Lost Phone Part 4

Wednesday, December 16th, 2009 – Funeral Day

I stood there, the freezing air biting at my skin, my feet rooted to the ground as the words on the phone screen burned into my mind: "Hello, Abigail."

My chest tightened, the weight of those two words sinking into me like stones. How the hell did this phone get in my pocket? I checked it into evidence myself. I watched the tech bag it, seal it, and lock it away. There’s no way it could’ve ended up here. No damn way.

Unless someone took it out.

But who? And why? My eyes flicked to the cemetery, to the small group of mourners still gathered around Daniel’s grave. I felt a pang of guilt for walking away, for choosing this over him. But this was more than just some prank. This was connected to the case—Lars, the blood, the way his body was ripped apart like paper. And this phone. This cursed, impossible phone.

I shoved it back into my pocket, the smooth, cold surface pressing against my thigh as I yanked out my own cell phone. My fingers felt stiff in the cold, but I dialed Mark’s number quickly, my heartbeat thrumming in my ears. He picked up on the second ring, his voice gruff and groggy.

“Carter? What's up?.”

“Something weird is happening,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “The phone from Lars’ apartment. It’s in my pocket.”

A pause. I could hear him sit up, the groan of his mattress and the creak of his old bones. “That’s not funny, Carter.”

“I’m not joking,” I snapped, pacing now, my boots crunching against the gravel. I forced myself to keep my voice steady. “I checked it into evidence. You saw me do it. It’s logged, signed, sealed. But it’s here. Right now. In my pocket.”

Silence. Then, “You think someone took it out?”

I ran a hand through my hair, fingers catching on knots. “Either that, or it grew legs and walked out. And I’m not in the mood for ghost stories.”

Mark cursed under his breath. “I’ll check the logs, the cameras. Meet me at the precinct.”

I hesitated, glancing back at the cemetery. Mom’s shoulders were shaking, Dad’s arm around her, stiff and distant. They looked so small, so fragile. But I couldn’t be there. Not now. Not until I figured this out. I turned away, jaw tight. “I’m on my way.”

The drive to the precinct was a blur. My hands gripped the wheel too tight, knuckles aching. The phone sat on the passenger seat, face down, as if it were mocking me. I glanced at it more times than I should have, half expecting it to light up again. But it didn’t. Just lay there, innocent and still.

I wasn’t buying it.

The precinct was buzzing by the time I got there. Morning shift coming in, night shift wrapping up. Mark was waiting for me by the evidence room, his face tight, jaw clenched.

“You look like hell,” he muttered, but his eyes were serious. “Come on. I’ve got the footage.”

We slipped into the surveillance room, the walls buzzing with monitors and flickering screens. Mark fast-forwarded through the footage, his fingers moving deftly over the controls. The evidence room appeared, the locker still sealed, still locked. Hours passed in the blink of an eye.

Then, at 6:14 a.m., the screen glitched. Just for a second. A flicker of static.

When the picture cleared, the phone was gone.

I leaned in closer, my face inches from the screen. “Rewind that.”

Mark did, slower this time. I watched the room flicker, the lights dimming for a fraction of a second, a barely noticeable glitch. And then… nothing. No one entered the room. No one touched the locker. But the phone was gone.

My chest felt tight, a cold sweat breaking out on my back. “That’s… not possible.”

Mark stared at the screen, his face pale. “Yeah. No shit.”

I pulled the phone out of my pocket, holding it up between us. “Tell that to this.”

Mark’s eyes widened as he stared at the phone in my hand. His mouth opened, then closed, like he was struggling to find words. Finally, he managed, “That’s… that’s the same one?”

I nodded, my grip tightening around the cold, unyielding surface. “The exact same one. And it’s clean. No dust, no prints, no evidence it was ever in that locker.”

Mark looked from the phone to the screen, then back to me, his face twisted in disbelief. “That’s not possible. That footage… nobody went in. Nobody took it out.”

I swallowed, my mouth dry. “But it’s here, Mark. In my hand. So either someone figured out how to teleport or—” I hesitated, the words feeling stupid even as they formed, “—or this thing isn’t just a phone.”

Mark’s face hardened, his cop instincts kicking in. “You think someone’s messing with us? Maybe hacking the feed?”

