Zefar wakes to pale morning light filtering through the blinds.
His neck hurts. Fell asleep in the chair again. The laptop's still warm on his knee.
Claire's already awake. Sitting on the couch with the blanket pulled tight around her shoulders. Staring at the window.
"Morning," Zefar says. His voice comes out rough.
"He's still there."
Of course he is.
Zefar closes the laptop. Sets it on the floor. His spine pops when he stands. "You eat eggs?"
"I'm not—"
"Rhetorical question." He's already heading to the kitchen.
Four eggs into a pan. The sizzle fills the apartment. Zefar stares at them while they cook. Thinking about the shadow. About that cold.
About how every search last night came up empty.
He plates the eggs. No toast. He forgot to buy bread. Hands Claire a fork.
"Eat."
She takes it. Takes a bite. Doesn't seem to taste it.
Zefar eats standing up. Looking at his notes from last night. The lists. Known and unknown. Unknown is longer.
Wait.
He sets his plate down. "What if he needs you scared?"
Claire looks up. "What?"
"The fear. What if that's what keeps him—" Zefar's thinking out loud now. "You said he showed up Monday morning. Before work. When you were stressed about the presentation."
"So?"
"So he appears when you're vulnerable. Follows you everywhere. Never actually does anything. Just makes you more afraid." Zefar crosses back to the couch. "And that fear keeps him solid. Keeps him real."
Claire's fork stops halfway to her mouth. "You think I made him?"
"No. Maybe. I don't know." Zefar sits on the coffee table. "But you said objects pass through him. He doesn't interact with anything physical. Except he casts a shadow. Which means he's partially here. Partially—"
"Stop." Claire sets down her fork. Her hands are shaking. "You want me to just stop being afraid. Of the thing that's been stalking me."
"I want you to face it."
"That's insane."
"Yeah."
She looks at the window. At whatever she sees there. Her jaw works. "What if I can't?"
"You can."
"You don't know that."
"I know you came to find me instead of hiding. I know you're still fighting." Zefar leans forward. "He's not all-powerful. When I stood in his space yesterday, something happened. He got confused."
"Easy for you to say. You can't see him."
"I felt that cold. I saw his shadow." Zefar keeps his voice steady. "He's real. But so are you. And you've survived three days of this."
Claire's breathing changes. Gets deeper. "What do I do?"
"Go outside. Look at him. Tell him no."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
Silence. Mrs. Chen's TV drones through the floor. Some morning show.
Claire stands. The blanket falls off her shoulders. "If this doesn't—"
"It will."
"You don't know that."
"No."
She looks at him. Then nods once.
They head downstairs. Mrs. Chen's TV is too loud. Traffic report. Accident on the bridge.
Outside the cold hits sharp. Clean. Different in daylight.
Claire stops on the sidewalk.
"Where?" Zefar asks.
"Same place." Her voice is barely there. "Under the streetlight."
"Okay." Zefar stays next to her. Not touching. "Walk over there. Stand in front of him. Tell him to leave."
"What if—"
"He will. But you have to mean it."
Claire makes a sound. Almost a laugh. "How?"
"Get angry. Get bored. Get anything except scared." Zefar's voice stays low. "He's been following you for three days. You don't owe him anything."
Claire's hands clench. "I hate him."
"Good."
She takes a step. Then another.
Zefar follows a few paces back. Gives her space.
Claire walks to the streetlight. Stops.
Zefar can see her profile. See her chest rising and falling too fast.
Then she lifts her chin.
"I know what you are." Her voice shakes but it's loud enough. "You're nothing."
Zefar watches. Doesn't move.
Claire's shaking gets worse. But she doesn't run.
"Three days," she says. "Three days following me. Making me think I was losing it."
Her hands are fists now.
"But you never touched me. Never hurt me. Because you can't."
Zefar sees it. The shadow on the ground. Flickering.
"I'm done," Claire says. "Done being afraid of you."
The shadow wavers.
Claire takes a step forward. Into the space where Zefar felt that cold.
She stops. Her whole body trembling.
But she doesn't back away.
"Leave." Claire's voice cracks. "I don't want you here. I'm not feeding you anymore."
Silence.
Wind. Traffic a block over. Nothing else.
Then Claire makes a sound. Half laugh. Half sob.
"He's fading." She sounds shocked. "I can see through him."
Zefar stays still. Doesn't interrupt.
"He looks confused." Claire's voice breaks. "Like he doesn't understand."
She steps closer.
"That's right. I'm not running. You can't have me."
The shadow's almost gone. Just a faint outline.
Claire stands there. Breathing hard.
Then she laughs. Real. Shocked and relieved and slightly hysterical.
"He's gone." She turns to Zefar. Her face is white. "He's actually gone."
Zefar walks over. The cold is completely gone. Just October air.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure." Claire's laughing and crying at the same time. "Three days and now he's just—"
Her knees give out.
Zefar catches her. "I've got you."
Claire grabs his jacket. Holds on. "I did it."
"You did."
She cries into his shoulder. Not fear crying. Relief. Three days of terror coming out all at once.
