AkumaQuil

Rose stood defiantly, eyes locked onto his golden ones as she lifted the hem of her small top, exposing the smooth expanse of her stomach before peeling the fabric over her head.

The red glittering bra shimmering under moonlight as if made for this very moment.

She ignored the tremor of anticipation curling in her gut. None of that mattered. Not even the reckless haze of drugs clouding her thoughts. Tonight, she was in control.

This was a mission. A mission to keep his attention solely on her so could save her friend from his curse.

Her fingers hooked into the waistband of her shorts, her breath steadying when she saw him go rigid. Shoulders squared. Posture tensed. Not in fear. Not in disgust. But in something far sinister.

His Interest.

“Yes… feast your depraved little eyes and filthy mind on this,” she whispered, smirking as the shorts fell away, pooling at her ankles. The silky red thong clung to her hips, the moonlight accentuating every curve of her body.

She flicked the discarded clothing aside, shifting her weight slightly as she let her nightly visitor drink in the sight of her naked glory.

His posture no longer that of boredom. Good. That was exactly what she wanted. More like, what intoxicated, irrational Rose wanted.

She twirled, giving him a deliberate view, rolling her hips just enough to torment. “Since you’ve made my life a living hell, I might as well return the favor.” She cast a wicked smile over her shoulder. “Consider this my gift to you—one you’ll never get to touch.”

By the time she turned back, her stomach plummeted.

He had moved.

No longer a distant silhouette in the meadow—he now stood at the edge of her patio. Much closer and so much real.

The thrill that had fueled her was fading slowly. Had she just made a mistake playing this game with her stalker?

Swallowing hard, she lowered herself onto the chair, parting her bare legs wide and letting the wooden cross dangle before her barely covered cherry, in a taunt.

A silent challenge.

His fingers curled around the wooden rail, veins standing taut against the black ink of his tattoos. His chest rose and fell, controlled but heavier, as though restraining something barely contained beneath his skin.

"Want a taste, my dear stalker?" Rose whispers

She had him pinned.

Or so she thought.

Her shadowy visitor moves. Slow, deliberate steps leading closer.

Panic slammed into her. No.

Rose bolted upright, pressing the cross against the glass door separating them. “Stay back!” Her voice wavered a bit. “I swear, I’ll burn your stalking ass right where you stand!”

He stilled.

A beat of silence.

Then—

A low, quiet chuckle rumbled through the night air, reaching her ears like smoke. Deep and Dark.

Her stomach twisted. The sound was foreign, yet eerily familiar. As if she had always known this was how he would sound.

His hands rose in mock surrender, his hooded head tilting slightly, as if entertained by her little performance. Then, as effortlessly as he had closed the distance, he stepped back.

Rose’s breath fastened.

She was playing with fire, willingly, by provoking the one who comes out at night and remain in shadows.

And he was enjoying it.  



==

In the embrace of her ancestral town, Rose seeks refuge from the echoes of her past. 

Little does she know, her return to her roots will awaken dormant shadows, shattering ordinary her existence. 

For when the darkness falls over the town, from the pitch black rises a shadowy figure that haunt her nights. 

In the darkness he sweeps her off the ground in terrible fear and the allure of sinister intrigue.

And once the sun comes, a man with a god awful attitude, haunts her in the broad day light. Causing her to swell with pure disdain. 

With each passing night, it draws closer to Rose, casting a chilling spell that both terrifies and exhilarates her.

Thrust into a labyrinth of mysteries can she navigate the treacherous path laid before her, or will her nightly visitor consume her whole?

He Comes At Night

The food sizzled on the pan, filling the kitchen with the mouthwatering aroma of seasoned chicken. But my nerves didn't care much about food.

I stood there, fidgeting on my feet, my fingers drumming anxiously against the counter, as my gaze flickered to the doors every few seconds—watching anxiously, I'm running out of time.

The sunlight streaming through the glass was slipping away, melting into hues of deep orange and violet. Soon, the house would be swallowed by darkness, and with it, him.

I willed the damn chicken to cook faster, silently urging the heat to do its job. If it didn't, I swore I'd eat it raw if I had to.

Anything was better than standing in the kitchen a moment longer, practically serving myself up like a show for my unwanted nightly audience.

I had made a very unfortunate wardrobe decision this morning—tiny shorts, the kind that screamed *questionable life choices*—and now I was paying for it.

I imagined him standing out there, leaning against his usual tree, waiting for the sun to die, watching me through the window like I was some reality show for his personal entertainment.

A ghoul with too much time on his hands.

Seriously, doesn't he have anything better to do? I bet he sleeps all day in his mother's basement, living off pizza rolls, only to emerge at night to harass innocent girls like some kind of nocturnal leech.

I grimaced at the thought, stabbing the pan angrily with my spatula.

I yanked the pan off the stove and dumped it onto the small table in the living room, my appetite barely holding on by a thread. What else did I need before the sun was completely gone and it was officially blackout and hideout time?

I grabbed napkins and cutlery, planning my route back to the couch where I would park myself until morning.

I jumped, nearly dropping the utensils in my hand. My body froze, my breath caught in my throat.

My first instinct was to ignore it. I was this close to pretending I didn't exist when my phone vibrated on the table. The name Aria flashed across the screen.

"Bitch, I know you're in there. You can't ignore me forever. Open the door."

A shaky laugh escaped me, my body unwinding just a little. Thank God it was just her.

I all but flung the door open, sucking in my first breath of fresh air after two full days of playing house hermit.

The evening breeze kissed my skin, cool and crisp, momentarily washing away the suffocating feeling of being locked inside for too long.

A familiar wave of panic surged through me, my brain short-circuiting. My breath hitched as my eyes darted around frantically, scanning the yard, the street, the trees—searching for him.

He never comes this early.

But the scent—it was real. Not in my head.

My throat tightened, my heart pounding as the terrifying realization set in. And worst of all—I was outside

In these godforsaken tiniest shorts humanity has ever seen.

If he was watching me right now, I might as well be handing him a free peep show.

Fantastic. Just fantastic.

A loud cackle snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts.

115. Free Peep Show