“I thought about that,” I admitted, “but the cameras are hardwired. There’s no way to tamper with them remotely. And even if they did, how did they get the phone in my pocket without me noticing?”

Mark ran a hand through his hair, his fingers shaking. “Alright. Let’s try something.” He grabbed his own phone, his fingers flying over the screen. “I’m calling the evidence clerk. If someone accessed the locker off the record, we’ll find out.”

He put the phone to his ear, his eyes never leaving the cursed device in my hand. I watched him, the lines on his face deepening as he spoke. “Yeah, Kyle, it’s Landon. I need you to check the evidence logs for me. See if anyone accessed Locker 17 last night or early this morning. Yeah, I’ll wait.”

I looked down at the phone, its smooth surface reflecting the pale light from the monitors. It felt heavier than it should have, like it was pressing down on my palm, on my mind. The words from the cemetery echoed in my head. "Hello, Abigail." My name, spelled out in cold, bright letters. I felt a chill crawl down my spine, like icy fingers brushing my neck.

Mark’s voice broke through my thoughts. “You sure? Nobody? Alright, thanks.” He hung up, his face pale. “No one went near that locker. Not all night.”

My mouth went dry. “So, what? It just… appeared?”

He didn’t answer, his jaw clenching. His eyes dropped to the phone, then back up to my face. “You’re sure this is the same one? No mix-up? No chance it’s a different phone?”

I held it up between us, my arm trembling. “It’s the same one, Mark. No branding, no scratches, no marks. And…” I hesitated, my heart thudding in my chest. “And it knows my name.”

Mark’s face went slack. “What?”

I exhaled, my breath fogging in the cold air of the surveillance room. “At the cemetery. It… it turned on. By itself. And it showed me a message. ‘Hello, Abigail.’”

His eyes widened, the color draining from his face. “You think someone’s watching you?”

I shook my head. “No. I don’t know. But this isn’t just surveillance. This is… personal.”

Mark’s face hardened, his hand going instinctively to his gun. “Alright. Let’s see what else this thing hides” He stands up. “I will take it for analysis. Those damn IT guys will let us know about this damn phone…” He paused.. “You.. you better get some rest, or return to your family.. It’s the day…today right? The funeral..”

I stared at Mark, the words hanging between us like a weight. I’d almost forgotten. Almost.

My brother’s funeral. Today.

A knot formed in my throat, tight and unyielding. I looked down at the phone, its cold, smooth surface gleaming under the pale light. It was the only piece of evidence we had, the only clue that tied together Nora’s coma, Lars’ gruesome death, and whatever dark force was lurking behind this cursed device.

But Mark was right. I had to go. For my parents. For Daniel. For the brother I barely knew.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to steady. “Yeah. It’s today.”

Mark’s expression softened, the lines on his face easing. “I’ll handle this. Get to the funeral. You’re no good to anyone if you’re not right in the head.”

I almost laughed. Not right in the head? That was an understatement. I felt like my mind was splitting apart, jagged fragments of fear and grief and confusion tearing through me. But he was right. I couldn’t let this thing consume me. Not now.

I handed him the phone, my fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. His skin was warm, alive, a stark contrast to the cold, dead metal of the device. I felt a chill race through me, goosebumps rising on my arms. “Be careful with it. Don’t… don’t trust it.”

Mark’s brow furrowed. “It’s just a phone, Carter.”

I met his eyes, my voice low. “No. It’s not.”

He looked at me for a long moment, his jaw tightening. Then he nodded. “I’ll keep you posted.”

I forced a smile, but it felt brittle, ready to crack. “I better go now.”

I turned to leave, my footsteps echoing down the hallway. The precinct felt colder, emptier, like the shadows were stretching out to meet me. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. Not when I knew that phone was watching me. Not when I could still feel its presence, cold and heavy, like a hand on my shoulder.

The drive to the cemetery was a blur. I barely remembered getting in the car, my hands gripping the wheel, my knuckles white. The city passed by in a haze of gray and blue, the streets empty, the sky heavy with clouds. It felt like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to happen.

