Chapter 6: The Man Who Vanished

It was a regular Thursday afternoon, the kind where nothing in particular happens. The sky was an unremarkable shade of grey, and the streets below my apartment window hummed with the usual sounds—cars passing by, the occasional shout from a street vendor, and the distant chatter of pedestrians. I leaned against the window ledge, watching the world move outside while sipping on my tea, feeling a little disconnected from it all.

That's when I saw him.

He wasn't out of place exactly, just a man in a suit, walking among the crowd. His stride was deliberate, his face calm, but something about him made me look twice. He seemed too focused, too precise, like he had a purpose far deeper than simply getting to his next meeting or picking up lunch. I watched him thread his way through the throng of people, weaving with a certainty that felt... strange.

I blinked. In the moment it took to close and open my eyes, he was gone. Vanished, just like that.

I frowned, leaning closer to the window, searching for him among the sea of faces, but he was nowhere. The crowd moved as it always did, indifferent, unaware. I tried to shake it off—maybe he'd turned a corner, or slipped into a shop, and I just hadn't seen him go. But still, something gnawed at me, a quiet unease I couldn't quite place.

I went about the rest of my day in that distracted, half-present way you do when your mind latches onto something odd. The man's image kept flickering in my thoughts: his dark suit, his steady gait, the way he seemed to cut through the crowd like a blade through water. And then—gone.

That night, as I lay in bed, the apartment unusually quiet around me, I couldn't help but think about it again. The city outside my window buzzed with its normal energy, but beneath it, something felt off. Like a thread had been pulled loose from reality, and I was the only one who'd noticed.

The next morning, I found myself at the window again, as if part of me expected to see him. But of course, there was nothing. Just the usual rush of people, busy with their lives, unaware of anything strange.

I shook my head and decided to put it out of my mind. I had things to do, work to catch up on, and I couldn't waste my day thinking about some random guy in the street.

But then, as I walked to the corner store to grab some groceries, I saw him again.

Same suit, same purposeful stride. He was crossing the street ahead of me, moving with that same eerie precision. My breath caught. Without thinking, I started following him.

I know how it sounds—ridiculous, even—but in that moment, I didn't care. Something about him felt wrong. He wasn't just another commuter, another face in the crowd. There was an air around him, like he didn't belong, like he wasn't really part of the city's rhythm.

He didn't look back. He didn't even seem to notice me. I kept my distance, weaving through the crowd, trying to stay close enough to keep him in sight but far enough that I wouldn't draw attention. He walked for blocks, never slowing down, never hesitating.

And then, just like before—he was gone.

This time, I was sure of it. He didn't turn a corner, didn't slip into a building. He simply vanished. One second he was there, walking just ahead of me, and the next… nothing.

I stood frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, people bumping into me as they passed, muttering under their breath, but I barely noticed. My heart raced. This wasn't normal. People didn't just disappear like that.

For the next week, I couldn't stop thinking about him. Every time I stepped outside, I scanned the streets, half-hoping, half-dreading that I'd see him again. But he didn't appear. The city carried on as usual, oblivious, indifferent. But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was deeply, fundamentally wrong.

Then one night, as I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I heard a knock at the door.

It was soft, almost hesitant, but unmistakable. I sat up, my heart pounding. It was late—too late for visitors. For a moment, I thought about ignoring it, convincing myself I'd imagined it. But then it came again, a little louder this time.

I threw on a t-shirt and padded to the door. I opened it cautiously, half-expecting to find no one there. But someone was.

It was him. The man in the suit.

He stood there, calm as ever, hands tucked neatly into his pockets, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. But his face was different. There was something in his eyes—something deep, hollow. Like he wasn't really there at all.

Before I could say anything, he spoke. His voice was low, almost a whisper. "You shouldn't have followed me."

I blinked, my mouth dry. "I… I didn't mean to—"

"You shouldn't have followed me," he repeated, more firmly this time. His gaze locked onto mine, and for a second, the world seemed to tilt. Everything around me felt distorted, like I wasn't standing in my apartment doorway but somewhere else entirely.

I took a step back, my hand gripping the edge of the doorframe. "What… what are you?"

His lips curved into a small, almost sad smile. "I was never here."

Before I could react, he turned and walked away, his figure fading into the hallway like smoke dissipating into the air. I blinked, and just like that, he was gone again.

For a long time, I stood there, staring at the empty space where he'd stood. The apartment felt colder now, the silence heavier. I closed the door slowly, my mind racing, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

But deep down, I knew. I'd stumbled onto something I wasn't supposed to see, something I wasn't supposed to understand. And now, there was no going back.

The next day, I didn't bother looking for him. I didn't need to. Because somehow, I knew that wherever he had gone, he wasn't coming back.