Chapter 16: Shifting Faces

Nathan's breath came in shallow gasps as he pushed himself up from the factory floor. His body ached, as if he had been thrown from a great height. His fingers trembled, his mind reeling from what he had just experienced. The cracks in reality—the impossible space between—he had seen something the factory didn't want him to see. And now, it would do whatever it took to make him forget.

The whispers had changed again. They were no longer an incoherent cacophony. They were voices, distinct and clear, their tones familiar.

"Nathan…"

He froze. His mother's voice.

A chill crawled up his spine as he turned. Across the dimly lit factory floor, a figure stood in the distance. The shape of a woman, bathed in flickering shadows. He recognized her stance, the way she held her hands, the slight tilt of her head.

"Mom?" His voice cracked, raw with disbelief.

She stepped closer, emerging from the darkness. Nathan's heart pounded as he took in her face—exactly as he remembered, her kind eyes filled with something between sorrow and relief.

"You came back," she whispered.

Nathan's hands clenched into fists. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. His mother was dead.

The factory groaned, metal creaking under unseen pressure. He took a step back. "You're not real."

Her lips trembled. "Nathan, please. You have to listen. You don't understand what's happening—"

"No," he snapped. "This is another trick."

A movement from the side caught his attention. Another figure stepped into the dim light. His father.

Nathan's chest tightened. His father's presence should have brought comfort, but instead, dread coiled in his gut like a living thing. He had seen his father's fate in his visions. He had heard his screams.

"You were never supposed to see this place," his father said, his voice low, urgent. "You have to leave."

Nathan's mind screamed at him to run, but his body refused to move. He wanted to believe them. Wanted to reach out and feel his mother's touch, to let himself collapse into the safety of his father's embrace. But deep inside, a sickening truth whispered through him.

The factory wouldn't give him comfort. It only knew how to take.

His mother took another step toward him. "Nathan, you're in danger. Let us help you."

"No," he said, his voice hoarse. "You're not them."

Her expression flickered—just for a second. Like a glitch in an old video. Her smile stretched too wide, the light in her eyes dimming, shifting.

Nathan stumbled backward.

The figures changed.

Their bodies warped, stretching unnaturally, faces melting into something else. Their skin rippled as if something underneath was trying to claw its way out. Their eyes, once so familiar, turned hollow, black voids pulling him in.

The thing that wore his mother's face convulsed, its jaw cracking open far too wide, teeth jagged and uneven.

A voice crawled from its throat, distorted and layered. "You see us now."

Nathan turned and ran.

The factory shifted around him, the walls stretching, corridors lengthening, turning into a maze that refused to let him go. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He didn't know where he was running—only that he had to get away.

The air thickened, pressing against him like invisible hands. The whispers surged, blending into something that was no longer human, something ancient.

A door loomed ahead. Old, rusted, its edges warped. But it was real. Solid.

Nathan lunged for it, fingers scraping against the handle as the space behind him collapsed. The creatures were close—he could hear them shifting, reforming, their voices echoing with sick amusement.

With a desperate yank, he tore the door open and stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind him.

Silence.

Nathan pressed his back against the door, his chest heaving. His hands shook as he fumbled for his flashlight, his fingers slick with sweat. The factory's breathing had slowed, but the presence was still there, watching, waiting.

He wasn't safe.

Not yet.

The room he had entered was small, filled with old office furniture covered in dust. Papers littered the floor, yellowed and curling at the edges. A desk sat against the far wall, and on it—

Nathan's breath hitched.

A photograph.

It was old, but the faces were unmistakable. His parents stood in front of the factory, their smiles frozen in time. But behind them, barely visible in the shadows, was a third figure.

Tall. Distorted.

Watching them.

Nathan's blood ran cold. His fingers hovered over the photograph, tracing the figure in the background. Had this thing always been there? Lurking in the edges of his family's life?

A soft click echoed behind him.

His breath stalled.

Slowly, he turned his head.

The door… was open.

And something was standing in the doorway.

It didn't need to speak.

Nathan already knew—it had his face.

And it was smiling.