When I arrived, the service was already underway. I hesitated at the edge of the gathering, the damp earth beneath my feet sinking slightly as I stood there, frozen. Mourners huddled close around the casket, shoulders hunched against the biting wind, faces pale and drawn. My parents were at the front, rigid and frail, shadows of the people they once were.

My mother was trembling, silent tears running down her face, her lips pressed into a thin, colorless line. My father held her, his arm around her shoulders, his face a mask of grief, eyes hollow and distant. They looked so small. So broken. A lump formed in my throat, bitter and cold, guilt curling through me like smoke.

I should have been there sooner. Should have been by their side, comforting them, mourning Daniel. But I… I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.

I forced myself to move, my legs heavy, my steps slow. The wet grass was slick beneath my feet, the cold seeping through my shoes. The priest’s voice was a low murmur, the words indistinct, muffled, as if I were underwater. The world felt distant, detached, like I was watching it all from behind a thick pane of glass. I moved through the crowd, slipping between faces blurred by tears and grief. I couldn’t look at them. Couldn’t bear to see the pain I should have been sharing.

My eyes locked on the casket, on the polished mahogany gleaming under the pale, gray sky. White lilies were draped across the top, delicate and fragile, stark against the dark wood. Daniel’s favorite. He always said they looked like snow, pure and untouched.

My chest tightened, the air sharp and cold in my lungs. I stopped next to my parents, my mother’s hand reaching out, her fingers brushing mine. They were icy, trembling, and I wrapped my hand around hers instinctively, offering her what little warmth I had left. She looked up at me, her eyes swollen, red-rimmed, her face etched with lines of sorrow. My heart fractured, splintering under the weight of her gaze.

“It should be you,” she whispered, her voice raw, choked with grief. “He… he was perfect, Abigail. Always. You know that, don’t you?”

I felt the blood drain from my face, my stomach lurching, nausea coiling inside me. I didn’t want to believe what I heard. I couldn’t. My mother… she would never say something like that. But her eyes were empty, cold, devoid of the warmth I used to know. I had always known that Daniel was their favorite, the golden child, the one who could do no wrong. But to wish I were in his place… to wish I were dead?

My mouth opened, but no words came out, my voice strangled by shock, by pain. “I… I’m sorry,” I managed to choke out, my vision swimming, the world blurring at the edges. “I’m so sorry.”

She gripped my hand harder, her nails digging into my skin. Her eyes didn’t leave mine, piercing, sharp. “It’s your fault.”

The words struck me like a blow, my chest caving in, my heart splintering. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. It felt like I was falling, like the ground had been ripped out from under me.

My fault.

The words echoed in my head, relentless, unforgiving. She was right. It was my fault. I should have been there for him. Should have known he was struggling, should have seen the signs. But I was too busy, too wrapped up in my own life, my own problems. I failed him. And now he was gone.

I looked down at the casket, at the lilies lying so peacefully on top. Daniel was inside, cold and lifeless, because of me. Nothing would ever change that. Nothing would bring him back.

The priest’s voice grew softer, a prayer rising into the cold, gray sky, floating above the bowed heads, the grieving faces. I closed my eyes, letting the words wash over me, the weight of guilt pressing down on my chest, heavy and suffocating. I felt my mother’s hand tremble, heard my father’s shaky breath beside me, but I couldn’t let go. I held on, even as her fingers dug deeper, even as her words continued to echo, brutal and cold.

"It’s your fault."

My fault.

The crowd began to move, shifting as the service ended, mourners drifting away, their faces pale and hollow. I stood there, my body numb, my heart hollow, my eyes locked on the casket. My parents moved away, their shoulders hunched, speaking in low voices to relatives, to friends. I watched them go, my feet rooted to the ground, my limbs heavy and unresponsive.

I looked at the headstone, at the words etched into the cold, unyielding stone.

"DANIEL. BELOVED SON, BROTHER, FRIEND."

The letters were sharp, perfect, unyielding. Just like him. Beloved. Perfect. Always.

It should have been me.

The thought came unbidden, cold and stark. It would have been easier, better, if I were the one in that casket. If I were the one lying cold and still, wrapped in white lilies. No one would have missed me. No one would have cried.

I looked around at the crowd, at the faces twisted in grief, in sorrow. So many people. Friends, relatives, colleagues. All of them mourning Daniel. All of them loving him. I had no one. No friends. No real connections. I never kept in touch with relatives, never let anyone get close. I was a burden. A problem. Always causing trouble. Always disappointing.

