The countdown began.
Thirteen days.
Every minute felt like it carried a weight—an invisible judge ticking off a ledger, watching my every move. The Eater was gone for now, but Echo made it clear: this wasn't survival, it was probation.
"If you want to live past day thirteen," he said, "you have to prove you're you."
"You have to matter again."
I spent the first two days writing my name over and over.
Elias Marr.
On receipts. In notebooks. On napkins. In chalk on the floor.My hand ached, but I didn't stop. It was my anchor now—proof that I still belonged here.
But by Day 3, the signs of intrusion began again.
My handwriting started changing on its own.
The mirrors began refusing to reflect me.
People in the street avoided eye contact—even Echo kept flinching.
"Your identity isn't stable," he told me."You reclaimed it with blood and memory, but it's still contested."
"The Eater doesn't come to judge. It comes to observe."
"It lets the world decide if you should exist."
On Day 5, my name vanished from my ID.On Day 6, I stopped appearing in old photos.
By Day 7, even Echo forgot my birthday.
I started panicking. Was the world erasing me?
He sat me down, grabbed my face in both hands.
"Listen. This thing doesn't just test your name. It tests your impact."
"You need to matter to more than yourself."
"You need someone else to say, 'I know who that is. I remember him.'"
Which meant I needed to leave the apartment.
Return to the world.
Face the people I'd cut off. Apologize. Reconnect.Be remembered.
So I made a list.
My sister, Ruth.
My old boss, Denise.
My ex-boyfriend, Mark.
Each one had a version of me I'd tried to bury.Now I had to ask them to dig me up.
Day 8 – Ruth
She slammed the door in my face the first time.
I didn't blame her.
But I came back the next day.
Then again the next.
Finally, on Day 10, she opened it fully. Eyes red. Jaw clenched.
"What do you want, Elias?"
"More apologies you'll never follow through on?"
I didn't defend myself. I just listened.
Let her say all the things I deserved to hear.
Then I handed her a small box.
Inside: every letter I'd written but never sent. Dozens.
"I'm trying to come back," I whispered.
"Not just to you. To me."
She didn't hug me.
But she didn't throw the box away either.
That was enough.
Day 11 – Denise
My old manager blinked when I walked into the bookstore.
"You still alive?" she joked."We thought you joined a cult or something."
I gave a tired smile.
"Something like that."
I helped her restock shelves that day. Didn't ask for anything.Didn't explain myself. Just worked. Quietly.
At the end of the shift, she handed me a note:
"You weren't always reliable, Elias. But you were good.You made this place feel like home once."
I felt my knees shake.
That night, I wrote my name in ink on the bookstore's wall, behind a row of old horror novels.
It stayed.
Day 12 – Mark
I hesitated at his apartment door.
He was the one I'd hurt the worst.Ghosted. Lied to. Shut out when I spiraled.
He opened the door, took one look at me—and sighed.
"You look like death."
"I've been close," I said.
"This isn't about us, is it?"
I shook my head.
"I'm not here to fix anything. I just want you to say I existed."
"You did," he said quietly."You still do."
He closed the door.
I stood there for a long time, holding on to those words like a lifeline.
Day 13
Back in the apartment.
It was silent.
Echo lit seven candles around the salt circle in the living room.
"You either made a dent in the world… or you didn't."
"The Eater will decide tonight."
I nodded.
I had nothing left to give.
But for the first time in a long time—I had nothing left to hide either.
Midnight came.
And with it: the sound.
Not knocking this time.
But breathing.
Heavy. Wet. Mechanical.
As if the walls were inhaling me.
The lights dimmed.
The candles snuffed out, one by one.
And then—it entered.
The Eater.
Same form.
Same stitched chest.
But now, it brought witnesses.
Three shadows followed it in.
They took form slowly:
Ruth.
Denise.
Mark.
All glowing slightly.
Reflections of memory.
Proof of impact.
The Eater turned toward me.
Raised one hand.
Opened its chest.
My name hovered inside: Elias Marr, flickering.
It split into two halves.
One half glowed bright.
The other leaked ink like a dying page.
The Eater waited.
Each witness stepped forward.
Ruth touched the ink half. It sizzled—and grew lighter.
Denise pressed her palm to the glowing half. It pulsed, steady and firm.
Mark leaned in. Whispered:
"You mattered to me, even when you didn't believe it."
The halves merged.
Solid.
Bright.
Whole.
The Eater zipped its chest closed.
Turned.
And without a sound—
Bowed.
Then vanished.
I gasped.
The candles re-lit themselves.
The apartment exhaled.
My reflection blinked back at me.
And this time, it smiled when I did.
Echo clapped once.
"Congratulations," he said."You exist."