious."
But his hands still shook as he pulled the blanket tighter.
Part 3: Fear in College
Morning came. Steve tried to shake off the memory of the nightmare, but it clung to him like smoke. At college, Tom waved him over, but his usual grin was missing.
"You heard?" Tom whispered as Steve sat down. "Another girl. Gone. They say she was last seen near the library."
Steve froze. "The library?"
Tom nodded, his voice low. "Bro, this is getting worse. People say it's… paranormal."
Steve forced a scoff, even as his stomach twisted. "Come on, man. Don't start with that. It's just rumors."
Tom leaned closer, his eyes weary. "Do I look like I'm joking? My cousin lives near the old city. He told me that at night, doors appear where there weren't any before. People hear knocking… and whispers."
Steve didn't reply. For the first time, he saw real fear in Tom's face, and it scared him more than the stories.
At lunch, the cafeteria buzzed with quiet conversations. Amrin walked in with Raiyan, her boyfriend and Steve's rival. Steve looked away, pretending to focus on his food. Then, Amrin slowed down as she passed his table.
Her eyes met his. For a moment, the entire room faded away. Her lips moved silently—words too soft for anyone else to hear.
"Be careful."
Steve blinked. "What?" he whispered.
But Raiyan pulled her along, shooting Steve a sharp glare. He sat frozen, replaying those words in his mind.
Part 4: The Footsteps
That evening, Steve sat by his window, pretending to study. But the words on the page blurred. His mind was stuck between Amrin's warning and the nightmare's echoes.
That was when he heard it.
Footsteps.
Slow. Steady. On the street outside.
He frowned and leaned closer to the glass. The streetlight flickered, casting long, broken shadows. Nobody was around. Yet the sound of footsteps continued, circling, scraping against the silence.
Steve's throat tightened. He forced himself to open the window. The air outside was icy.
Still—nothing.
But then he noticed it. On the ground below his house.
Footprints.
Dark, wet, muddy prints leading from the street straight to his front door.
Steve's chest went tight. He rushed downstairs, his heart pounding louder with every step. His hands shook as he pulled open the front door.
The night air hit him like a slap. He stared at the ground.
Yes—prints. Fresh ones. Too fresh.
They started at the street and ended at his doorstep.
But that wasn't the worst part.
His eyes followed the trail again—and froze.
The prints didn't stop at the door. They climbed upward. One step. Two. Crawling up the wall like something had walked straight up, defying gravity.
His mouth went dry. His skin prickled with ice.
The prints ended at his own window.
The second-floor window. The one where he had just been sitting.
Steve stumbled back, his heart racing so fast it felt like it would burst. He couldn't breathe. The night was too quiet—too still. But deep inside, he felt it.
Something was watching him.
And it wasn't human.