The world was quiet where the children were. Too quiet.
Ethan sat huddled against the cold stone wall, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. He wasn't alone. Around him, four other faces stared in the dim half-light—pale, frightened, and silent. The air smelled damp, heavy with earth and something older, something wrong.
No one spoke. They didn't dare.
A faint sound echoed through the dark—a low hum, like a whispering voice carried on the wind, though there was no wind down here. The younger girl, no more than ten, whimpered softly. The boy beside her pressed a finger to his lips, eyes wide with warning.
Ethan's heart pounded. He wanted to scream, to call for his father, but he knew no one would hear him. The walls swallowed sound, as if the place itself devoured hope.
And then—shadows stirred.
Something moved in the darkness beyond the children, slow and deliberate. The whisper grew louder, curling through their minds, promising, taunting. None of them understood the words, but the fear was enough.
The children pressed closer together, their breaths shallow, as the unseen presence drew nearer.
Somewhere above them, life in the town carried on—parents searching, friends whispering, the world blind to what lay beneath.
Ethan closed his eyes and whispered one word into the stale air.
"Dad…"
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The shadows thickened until they seemed to crawl along the walls. A shape emerged—not fully formed, not solid, but darker than the dark itself.
The children froze, their small frames trembling.
Then it spoke.
Its voice wasn't loud, yet it filled every corner, seeping into their bones. A whisper that was also a command.
"Scream."
The word echoed, sinking into their minds. The younger girl clamped her hands over her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks. Ethan shook his head violently, refusing.
The shadow pulsed, swelling larger, its edges writhing like smoke alive.
"Scream. I want your fear."
The children whimpered. One boy broke first—his cry rang out, sharp and desperate. Immediately, the shadow shuddered, as though drinking the sound. The air grew colder, heavier, and the boy's sobs were cut off by his own choking breath.
Ethan held his ground, his fists clenched tight, though his body trembled. He wouldn't give it what it wanted. He wouldn't—
The shadow turned toward him.
He felt it pressing against his chest, his mind, squeezing. The urge to scream rose like fire in his throat. His lips parted—then he bit down hard, blood on his tongue, forcing himself silent.
The shadow lingered, studying him, and for the first time, Ethan felt it smile.
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The smile in the dark was not a kind one. It was hunger denied.
The shadow's form coiled tighter, its presence pressing down on Ethan until the air itself felt too heavy to breathe. The other children shrank back, their wide eyes flicking between Ethan and the void that loomed over him.
Ethan's jaw ached where he'd bitten down. His throat burned with the scream he refused to give. Still, he held on, trembling but defiant.
The shadow leaned closer, its voice sliding into his ears, silk and poison at once.
"Brave little boy."
The words slithered through him, cold as ice water.
"Bravery tastes just as sweet when it finally breaks."
The pressure intensified. Ethan gasped, his vision swimming, black spots crowding the edges. The urge to scream clawed at him, tearing its way up his chest.
Then—just as his resolve began to crack—the shadow pulled back.
The weight lifted, but the air was no less cold. The thing laughed, a low, rasping sound that echoed off the stone and burrowed into the children's skulls.
"Not tonight," it hissed. "You will scream. All of you will. In the end."
And with that, it melted back into the darkness, leaving only the echo of its voice behind.
Ethan collapsed to his knees, shaking, sweat dripping down his face. The other children crowded close, their fear even sharper now. For if the shadow could wait, if it could choose… then there was no escape.