I got up from bed and walked towards the window. My heart skipped a beat when I saw it—a burnt figure standing there, waving its hand at me. The charred skin, the grotesque smile, it was a sight straight out of my worst nightmares. "Bullshit," I muttered under my breath. I was tired of this cat-and-rat game. If it wanted me, it should confront me directly, instead of playing these twisted games.
Suddenly, a loud banging on the door echoed through the room, as if someone was trying to break it down. I turned quickly, my heart racing. Dad, who had been resting, slightly opened his eyes and sat up in alarm.
"Honey," he called out, his voice laced with concern.
"Dad, wait here. Let me see who it is," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I could handle this, I told myself. But as I moved toward the door, Dad suddenly reacted, his voice sharp and filled with fear.
"No, you can't!" he snapped, grabbing my arm. His grip was tight, and I could feel his fear radiating off him.
I paused, sighing deeply. I knew Dad was trying to protect me, but he didn't understand—I wasn't a helpless child anymore. I could handle myself now. Why couldn't he believe that?
Dad reached for an iron stick he kept near the door, positioning himself in front of it. The banging grew louder, more insistent, as if whoever was on the other side was desperate to get in. "Who is it?" Dad shouted, his voice trembling slightly.
No answer came. The only response was the continued pounding on the door. Dad shouted again, "Who is it?!"
But still, silence. Slowly, the banging began to subside, fading into an eerie quiet that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
I moved closer to him, gently placing my hand on his arm. "Dad, it's okay," I whispered, blinking at him to reassure him that I could handle this. "I'm with you."
Despite his hesitation, I reached out to unlock the door. Dad tried to stop me, his eyes pleading with me not to, but I couldn't let this fear control us.
"Dad, please," I said softly, my voice firm.
Ignoring his protests, I turned the lock and pulled the door open, my heart pounding in my chest. I held my breath, bracing myself for whatever might be on the other side.
But there was nothing. The hallway was empty, eerily silent. I stepped outside, scanning the area quickly. The only movement came from the shadows cast by the flickering lights.
"Erin, wait! Don't go!" Dad's voice called out to me, but I ignored him. Enough was enough. I had faith in myself, and I believed in God. If there was truly something inside me—something powerful—then I could protect both myself and Dad. I wasn't afraid of her evil tricks or whatever darkness she brought with her.
I stormed outside, anger fueling every step. "Who the f**k is it? Come out and face us!" I shouted into the night. My voice echoed in the stillness, blending with the distant barking of dogs and the eerie chorus of insects. But no one answered. It was just me, my words, and the silence that swallowed them.
Dad's worried voice broke through my thoughts. "Erin, my baby, don't be angry. I think it was just the neighbor kids playing a prank."
But I knew better. It wasn't kids. I knew what it was. If my instincts were right, then they existed. They were real. Dad gently took my arm and led me back inside, locking the door behind us.
I was fuming, my frustration boiling over. I stormed upstairs, my footsteps heavy on the wooden floor. When I reached my room, I slammed the door shut, the sound echoing through the house.
"Erin," Dad knocked on the door, his voice soft but filled with concern.
"I'm okay, Dad. I just need to be alone right now," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "You have work tomorrow. Please, get some rest."
"But Ba—" Dad started to say, but I cut him off, knowing exactly what he was going to say.
"Dad, I'm not afraid. It's just kids messing around," I said, trying to reassure him, even though I knew deep down it was more than that.
There was silence on the other side of the door, but I could feel Dad's presence. I could hear his heartbeat, heavy and anxious. I sighed and opened the door, finding him standing there, his face etched with worry.
Seeing me, he seemed taken aback. "See, I'm okay," I said, giving him a careless look, trying to hide the turmoil inside.
Dad tried to act normal, forcing a smile. "Oh, heh— I-I was just about to leave, but you opened the door." His attempt to be cool was almost endearing. "Okay then, goodnight, honey. And please, don't lock this damn door," he added, his voice trembling slightly.
I sighed, nodding. I closed the door slightly but left it unlocked—not for my sake, but for his. If something—or someone—came for Dad, I needed to be able to act fast.
I turned off the light, and for a moment, the room began to glow faintly as my power stirred within me. But then I stopped. Dad was coming to check on me again. I couldn't risk him seeing anything unusual. I quickly pretended to fall asleep, listening as his footsteps approached, paused at the door, and then slowly retreated.
Outside, the scene shifted. Under the flickering lamp post, a shadowy figure stood. It was hard to tell if it was a man or a woman, but the figure was unnaturally tall and disturbingly skinny, draped in a long black cloak that hid most of its form. The figure's hunched back and eerie stillness made it seem almost inhuman, as if it were waiting for something—or someone.