The room was unnervingly quiet. Too quiet.
I lay there for what felt like hours, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself that it had all been a nightmare. That the mission, the black suit, the shadow—none of it was real. Maybe I had dreamed it all. Maybe the Bag of Doom was just a figment of my imagination.
But the chill in the air, the lingering weight of the slip of paper still clutched in my hand, told me otherwise. It was real. Every last bit of it.
I shifted in the bed, trying to shake off the heaviness that clung to me like a fog. My muscles ached, as though I had been running for hours. My heart was still racing, my breath shallow, as if I was on the edge of something much darker than a bad dream.
I sat up slowly, the sudden motion making my head spin. My feet met the cold floor, sending a jolt through my body. The temperature in the room had dropped even further since I woke up, and a shiver ran through me as I stood. The silence was suffocating, thick like the fog I had walked through only hours—or was it days?—before.
I needed answers.
I glanced around the room. Everything was as it should be, yet nothing felt familiar. The walls, the ceiling, the bed... all were the same, but the air had changed. The atmosphere felt... off. Heavy. Like something was waiting just beyond the edges of my perception.
My eyes moved to the window, the soft light of dawn spilling through the glass. The world outside looked normal, quiet, and untouched. I almost felt a sense of relief, but it didn't last. Because in the back of my mind, I knew I hadn't escaped whatever it was that had followed me. I knew that the nightmare was far from over.
I crossed the room slowly, the slip of paper still in my hand. My fingers clenched around it as if I were afraid it would vanish if I didn't hold onto it tightly enough. The words had haunted me since I first read them, and they now seemed to burn into my skin. "It found you."
How? How could it have followed me here? I had escaped the darkness, hadn't I?
But then, the mirror. I froze, a cold chill running down my spine. My reflection was blurry in the dim morning light, but as I took another step, my eyes locked onto the corner of the room behind me. I froze.
There, just beyond the reflection of the mirror, stood a figure.
A dark, formless silhouette, still and silent.
I couldn't breathe. My heart stuttered in my chest. It was real. It wasn't a trick of the light. The figure wasn't just in the mirror. It was in the room with me.
I spun around, desperate to confirm that my eyes were deceiving me, but there was nothing. The corner was empty. The air felt colder than ever.
I took a few shaky steps forward, trying to steady my racing thoughts. Maybe it was a trick of the light... or exhaustion.
But then, I heard it. A whisper. Barely audible. Like a breath on the back of my neck.
"Don't turn around."
I froze. My blood ran cold, my whole body stiffening. That voice—it wasn't in my head. It was real. And it was close. Too close.
I turned slowly, every part of me screaming to run, but my legs wouldn't move. I needed to see. I needed to know. But when I turned, there was nothing. The room was empty.
I exhaled a shaky breath, trying to calm my frayed nerves. My heart pounded in my ears. It's just my imagination, just stress, I told myself. You're not losing your mind. You're just exhausted.
But deep down, I knew that wasn't true. Whatever had followed me here was real, and it was waiting for me to slip up. Waiting for me to let my guard down.
I stumbled back toward the bed, my fingers brushing against the soft sheets as if I could somehow ground myself in something familiar. I felt my pulse quicken. The sensation of being watched didn't go away. It lingered, thick and suffocating, like something lurking just beyond the edge of my vision.
I tried to shake it off. Get a grip, I told myself. This is real. The shadow isn't in the room. It's not behind you.
But then, a creak.
From underneath the bed.
I froze again. The noise was barely there, but it was enough to send a wave of terror through me. Something was underneath the bed. Something... alive.
I stepped back, too afraid to check. But the whisper came again, softer now, almost like a caress against my ear.
"Don't turn around."
I couldn't stop myself. My head jerked to the side, eyes wide with fear.
Suddenly the door opened wide, slammed hard.
My heart leapt into my throat
″Honey are you alright?" my mom spoke softly as tears blurred my vision, burning my eyes with fear and rage
I didn't speak, I had no energy to do so. Mom sat beside me with a gentle thud, "Is there anything that is bothering you? High school perhaps?" she asked, looking concerned for the first time
I didn't react and sat still as a rock
"piper?"
"WHAT MOM?" It came out louder and ruder than it was supposed to but I didn't care, They were going to leave me alone here after everything I have been going through. They called me crazy.
I WASN'T CRAZY
or was I?
The silence stretched between us like a thick wall, and I felt the weight of it pressing down on my chest. I didn't want to look at her. How could she understand? How could anyone understand what I was going through? I had no words for it.
I just sat there, my eyes fixed on the floor, my hands clutching the slip of paper so tightly my knuckles were white.
"Sweetheart," my mom's voice was softer now, tinged with concern, but there was still a hint of disbelief. "I know things have been tough lately. High school can be a lot, but you're not alone. You can talk to me. If you're struggling, you don't have to hide it."
Her words felt like a distant echo, as though they were coming from someone else's life. My reality was different. I wasn't just struggling with high school. I wasn't struggling with normal teenage problems. Something else was after me. And it wasn't going to stop.
"I'm fine," I muttered, my voice barely a whisper, even though nothing about this was fine. It wasn't normal. None of this was normal.
"You're not fine, Piper," she insisted gently, her hand landing on my shoulder. Her touch was warm, comforting, but it did nothing to stop the chill creeping through my bones. "I'm worried about you. This isn't like you. You're... you're shutting us out."
I flinched at her words, feeling the tears threaten again. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the wave of panic that was rising within me. I couldn't cry. Not in front of her. Not again.
But what if I was losing my mind?
My hands trembled, the slip of paper crinkling beneath my fingertips. "It found you."
The words ran through my head like a maddening mantra. It found me. But how could it have followed me here? Had I really been dreaming? Or had I somehow opened a door to something that wasn't supposed to be real?
I felt my throat tighten as the memory of the figure, the shadow, pressed into my mind. It wasn't just a trick of the light. It wasn't just exhaustion. It had spoken to me. It was there, in the mirror, in the dark corners of the room. Watching me. Waiting.
"I'm not crazy, Mom," I whispered, my voice shaky. "I swear. There's something after me. And I can't escape it."
Her hand tightened on my shoulder. "Piper," she said, a note of fear creeping into her voice. "You're scaring me."
My heart skipped a beat at her words. Was I really scaring her? Was she afraid of me? Of what I had become?
I couldn't blame her. She didn't know. She couldn't possibly understand.
I stared at her for a moment, the tears finally threatening to spill. "I'm not crazy, Mom," I repeated, my voice breaking. "I swear. It's real."
The air in the room seemed to grow heavier with every passing second. I could still feel it—the cold, suffocating presence that had been following me. The whispers. The shadows. The things I couldn't explain, couldn't control.
I stood up abruptly, the slip of paper still clutched tightly in my fist. "I have to go to school," I muttered, desperate for some kind of escape.
Panic surged through me. If I stayed here, hiding in my room, pretending like none of it was real—I would never be safe. The shadow would find me. It would always find me.
"Piper, please," my mom called after me, but I didn't look back. I couldn't.
I was already out the door and running down the stairs. I didn't know what I was looking for. But I couldn't stay there. I couldn't stay in the house where everything felt wrong, where the weight of the darkness was pressing in from all sides.
The world outside seemed strangely quiet. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting an eerie glow over the empty street. The air felt thick, oppressive, like something was just beyond my vision—lurking, waiting for me to make a mistake.