Was I a burden to him too?

The thought twisted in my chest, sharp and jagged, cutting through me. I had always leaned on Daniel, always looked to him to fix things, to make everything better. Maybe it was too much. Maybe I broke him.

I felt my legs give out, my knees hitting the cold, damp ground. The pain barely registered. I pressed my hands to the earth, my fingers sinking into the mud, my shoulders shaking. I looked at the casket, at the lilies lying so perfectly still.

It should have been me.

I heard it again, the voice soft, familiar, drifting through the cold air.

"Abigail."

I froze, my name echoing softly, carried by the cold wind. I looked around, my eyes sweeping the cemetery, searching for the source. But there was no one there. No one who could have spoken.

The voice was familiar. Too familiar. But it couldn’t be… I must be imagining things. My mind playing tricks, worn down by grief and exhaustion. I shook my head, trying to clear it, trying to focus. But the sound lingered, a whisper curling through the air.

"Abigail."

I shivered, the cold sinking into my bones. It was just my mind. Just the grief. That’s all. It had to be. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, the air sharp and freezing. When I opened them again, the world felt duller, muted. Like everything was wrapped in a heavy fog.

The snow was falling harder now, thick, heavy flakes swirling around me, whipped by a fierce, biting wind. The mourners were leaving, their figures fading into the swirling white, their heads bowed, shoulders hunched. They moved quickly, their feet crunching on the icy ground, slipping away into the storm.

I watched them go, their shapes growing smaller, dimmer, until they were just shadows in the snow. In minutes, I was alone, the cemetery silent, the world smothered by snow and wind.

The wind howled, sharp and cruel, tearing at my coat, my hair, my skin. I wrapped my arms around myself, bracing against the cold, my eyes fixed on the casket. On Daniel’s name, carved so perfectly, so mercilessly, into the stone.

My chest tightened, the pain sharp and unrelenting. He was gone. Really gone.

The wind died suddenly, the air heavy and still. The silence was absolute, the world frozen around me. I held my breath, the cold pressing in, suffocating.

Then the fog rolled in.

It started low, creeping along the ground, thick and white, curling around the tombstones, the casket, the flowers. It moved unnaturally, too fast, too deliberate, slinking through the cemetery like it was alive. I watched it come closer, my feet rooted to the ground, my body numb, frozen.

The fog wrapped around me, cold and damp, clinging to my skin, seeping through my coat. It smelled faintly of earth, of damp soil and rotting leaves. It pressed in on me, heavy and stifling, the air growing colder, sharper, the world shrinking around me.

I looked down at the grave, at Daniel’s name, my heart hollow, empty. I felt lost, adrift, my thoughts tangled and scattered, broken fragments spinning through my mind.

I didn’t know where to focus. On Daniel, lying cold and alone beneath the earth? On my parents, shattered by grief, by loss? On the case, on the cursed phone that haunted me, that knew my name, that wouldn’t let me go?

Or on my own miserable life, my own failures, my own guilt, heavy and suffocating, crushing me under its weight?

I closed my eyes, my shoulders shaking, my breath cold and shallow. The fog wrapped tighter, colder, the world fading to white.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

My phone buzzed in my pocket, the vibration jolting me from my daze. I pulled it out, my fingers stiff and cold, my vision blurred by tears. Mark’s name was on the screen, a new message waiting. I didn’t open it. I couldn’t. Not now. I shoved the phone back into my pocket, the cold metal pressing against my leg.

I looked back at the gravestone one final time. My chest tightened, the pain clawing at my throat, my heart splintering. I took a shaky breath, my voice breaking as I whispered, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I wasn’t a good sister.”

The wind bit at my skin, cold and cruel, my last tears burning as they rolled down my cheeks. I stood there for a moment, letting the sorrow wash over me, heavy and suffocating. Then I wiped my face, “Goodbye, Daniel.”

I turned away, my feet sinking into the snow. I moved slowly, each step heavy, the ground slippery beneath my feet. 

I walked in silence, the cemetery fading behind me, the cold sinking into my bones. But then, just as I reached the gate, I heard it.

