A Fragile Mask

(William's POV)

The sound of footsteps upstairs jolted me out of my trance. For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was. The world felt like a fragmented photograph—pieces of something real, but none of them fitting together.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the wall. The cracks in the paint seemed to shift if I looked at them too long, like they were breathing.

Daniel's voice echoed faintly from the kitchen. He was talking to someone—probably Trevor or one of his other friends. I didn't bother listening. It didn't matter.

Nothing did.

I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to focus on the notebook in front of me. The pages were filled with sketches—fractured images of the thing I'd seen that day back in our hometown. The entity.

It had no shape, no voice, no face I could describe. But I'd felt it. It had seen me, and in that moment, I'd understood that it was ancient. Vast. And cruel.

I shut the notebook and shoved it under my bed. It didn't help to think about it, but I couldn't stop.

---

The house was quieter than usual. Mom wasn't home, and Daniel was somewhere else now, probably outside with Trevor. For a fleeting second, I felt jealous. Of him. Of his ability to pretend everything was fine.

I made my way to the kitchen, my stomach twisting. Food wasn't something I cared about anymore, but I knew I needed it to keep up appearances.

As I poured cereal into a bowl, something caught my eye—a flicker of movement in the corner of the room.

I froze.

The shadows in the corner seemed darker than they should've been, like they were gathering.

I blinked, and they were gone.

I let out a shaky breath, gripping the counter. I'd learned not to trust my eyes, not since that day. But this felt different.

It was getting closer.

---

By the time night fell, the house was cold again. I locked my bedroom door and slid the dresser in front of it for good measure.

Not that it would help.

The whispers always found their way in.

I sat on the floor, my back pressed against the wall, clutching the flashlight I kept under my pillow. The bulb was dim, the batteries half-dead, but it was better than nothing.

The notebook was open in front of me again, the sketches staring back at me like accusations.

A low hum filled the room—soft at first, barely noticeable, but growing louder.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

It wasn't real.

It wasn't real.

The hum became a whisper, words I couldn't understand but felt deep in my bones.

I opened my eyes, and the shadow was there.

It stood in the corner of my room, shifting and pulsating like a living thing.

I couldn't move.

The flashlight slipped from my hand, rolling across the floor and flickering out.

The shadow grew, stretching across the room until it was inches away from me.

It didn't speak, but I could feel its presence—its weight—pressing down on me, suffocating me.

My heart pounded in my chest as I clawed at the wall, trying to push myself away, but there was nowhere to go.

And then, just as suddenly as it had come, it was gone.

The room was silent again, the only sound my ragged breathing.

I stayed there for hours, too scared to move, until the first light of dawn crept through the window.

---

When I finally opened the door, the house was empty. Daniel must've left for school already.

I stumbled into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face and staring at my reflection.

The person looking back at me wasn't me.

My eyes were sunken, my skin pale, my hair a mess.

But it was more than that.

There was something wrong.

Something missing.

I reached up to touch my face, half-expecting my hand to pass through it like smoke.

It didn't.

But it didn't feel real, either.

---

The rest of the day passed in a haze. I stayed in the house, pacing from room to room, searching for something I couldn't name.

When Daniel came home that evening, he barely looked at me.

"Hey," he said, dropping his bag by the door. "You good?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

He frowned but didn't push it.

I watched as he disappeared up the stairs, leaving me alone again.

The whispers didn't come that night, but I knew they weren't gone.

They were waiting.

---