The night was a dark thing, nothing but cold concrete and the hum of streetlights that flickered at odd intervals. Ethan sat on the edge of the couch, tapping his foot on the floor. He'd seen the Faceless Smiler before, a few weeks ago, and it had told him to face something— something he refused to acknowledge, something that dug under his skin and twisted. He had pushed it down and locked it away, but he couldn't anymore.
A noise in the corner. A scraping sound, like fingernails on a blackboard. Ethan turned, his stomach tightening. It wasn't the first time.
He stood, his legs unsteady, and crept toward the source. The walls seemed to pulse with a kind of energy. Not alive, not dead, but some halfway thing. Ethan wasn't sure what was worse, the fear of facing the thing or the dread of not facing it. He had seen it once, standing at the end of the hallway in the middle of the night, a tall figure with the biggest smile. He hadn't been able to move or scream. The more he looked at it, the more its grin seemed to stretch, until its face didn't have a shape anymore. Just the smile.
Ethan turned the corner, and there it was. Standing still, like it had been waiting for him. He could feel it in his bones—the wrongness of it, the way it pushed against his insides, making his thoughts scramble. It didn't speak. It never did. But the weight of its presence made his chest tighten, made his palms sweat.
"Face it," the thing said. It always said the same thing, always in that dead tone, as if it was asking a simple question. Its head tilted slightly, but the smile stayed in place, stretching, wider, too wide. Like it would rip through its skin.
"I can't. I don't... I can't."
"You will," it whispered, its voice a scrape of nails, close to his ear, making him shudder.
The walls trembled. Ethan's heart hammered in his chest. He could hear a soft whisper behind him, a distant echo of things he didn't want to remember. He could feel it. The warmth in his throat. He had never wanted to look back, not at that thing. The thing that had destroyed everything.
It wasn't a face, not anymore. Just a black void with that goddamn smile. But he knew. He knew what it wanted. It wanted him to speak the truth, the ugly truth that he had buried so deep.
Ethan closed his eyes. It wasn't even real. It couldn't be. But he heard the whispers louder now. They pushed at him, rushed at him like a tide. He saw her again, her face in his mind, the way her eyes had stared at him, vacant and broken. He saw her lips moving. She had asked for help, begged for help, and he had turned away.
"I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't…" he muttered, trying to convince himself.
The thing stepped closer.
"It doesn't matter," it rasped. "You can't escape it. Not from this."
The sound of the scraping grew louder, echoing against the walls. The Faceless Smiler took another step, its footfalls slow but steady. Ethan's breath became shallow. He stepped back but tripped, his hands landing hard against the ground. The smile moved closer, its presence pressing against him, smothering him.
"Tell me the truth," the thing whispered.
Ethan's throat burned. He couldn't swallow. He couldn't breathe. The memories came rushing in, images of the girl, of her face, of her body lying on the ground, abandoned. He had been there. He had seen her and done nothing. And now he was going to die for it.
"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm sorry. Please."
The thing didn't move. It stood there, watching him with that smile, a smile that had no reason to exist.
"Good," it whispered. "Now you can die."
And that was it. His chest felt like it was being crushed from the inside. He couldn't breathe. The world began to bend, to twist, and in the corner of his mind, he saw her again. He saw her hand reaching out to him, to forgive him. But she wouldn't.
He heard a snap. Felt it. Then another.
And the smile remained, the same wide, cracked grin, like it had been there all along, watching him break. He had failed, and now it was over.