“Goodbye, Abigail.”

I froze, my heart stopping, my breath catching in my throat. The voice was soft, familiar, drifting through the fog. I spun around, my eyes wide, my body rigid. But there was no one there. Just shadows. Just snow. Just the fog, swirling, shifting, whispering.

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening, my hands curling into fists. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. It was just my mind, cracking under the weight of grief, of guilt. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe, slow and steady.

The world was silent, cold, empty. I shivered, my legs shaking, my head spinning.

“It’s not him… It’s not real…” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I’m just… I’m just tired.”

I turned away, my shoulders hunched, my body curling in on itself. I walked faster, my feet crunching on the frozen ground, my eyes fixed on the gate. I didn’t look back, even if his voice was still echoing in my head.

I made it back to the precinct, my hands numb, my body aching. I slipped inside, the warmth hitting me like a slap, the noise jarring after the eerie silence of the cemetery. I made my way to the break room, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the air stale and heavy.

I poured myself a cup of coffee. I wrapped my hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into my frozen fingers, my shoulders relaxing just a little.

I leaned against the counter, the voices of the other officers drifting through the room, low and distant. They were talking about the weather, about the storm that was coming. Heavy snow, freezing temperatures, and a fog so thick you could get lost in your own backyard. I finished my coffee, the warmth easing the chill in my bones, the bitterness clearing my head.

I went back to my office. I sat at my desk, staring at the papers, the files, the endless questions with no answers. My phone buzzed again, but I ignored it.

A few minutes later, Mark walked in, his face tired, his shoulders slumped. He looked at me, his eyes heavy, his jaw tight. “No news yet,” he said, his voice low, strained. “We’ll know more tomorrow.”

I nodded, my throat tight, my mind spinning. “Okay… then I should… I should go home. I don’t…”

He cut me off, his voice firm. “Go. You need rest, Carter. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

I stood up, my legs trembling, my body aching. “Yeah… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Mark watched me, his face softening, worry in his eyes. But he didn’t push. “Take care, Abigail. And… be careful out there. They’re saying the fog’s only going to get worse.”

I shivered, the cold wrapping around me, the memory of the cemetery crawling up my spine. I forced a smile “I will.”

I turned and walked out, my footsteps echoing down the hallway, I pulled my coat tighter, my shoulders hunching, my breath visible in the cold air.

The snow was falling harder when I stepped outside, the wind howling, the fog creeping along the ground, curling around my legs. I looked around, my eyes scanning the shadows, the swirling white, the dark, empty streets.

The city was silent, smothered by the snow and fog, the world fading to white.

I shook my head, my teeth clenched. It was just the weather. Just the exhaustion. Just my mind playing tricks on me. I forced myself to keep moving, my boots crunching on the icy pavement, the cold seeping into my bones.

I reached my car, fumbling with my keys, my fingers stiff, frozen. I slid into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut, shutting out the cold, the fog, the voice. I sat there for a moment, my breath fogging up the windshield, my heart still pounding.

I closed my eyes, leaning back against the headrest, letting the silence wash over me. But the memory of his voice lingered, soft and mournful, echoing through my mind.

"Goodbye, Abigail."

I opened my eyes, my chest tightening, my hands gripping the steering wheel. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. He was gone. Daniel was gone.

I took a shaky breath, my fingers trembling. “Get a grip, Abigail,” I whispered, my voice harsh, cold. “You’re losing it.”

I started the engine, the rumble breaking the heavy silence. I needed to get home. I needed to sleep. I needed to forget.

I pulled out of the parking lot, my tires slipping on the icy road. The streetlights were dim, flickering, the shadows stretching long and distorted. I kept my eyes on the road, my hands tight on the wheel, my body tense, rigid.

The drive home was a blur, the streets unfamiliar, distorted by the snow and fog. I moved through the city like a ghost, invisible, untouchable, the world silent and empty.

When I reached my apartment, the parking lot was dark, deserted, the building looming above me, the windows black, lifeless. I parked the car, the engine ticking as it cooled, the snow piling up around me. I didn’t move, didn’t get out. I just sat there, staring at the dark windows, at the fog curling through the parking lot.

