Crescent City wasn't large enough to hide fear, not anymore. As Alec and Mara hurried through the thinning streets, every porch light felt like an eye watching them. Every empty window looked like it held its breath. Even the sky seemed too low—as if the clouds were crouched over the town, listening.
Catherine Myles lived only five blocks from Mara, but the road stretched tonight like a warped memory. As they moved, Alec couldn't shake the feeling that the air behind them rearranged itself—subtle, almost soundless. Like footsteps. But not human ones.
Mara kept glancing over her shoulder, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. "It's following us," she whispered. "I know it is."
Alec didn't answer. Fear, real fear, had tightened his chest in iron coils. He felt watched. Not just seen—studied. As though something walked just outside the corner of his vision.
Something patient.
They passed the old mural of Crescent Lake painted on the side of the bakery—Elara used to love that mural. She'd traced the painted water with a fingertip and once told Alec the lake was the only place in the city that felt like it had a pulse.
Now, the mural felt wrong. Changed. The painted water, once serene blue, looked darker under the dim street lamp—almost black, like bruised flesh. Alec forced his eyes away.
"Alec," Mara said shakily, "do you hear that?"
He listened.
A wet, faint dragging sound.
Not loud.
Not fast.
But steady.
As if something heavy was being pulled along the pavement far behind them.
His stomach dropped. "Don't turn around," he said.
"But—"
"Don't."
They increased their pace.
By the time Catherine's small house came into view, Alec felt as though a veil had dropped over the entire street. The temperature dipped so suddenly his breath fogged in front of him. Mara clutched his arm.
Catherine's porch light flickered weakly, like someone shaking out their last candle. The curtains in her living room stirred, though no breeze blew.
And the front door…
Was open.
Just a crack.
Not enough to look like a forced entry.
Just enough to seem like someone had stepped inside—and never stepped back out.
Mara's voice trembled. "Alec… what if we're too late?"
Alec swallowed hard. "Then we make sure we're not next."
He pushed the door the rest of the way open. It swung inward without resistance, the hinges groaning a long, pained note that sounded eerily like a moan.
The house was dim. Only one lamp glowed faintly in the far corner, casting long, spindly shapes across the walls. They stepped inside, and immediately Alec felt it:
The house was too cold.
Too still.
Too full of someone else's breathing.
Mara whispered, "Catherine? It's Mara. We came as soon as we got your message."
No answer.
Only the quiet creak of the house settling—or pretending to.
They advanced into the living room.
And Alec froze so violently Mara bumped into him.
On the far wall, smeared in faint, uneven strokes, were blue handprints. Small. Feminine. Streaked downward as if someone had tried to hold themselves up… or been dragged along the wall.
Mara's face went sheet white. "Elara…" she choked. "Alec… those look like Elara's hands. The size. The shape—"
"There's no way to know that," Alec said, but his voice sounded brittle even to him.
A creak echoed from the hallway, slow and deliberate.
"Mara," Alec whispered, "stay behind me."
They moved toward the sound. The hallway was darker, narrower, as if someone had squeezed the walls inward. Catherine's framed photographs lined the corridor—Elara as a newborn, Elara on her first day of school, Elara modeling at sixteen, luminous and breathtaking.
Mara whispered, "She had her whole life. She didn't deserve—"
A soft, choking sob cut her off.
Not Mara's.
Not Alec's.
From Catherine's bedroom.
Alec stepped forward.
And the sobbing stopped.
He pushed open the bedroom door.
At first, the room looked empty—just Catherine's neatly made bed, the old dresser, the photos of Elara on the nightstand. But then Alec's eyes adjusted to the low light.
Catherine sat in the corner.
Or rather—she was curled into it, knees pulled to her chest, trembling like she was freezing.
"Mara?" Catherine's voice broke in half. "Is someone with you?"
Mara rushed to her, dropping to her knees. "Catherine! Oh God, what happened? Are you hurt?"
Catherine lifted her face.
Alec's blood chilled.
Her cheeks were streaked with blue stains. Her lower lip had a faint, unnatural tint—like frostbite. Her eyes were wide, frantic, and hollowed out with terror.
"It came into my room," she whispered. "It… it spoke with her voice."
Mara's breath hitched. "Elara's?"
Catherine nodded, shaking violently. "But it wasn't her. It sounded like… like someone learning to speak for the first time. Someone stretching words like rubber."
Alec felt his skin crawl.
Catherine clutched Mara's sleeve. "It said my name. But wrong. Like it was smiling when it said it."
A thump sounded overhead.
All three of them flinched.
Slow. Heavy.
Like something pacing across the upper floor.
Catherine's voice broke. "It's been up there. Walking back and forth. Waiting."
Alec forced his breath steady. "Mara, Catherine—stay here. If it's upstairs—"
"Alec, no," Mara hissed, grabbing his arm. "We're not splitting up."
Catherine's voice was a thin thread. "Please don't leave me."
Alec hesitated.
But the footsteps above grew louder—closer—then abruptly stopped.
Silence followed. Thick. Intentional.
As if whatever was up there had realized it was being discussed.
Then—
Slowly—
Deliberately—
A single footstep landed on the top stair.
Creak.
Alec's heart hammered.
Another.
Creak.
Mara clutched his coat. "Alec… it's coming down."
The third step groaned under weight. Too heavy for a woman. Too wrong for anything human.
Alec pulled both women behind him, positioning himself between them and the stairway. He didn't know what he planned to do—he had nothing, no weapon, only fear and stubbornness—but instinct made him stand there all the same.
Creak.
The fourth step.
Mara whispered through shaking breath, "It's… slow. Like it wants us to hear it."
Creak.
The fifth step.
Alec strained to see the landing.
Something appeared.
A hand.
Blue-tinged. Limbs too long. Fingers bent at angles that made Alec's stomach twist.
Catherine whimpered.
Then the rest of it emerged.
A woman's shape, head leaning unnaturally to one side, hair hanging like wet, tangled threads. Its entire body seemed stretched—as though something had pulled at it from inside and left it elongated, warped.
And its face…
Smooth. Blank. No eyes. No features.
Except—
As it tilted its head, a mouth began to form under the skin, pushing outward from inside the face like a bubble.
And then it split open into a smile.
The same wrong, ear-to-ear, skin-stretching smile from the road.
A voice seeped out—Elara's voice, but hollow, wavering, as though spoken through water.
"Aleccc…"
Catherine collapsed into sobs.
Mara trembled so hard her glasses slipped off.
Alec took one staggering step backward.
The thing descended another step.
Then another.
Its smile widened.
Alec whispered hoarsely, "Mara. Catherine. Run."
Because the creature had begun to descend faster—its long limbs bending and contorting in frantic, jerking motions.
And it wasn't imitating footsteps anymore.
It was hurrying.