George was always there when you didn't want him to be. You could be alone, feeling a twinge of peace in a world that had forgotten how to offer it. And then, just when your guard was low, he'd appear, slipping into view without warning. He didn't announce himself, didn't make a sound. You'd just feel his presence, a chill that slipped down your spine, the air turning a little thicker, colder.
Aaron had heard the stories. He never believed them. People spoke of George like he was some kind of legend, a ghost or spirit that took pleasure in pushing people to their limits, making them test their sanity. Some said he was a god, others a demon. The details always changed, but the one constant was this: George either helped or killed, depending on his mood.
At first, Aaron thought it was all nonsense. Ghosts? Spirits? Ridiculous. Until that night.
It was late, past midnight, when he'd come across George for the first time. He'd just come home from work, dragging himself through the door, too tired to even take his shoes off. He threw his bag on the couch and reached for the TV remote. His body ached, his mind numb from the dull routine of life. Nothing seemed important, not anymore. He reached for the lights, but there was something strange in the air, a sensation that made the hair on his neck rise.
That's when he saw it—George. He stood at the far end of the living room, motionless. Aaron's heart pounded in his chest, his breath hitching. He should've screamed, but no sound came. He couldn't even move, caught in some kind of invisible force.
George wasn't tall. He wasn't even that intimidating, at least not physically. But it was his eyes that did it—those hollow eyes, black like the deepest night, as though they had absorbed every piece of light that ever existed. They bored into Aaron, and with each second, the pressure in his chest grew tighter.
Aaron's hands trembled. He wanted to run, but his legs felt rooted to the ground. His breath came in shallow gasps, as if the air itself was thickening. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come.
And then, George smiled.
It wasn't a warm smile, not the kind you see on your friend's face when you share a joke. No. This smile curled up the edges of his lips, cold and empty. The smile of a predator.
"Not scared, are you?" George's voice came, and it echoed in Aaron's mind, though his lips hadn't moved. It was as if the sound was born directly from his thoughts, twisting and curling in the darkness.
Aaron's pulse hammered in his ears. He was stuck, paralyzed by the weight of George's presence, but somehow, he managed to whisper, "Who are you?"
George's smile didn't waver. "Who I am doesn't matter. What matters is what I want."
Aaron's stomach flipped. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't. It wasn't fear; it was something worse, something he couldn't place. George's presence was like a looming fog, suffocating and thick. The kind that made you question everything you'd ever known.
"I could kill you right now," George said, stepping closer. His movements weren't hurried. It was as if time had slowed, allowing every footfall to press down with suffocating weight.
Aaron finally managed to stumble back, his legs still unsteady, his head spinning. "Please, don't."
But George didn't stop. He didn't rush to kill. Instead, he stopped just out of reach, his smile still plastered on his face. "Why?" he asked. "Why do you think I should spare you?"
Aaron's mind raced. He couldn't think. Couldn't form a clear thought. All he knew was that the monster standing in front of him was real, and he was at its mercy.
And then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, George turned away. "I think I'll spare you, just this once."
Aaron didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified. Was that mercy? Or was it worse?
The door slammed shut behind George as he vanished, as if he had never been there.
Aaron stood there, frozen, not knowing what had just happened. His heart thudded in his chest, his breath ragged. He didn't dare move, not yet. Not until he was sure George was really gone. But the memory of those eyes, the coldness in his smile—those would never leave him.
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Days passed. Aaron tried to convince himself that it had all been a nightmare, a product of stress and exhaustion. But the chill in the air, that suffocating presence—it never really went away. Every corner of his apartment felt darker, every creak of the floorboards felt like a threat. No matter where he went, no matter what he did, he felt George's eyes on him. Watching. Waiting.
And then, just when Aaron thought he might be losing his mind, George appeared again.
This time, Aaron wasn't caught off guard. He expected it. Or at least, he thought he did. But nothing prepared him for the weight of those hollow eyes on him, or the sudden, overwhelming sense that his world was about to break. George was standing right in front of him, as if he had materialized out of the very air.
"I told you I'd be back," George said, his voice a quiet echo in the small room.
Aaron couldn't move. His body refused to respond. He wanted to scream, wanted to fight back, but he was paralyzed by that same invisible force that held him before.
"Do you remember what I said last time?" George asked. He didn't seem to care if Aaron answered. He was just speaking, as though the words didn't matter to him. "You were lucky. But I'm not feeling merciful today."
Aaron's pulse raced. "Please…"
George leaned in, his eyes still empty. "Do you know what it's like to live with the knowledge that you could die at any moment?" His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. "That you never know if today's the day you die?"
Aaron shook his head, his throat dry. "No…"
George's lips curled into that same smile again. But this time, it didn't feel like a game. It didn't feel like he was toying with him. This time, it felt like George had made up his mind.
"I think it's time," George said.
Before Aaron could react, George moved faster than he could comprehend. His hands were cold against Aaron's neck, his fingers tightening, squeezing. The world around Aaron began to darken, his vision narrowing as his breath caught in his throat.
He couldn't fight back. His hands slapped at George's arm, but it was no use. The air was too thick, the pressure too much. His chest heaved, struggling for breath, but nothing came. The panic rose in him like a wave, but there was nowhere to go. He wasn't going anywhere.
And then, just as suddenly as it had started, George released him.
Aaron collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, his hands shaking. His heart raced in his chest, his mind spinning. But George wasn't done. He crouched down beside him, watching, waiting.
"You're lucky," George said, voice low. "I changed my mind."
Aaron could only stare at him, wide-eyed, unable to speak.
"But don't get too comfortable," George added, standing up. "You never know when I might come back."
And with that, he was gone.
Aaron lay on the floor for a long time, his body trembling, his mind broken. There was no safety, no peace. Not anymore. He couldn't escape the knowledge that George would always be there, watching, waiting. And maybe next time, there wouldn't be mercy. Maybe next time, it would be his end.