Chapter 321

The wind had begun to pick up as the sun dipped lower on Bryton Road, the quiet street where no one was ever seen walking past after dusk. There were rumors. Whispers. Stories parents told their kids to keep them indoors before dark. The most chilling of them all was the story of the old man of Bryton Road.

No one knew his name. No one cared to know. The man lived alone in a house far too old, even by Bryton Road standards. Its walls sagged under the weight of time, and the ivy that crawled along the exterior seemed to cling to it like the fingers of a ghost. It had been abandoned for years, save for the old man.

People spoke of his eyes, his pale, gray eyes that seemed to pierce through you the moment you crossed his path. But those who had seen him never saw him for long. If you did, you were never seen again. Or so it was said.

Maggie didn't believe in ghosts. She wasn't a child anymore, but the house still stood there at the end of the road, looming. The air around it felt colder than it should've been. The ground felt different too—like it didn't belong. But Maggie wasn't scared. She wasn't the type of person who believed in the supernatural.

One evening, when the air felt thicker than usual and the sky was painted with the bruised colors of twilight, Maggie was walking home from her shift at the diner. She had heard the stories, of course, like everyone else.

No one in Bryton Road walked down that street at night. But Maggie had always been the curious one. She wasn't about to turn down a street just because it was steeped in old legends.

The street was deserted. Not a car, not a soul. Not that it mattered. Bryton Road was always quiet, even at midday. She walked on, her boots tapping against the cracked pavement. Her hands were stuffed deep in the pockets of her jacket.

She looked up at the house. The windows were black holes, empty of life, but something felt...off. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. The air around her seemed colder.

Her pace slowed, just for a second. Just long enough for the hairs on the back of her neck to prick up. She wasn't sure if it was the house or something else that made her feel that way. She told herself it was just the wind. She ignored the knot that twisted in her stomach and forced her legs to move.

That's when she saw him.

The old man.

He was standing by the front gate of the house, his thin, frail figure barely visible in the dimming light. His face was like old leather, stretched over the bones. His eyes, though, were the worst part. They weren't just pale; they were empty, like someone had hollowed out his soul and left nothing but a shell behind.

Maggie froze. She wasn't sure why—whether it was the way he stood so still or the way his eyes seemed to stare right through her. His mouth barely moved, but she could hear the words, clear as day.

"If you see me, run."

Maggie blinked, confused. She couldn't have heard that right. Was he speaking to her? She took a step back, instinctively. But then his words repeated, louder this time.

"Run."

Her heart started to race. She took another step back, then another, and another. Her feet moved faster now, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. She could hear him, even though she didn't want to. He was coming closer, slow but steady, his footsteps heavy and deliberate.

"Run, before it's too late."

His voice seemed to echo around her, and her breath hitched in her throat. She broke into a full sprint, her feet pounding against the pavement. She didn't look back. She didn't need to. The fear clawed at her throat, rising up like bile.

The street stretched on and on, but the sound of his footsteps stayed close. She could feel them, growing louder with every step. Her lungs burned, but she didn't stop. Not until she turned the corner onto the main road.

She couldn't remember how long she had been running. She stopped finally, gasping for air, and when she dared to glance back, the street behind her was empty. Nothing. Not even the house.

Her heart thudded in her chest, but the street was just as it had always been. She laughed to herself, nervously, as if to convince herself it had all been in her head. Maybe it was.

But the old man's words echoed in her mind.

"If you see me, run."

That night, as she lay in bed, Maggie couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Every creak of the house, every soft whisper of the wind, seemed to carry the weight of his warning. Her eyes flickered open. Her breath caught.

She thought she heard it—slow, deliberate steps outside her window.

At first, she told herself it was just the wind, but the footsteps didn't stop. They grew louder. Closer. She could almost hear the sound of breath—deep, raspy breaths—cutting through the quiet night.

Maggie sprang out of bed, heart racing. She moved toward the window, trying to look outside, but the curtains hung heavy, blocking her view. Her mind was screaming at her to run. To get out. To not wait. But where would she go?

The footsteps stopped. Everything went silent. Too silent. And then a soft voice, just barely audible, reached her ears.

"Too slow…"

It was him. She knew it.

Her pulse hammered in her ears, her body frozen in place. She should've run faster. She should've listened. But now... it was too late. She could feel him outside, waiting. Watching.

Then, the world seemed to shift, as if it bent under the weight of the moment. The room felt smaller. The walls, closer. Maggie's breath caught. Her vision blurred, her limbs stiff. The air felt wrong—thick, like something was pressing down on her, suffocating her.

It wasn't long before she realized she wasn't alone in the room anymore. The old man was there, standing in the doorway, his figure stretched tall and unnatural, his face gaunt, the skin tight across his skull. His eyes locked onto hers, those empty eyes, cold and endless. His lips cracked into a grin.

"You're slow," he muttered, the words like a death sentence.

Maggie's knees buckled, and she stumbled backward. But there was no escaping it. He was already in the room.

His gaze was unrelenting. His presence overwhelming. She could feel his fingers closing around her throat. The grip was like iron, unyielding. The world began to darken, the edges of her vision curling away.

She tried to scream, but the words wouldn't come. The air was too thick. She couldn't breathe.

And then, without warning, the darkness swallowed her whole. Not a single breath left her mouth, no fight left in her. Just silence. Just nothing.

When the morning came, Bryton Road was as empty as it always had been. The old house still stood, its windows dark, its gate creaking in the wind. No one would ever speak of Maggie again.

The old man had claimed another one.