Chapter 12: The Shadow That Smiles

The next morning felt wrong before Arthur even opened his eyes.

A heaviness settled over his body, like he had been buried under a weight he couldn't see. The room was unnervingly still no birds chirping outside, no distant hum of cars from the main road. Just silence.

And then he felt it.

The unmistakable sensation of being watched.

His breath hitched. He forced his eyes open, his body tensing for whatever he was about to see But the room was empty.

Arthur exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. His skin was clammy with cold sweat, his heart still hammering against his ribs like a caged animal. He sat up slowly, glancing toward the closet. It was still shut, just as he had left it last night.

But he knew.

He knew that something had been here. Maybe it still was.

A knock on his door made him flinch. "Arthur?" Eleanor's voice. "Dad wants you downstairs."

Arthur hesitated before responding. "Yeah. Coming."

His voice sounded normal. The world outside his room still existed. Maybe—just maybe—last night had been nothing more than his own paranoia choking him out.

But deep down, he didn't believe that.

He got dressed in silence, slipping on a hoodie that smelled faintly of faded detergent. He avoided looking at the mirror, an uneasy feeling crawling under his skin like insects. He didn't want to risk seeing something there that shouldn't be.

By the time he reached the kitchen, his father was already at the table, newspaper in one hand, coffee in the other. Eleanor leaned against the counter, scrolling through her phone, barely sparing him a glance. It was almost laughable how normal they looked.

"Suspension treating you well?" his father asked, not looking up.

Arthur grabbed a slice of toast from the plate on the table, biting off a piece before replying. "Oh yeah, loving the isolation. Really gives me time to bond with the ghosts in my closet."

Eleanor finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Ghosts?"

Arthur smirked, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Figure of speech."

She didn't look convinced, but before she could say anything else, their father folded the newspaper and set it down with a sigh. "Listen, I know you're dealing with... a lot. But you can't just shut down, Arthur."

Arthur let out a dry laugh. "Right, because opening up has worked out so well for me lately."

His father's jaw tightened, but he didn't push. Eleanor, however, watched him more closely, as if trying to see past the usual wall of sarcasm.

Arthur didn't give her the chance. "I'm fine," he muttered, finishing the toast and standing up. "Gonna head out for a walk."

"Don't go far," his father called after him.

Arthur stepped outside, inhaling the crisp morning air, trying to shake off the lingering unease. The town was waking up—neighbors leaving for work, a couple of kids riding their bikes down the sidewalk. Normal things. Things that should make him feel grounded.

They didn't.

As he walked, hands stuffed in his pockets, something gnawed at the edges of his awareness. A feeling, like an itch just beneath his skin. He glanced over his shoulder.

And then he saw it.

A figure, standing at the end of the street.

Too far to make out details, but close enough that Arthur could feel its gaze locked onto him.

A chill rolled down his spine. He turned away, picking up his pace. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe—

He looked again.

The figure was closer.

Arthur's breath came sharp and shallow. His hands clenched into fists inside his pockets. He wasn't imagining this.

And then, just as quickly as it had appeared—

It smiled.

A grin too wide. Teeth too sharp.

Arthur's stomach twisted violently. His instincts screamed at him to run, but his feet remained frozen in place.

The figure didn't move toward him. It simply grinned, as if waiting for something.

And then

It whispered his name.

Arthur didn't think. Didn't hesitate.

He ran.

The world around him blurred as he bolted down the street, his breath ragged, his heartbeat a frantic drum against his ribs. He didn't stop, didn't dare look back until he reached his house, nearly crashing into the front door as he yanked it open and stumbled inside.

He slammed the door shut, chest heaving, blood roaring in his ears.

Silence.

No footsteps following. No whispers curling at the edges of his mind.

But the feeling remained.

Somewhere out there waiting, watching it was still smiling.