I stepped out of the car, the cold hitting me like a slap, the wind howling through the parking lot, the snow blinding. I pulled my coat tighter, my feet slipping on the ice, my head down, bracing against the cold.

I moved quickly, my footsteps muffled by the snow, my breath visible in the freezing air. I reached the door, my fingers numb as I unlocked it, stepping inside, shutting out the cold, the fog, the whispers.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

I peeled off my clothes, letting them fall in a heap on the cold bathroom floor. Every muscle in my body ached, my skin cold and prickling, exhaustion pressing down on me like a weight. I stepped into the shower, twisting the knob all the way to hot. Steam filled the small space, wrapping around me, softening the edges of the world.

The water was scalding, nearly unbearable, but I let it hit my skin, washing away the grime, the cold, the grief. I closed my eyes, leaning against the wall, my forehead pressing into the cool tiles. My shoulders sagged, the tension unraveling, the heat easing the tightness in my muscles.

The water ran over my face, my hair, soaking into me, chasing away the chill that had burrowed deep into my bones. For a moment, I could almost breathe. Almost.

But I couldn’t stay there forever. I shut off the water, the air cooling instantly, the steam already fading. I dried off quickly, slipping into an old t-shirt and sweatpants, the fabric soft against my raw, tired skin. I moved on autopilot, my body heavy, my head spinning, my eyes stinging.

I didn’t look at the mirror. I didn’t want to see myself. Not like this. Not when I knew I’d see the dark circles under my eyes, the hollow, haunted look that had been staring back at me since Daniel died.

I climbed into bed, the sheets cold, stiff. My body sank into the mattress, exhaustion wrapping around me, pulling me under before I could think, before the whispers could find me.

I woke to the sound of buzzing, harsh and jarring, rattling against the nightstand. My eyes snapped open, the room cold, dark, shadows twisting across the walls. I reached out, my fingers fumbling, closing around the cold metal.

Mark’s name glowed on the screen. I sat up, my heart thudding, dread curling in my chest. I swiped to answer, my voice rough, groggy. “Mark? What’s wrong?”

His voice came through, sharp, frantic, cracking with static. “Carter, wake up. We’ve got a—”

The line crackled, the words breaking up, his voice distorted, fading in and out. “—another body… same as Lars… blood… everywhere…”

My heart stopped, the air freezing in my lungs. “Mark? I can’t hear you. What happened?”

The static grew louder, the noise grating, sharp, buzzing in my ear. The call dropped, the screen going dark.

I stared at the phone, my mind spinning, my heart racing. Another body. Just like Lars. Torn apart. Shredded. Blood everywhere.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my hands as I redialed his number. The phone felt cold, too cold, the metal biting into my skin. I brought it to my ear, waiting for the dial tone.

But there was nothing. Just silence.

My stomach dropped, my skin prickling, a chill racing down my spine. I pulled the phone away from my ear, my eyes focusing on the screen, on the reflection staring back at me.

It wasn’t my phone.

I felt the blood drain from my face, my heart stopping, my breath catching in my throat. It was the phone.

The one I gave to Mark. The one that should have been locked up in the IT department, getting analyzed. That damned phone.

I let out a strangled scream, my body jerking back, my hand releasing the phone like it was on fire. It hit the wall with a sickening crack, the screen shattering, the pieces scattering across the floor.

The room went cold. The air grew heavy, thick, the shadows stretching, twisting, curling up the walls.

I heard the voice then.

Right behind me. So close I could feel the cold breath on my neck.

“Abigail…”

I froze, my blood turning to ice, my body rigid, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. I knew that voice. I would know it anywhere.

Daniel’s voice.

I spun around, my eyes wide, but the room was empty, just shadows, just darkness, stretching across the floor, crawling up the walls.

Then the stench hit me, thick and sour, the smell of rot, of burnt flesh. I gagged, my stomach twisting, the bile rising in my throat. It was overwhelming, suffocating, filling the room, pressing in around me.

The voice came again, low and broken, echoing through the darkness, curling around me like smoke.

“Abigail…”

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

Then the scream came.

High-pitched, piercing, splitting through the air, through my skull, the sound so intense it felt like my ears were bursting, like my head was splitting apart. I clamped my hands over my ears, dropping to my knees, my body curling in on itself, my mouth open in a silent scream.