Zefar holds her. The street's empty. Nobody watching.
After a while she pulls back. Wipes her face. "Sorry—"
"Don't."
She laughs. Wet. "I can't believe that worked."
"You meant it. That's why it worked." Zefar looks at where the shadow was. Gone completely now.
"The Mannequin Watcher," Claire says quietly.
"What?"
"That's what I called him. In my head."
Zefar nods. "First documented supernatural entity."
"Sounds stupid."
"Everything sounds stupid until it's real."
They walk back inside. Claire keeps looking around. Checking. Making sure.
In the apartment, Claire actually sits on the couch this time. Not perched on the edge. Actually sitting.
"What now?" she asks.
Zefar thinks about his empty searches. About how nobody documented this before. "We write it down. Everything. What happened. What worked."
"Why?"
"Because if it happens again to someone else, they should know there's a way out."
Claire watches him. "You're weird."
"Yeah."
"Thank you." Her voice goes quiet. "For believing me. I don't think I could've done it alone."
"You would've figured it out."
"Maybe. But you made it faster." She leans back. For the first time in three days she looks almost normal. "So what, you're a supernatural investigator now?"
Zefar thinks about the Brennan file. Insurance fraud. Dented bumpers. Three years of the same cases over and over.
About shadows that shouldn't exist. Cold that came from nowhere. Things hiding in spaces between real and not.
"Maybe," he says. "If it happens again."
"You think it will?"
"I don't know." He does though. Something in his gut says yes. "But I want to be ready."
Claire pulls out her phone. "I should call work. Tell them I'll be in Monday."
"You sure?"
"I want my life back. The normal parts." She looks at him. "But if something else happens. Something weird. I'm calling you."
"Deal."
She stands. Stretches. "I should go home. Shower. Sleep in my own bed."
"You good?"
"No. But I will be." Claire smiles. Shaky but real. "Thanks to you."
After she leaves, Zefar sits at his desk. Opens his laptop. Creates a new file.
CASE 001: THE MANNEQUIN WATCHER
Subject: Claire Hastings
Entity: Unknown humanoid figure. Visible only to target. Feeds on fear. Defeated by direct confrontation and emotional withdrawal.
Status: RESOLVED
His phone says 10:15 AM. Friday morning. The Brennan file is still at the office waiting for him. Insurance fraud and dented bumpers and all the same old cases.
But Zefar's not thinking about those anymore.
He's thinking about what else might be out there. What other impossible things are hiding in plain sight. What other people might need help with things nobody else believes in.
He looks at the case file on his screen. At Claire's name typed out in black and white. Proof that something happened. Proof that it can be solved.
First case.
Won't be the last.
Zefar saves the file. Closes his laptop. And for the first time in three years, he actually wants to go to work on Monday.
Zefar stares at his phone a full minute before making the call.
Marcus Venn. Richest person alive. Worth more than some countries.
Also: bored ninety percent of the time.
They met in college. Before the money. Before Marcus built an empire and became the guy everyone worshipped or hated.
Phone rings twice.
"Zefar Folklore." Marcus sounds amused. "You only call when you need something."
"I need something."
"Thank god. Six hours of quarterly projections. I'm dying."
Zefar can hear it. That edge the stupidly rich get when nothing's exciting anymore.
"I need a website. Simple. Clean. Worldwide reach."
"What kind?"
"Supernatural investigation. My number. Forum for people to share experiences."
Silence. Then Marcus laughs. "You're serious."
"Dead serious."
"Ghosts and shit?"
"Things that shouldn't exist but do."
Silence again. Zefar hears Marcus sit forward. Interest caught.
"You found something."
"Yeah."
"Real?"
"Yeah."
Marcus makes a sound like Christmas morning. "Tell me."
Zefar does. The Mannequin Watcher. Claire. Shadow. Fear.
Three seconds of quiet when he finishes.
"I'm building your site. Best developers. Live in forty-eight hours. Ad money behind it. Billboards in every major city. Social media push. Everything."
"Marcus—"
"Don't. I'm so bored I want to die. This is the most interesting thing in months." Pause. "You need transportation. Something fast. Motorcycle delivery tomorrow. Custom. Don't worry about cost."
"I can't—"
"You can. Investment. I want updates on every case. Every weird thing. You're my entertainment now."
Zefar almost laughs. "Insane."
"Rich and bored. Same thing." Voice shifts. Gets serious. "But really. If this is real, people need to know. Need someone to call. Might as well be you."
"Why me?"
"You solved the first one. And you're the only person I know who wouldn't exploit it. You actually want to help."
Fair.
"Okay. Build it."
"Already texting my team. What do we call it?"
"Folklore Investigations?"
"Perfect. Plays on your name." Keyboard sounds. Fast typing. "Tagline?"
"For things that shouldn't exist."
"Yes. This is great. Thank you for this."
"Thank you for the help."
"Thank me by finding more impossible shit. Detailed reports. Photos if you can. The whole thing."
They hang up. Zefar sets his phone down.