The Hollow Murmur

The air felt thick. Not with humidity or heat—but with something else. Something Ethan couldn't quite name, yet it pressed down on him, sinking into his skin, into his bones.

He stood on the porch, unmoving. The flickering silhouette he'd seen at the edge of the lawn was gone, but the uneasy weight in his chest remained.

A car passed down the street, its tires crunching softly against the pavement. A jogger ran by, earbuds in, oblivious. Across the road, old Mr. Holloway was watering his plants like it was just another peaceful morning.

Why doesn't anyone feel it?

Ethan rubbed his arms, trying to shake off the creeping chill. It didn't work.

Slowly, he turned and went back inside.

The scent of syrup and coffee still hung in the air. Anna was clearing the plates, humming to herself. Daniel had finished eating and was now sprawled across the living room floor, playing with his toy cars.

Everything looked the same.

Felt wrong.

Ethan's eyes flicked to the TV. The news had moved on, now discussing some minor political scandal. No mention of the rift in the sky.

His gut twisted.

"Hey, did you see that thing on the news?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

Anna barely looked up from the dishes. "What thing?"

"The, uh… that hole in the sky over Norway. Looked like some kind of… tear."

She frowned slightly, thinking. "Oh. Yeah, I guess I saw something about that. Weird, right?"

That's it?

Ethan forced a nod, but his hands curled into fists.

It wasn't just weird. It was wrong.

And she didn't feel it.

"Anyway," Anna continued, drying her hands on a towel. "Are you sure you're okay? You're acting kind of… distant today."

"I'm fine," Ethan muttered.

Anna gave him a skeptical look but didn't press. Instead, she walked over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I gotta run to the store. We're out of eggs. Can you keep an eye on Daniel for a bit?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"Thanks, babe." She grabbed her purse and keys, then called out, "Danny, be good for Daddy, okay?"

Daniel barely acknowledged her, too focused on lining up his toy cars.

The front door clicked shut.

Silence.

Ethan stood there for a moment, his thoughts tangled.

Then—

Thump.

The sound was small, but it did not belong.

Ethan's head snapped toward the hallway. The sound had come from inside the house.

Daniel didn't react. He kept playing, as if he hadn't heard a thing.

Ethan's breath came slow and quiet as he stepped forward.

The hallway stretched before him, dimmer than it should have been. The shadows seemed longer, like they were stretching toward him. The air had changed. It smelled… stale.

Thump.

This time, it came from Daniel's bedroom.

Ethan's heart hammered against his ribs. He reached for the doorknob, hand clammy, fingers stiff.

Slowly, he pushed the door open.

Nothing.

The room looked exactly as it should—Daniel's bed unmade, stuffed animals piled in the corner, sunlight filtering through the curtains.

Except…

The closet door was slightly open.

Ethan's throat tightened.

It was closed last night.

A creeping sense of dread slid up his spine. The shadows beneath the closet door were too deep—as if the space inside was bigger than it should be.

A memory surfaced.

The knock. The voice.

Something had tried to get in last night.

Ethan's breath came shallow as he took a step closer. His reflection stared back at him from the full-length mirror on the closet door. His own eyes looked… distant. Like he wasn't all there.

Slowly, he raised a hand—

The mirror blinked.

Ethan stumbled back, his stomach lurching.

The reflection had blinked a second too late.

His pulse pounded in his ears. His gaze snapped to Daniel's bed, then back to the mirror.

Nothing.

Just his own reflection, staring back.

His breaths were ragged. His body screamed at him to walk away, to pretend he never saw it.

Instead, Ethan grabbed the closet door and yanked it open.

Darkness.

The kind that didn't belong in a simple bedroom closet. It stretched inward, impossibly deep.

Ethan swallowed hard.

His fingers twitched. Against every ounce of instinct, he reached inside.

Something reached back.

Cold fingers brushed against his wrist.

Ethan recoiled violently, slamming the door shut. His heartbeat was a roar in his ears.

The air in the room felt heavy, charged with something unseen. He staggered back, breath unsteady.

Then, slowly, he placed his palm against the closet door.

It was warm.

Like something was breathing on the other side.

Ethan turned and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

He didn't go back inside.

Not for the rest of the day.

Later that night, long after Anna had returned and Daniel had gone to bed, Ethan sat in the living room, staring at the TV. The news anchor was still there, still talking. But Ethan wasn't listening.

His mind was elsewhere.

On the rift.

On the mirror.

On the thing in the closet.

Anna walked in, yawning. "You're still up?"

"Yeah," Ethan muttered. "Couldn't sleep."

She leaned down, pressing a kiss to his head. "Come to bed soon, okay?"

"Yeah," he said again.

Anna padded down the hall, disappearing into the bedroom.

Ethan stared at the screen. His reflection flickered faintly against the dark TV.

His reflection didn't blink