The shadows moved, twisting, crawling across the floor, creeping towards me, the darkness growing thicker, heavier. I felt it then—something wrapping around my ankles, cold and wet, rough like burnt leather.

I looked down, my vision blurring, my heart stopping.

Long, thin fingers, blackened, charred, clawed, wrapped around my ankles, the skin peeling, exposing bone, muscle. The claws dug into my flesh, piercing the skin, the cold seeping into my bones.

I screamed, the sound raw, broken, my body jerking, twisting, but the fingers tightened, the claws tearing through muscle, skin, hot blood spilling down my legs, soaking into the floor.

I was yanked backward, my body hitting the floor hard, my face slamming into the wood, pain exploding through my skull, the taste of blood filling my mouth. The fingers crawled up my legs, digging into my thighs, my waist, tearing through my skin, burning, freezing, ripping.

I kicked, thrashed, my nails scraping against the floorboards, splinters breaking off under my fingers. The fingers tightened, pulling me down, the claws ripping, shredding, the pain blinding, burning.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. It was pulling me down, dragging me into the shadows, into the cold, into the dark.

But I didn’t give up. I couldn’t. I twisted my body, kicking out, my heel slamming into something solid, brittle. There was a crack, like bones breaking, and the fingers loosened, just for a moment.

I scrambled forward, crawling across the floor, blood smearing behind me, my body shaking, my skin burning. The fingers reached for me, clawing at my ankles, my legs, but I was faster.

I reached the door, my fingers closing around the handle, my body slamming into the wood. I yanked it open, stumbling forward—

And froze.

She was standing there. My mother.

Her figure was stiff, motionless, blocking the doorway, her face shrouded in shadows. But her eyes… they were wide, hollow, empty, fixed on me with a look of pure, unfiltered hatred.

My heart stopped, my blood turning to ice. “Mom…?” My voice was small, weak, trembling.

Her lips curled back, revealing teeth that were too sharp, too white, her mouth stretching impossibly wide. Her eyes darkened, the pupils dilating, black ink bleeding into the whites.

Her voice was low, guttural, twisting through the air, sharp and cold. “It should be you…”

The words stretched, the syllables drawn out, echoing through the hallway, crawling under my skin.

Her face twisted, contorting, the skin pulling tight, cracking, splitting, black veins crawling across her cheeks, down her neck. Her eyes sank into her skull, her mouth widening, her jaw unhinging, the scream ripping through the air, high-pitched, piercing, inhuman.

I staggered back, my body colliding with the wall, my chest tight, my lungs burning. “No… no… you’re not… you can’t be…”

She took a step forward, her body jerking, twitching, her limbs bending at unnatural angles. Her head snapped to the side, her neck cracking, the bones breaking, twisting. Her eyes were black, hollow, endless.

The scream grew louder, the sound vibrating through the walls, shaking the floor. It was deafening, relentless, splitting through my skull, my vision blurring, the room spinning.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

I didn’t see it coming.

The creature’s claws wrapped around my shoulder, digging into my skin, burning, freezing, ripping through muscle, bone. A second hand coiled around my waist, the nails piercing deep, the cold seeping into my bones.

The pain was blinding, sharp, unbearable. I screamed, my body jerking, twisting, but the claws tightened, the creature pulling me back with a force that shattered my ribs, my spine cracking, snapping.

It tossed me across the room, my body colliding with the wall, the impact ripping through me, the air leaving my lungs, my bones breaking. I fell to the floor, my vision spinning, my head slamming against the wood, the taste of blood filling my mouth.

The pain was suffocating, sharp and hot, burning through me, my body broken, shattered. I could feel the blood, hot and sticky, soaking through my clothes, pooling around me, soaking into the floor.

I tried to move, my arms trembling, my fingers clawing at the floorboards. But my body wouldn’t respond. I was broken, bleeding, dying.

The creature loomed over me, its shadow crawling up the walls, twisting, contorting, the darkness pressing down on me, heavy and suffocating. Its face was a void, black and endless, the claws dripping with my blood, the eyes hollow, empty.

I forced myself to look at it, my chest tight, my breath shallow. “What… what do you want?” I choked, my voice raw, broken. “Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?”

Then silence.