The Fairy Bag came without warning. No one knew it was coming, but every house it appeared in was never the same afterward. It could be anyone's home, any place, at any time. The bag, old and ragged, would appear in the middle of the night, with its leather handle tight against its side. A small brass bell, hidden beneath the folds of its torn cloth, was the only thing that set it apart from any other bag.
Jonah woke in his bed, the usual cold draft from the cracked window biting his skin. He turned over, still half asleep, but his eyes snapped open when he noticed something strange at the foot of the bed. A bag. Old. Faded.
The bell on its side glinted faintly in the dim moonlight. For a moment, Jonah just stared. He knew about the stories. The others. The ones that never spoke of it, never even mentioned it. But everyone knew. There were whispers. People were talking about it now. They had always been talking about it.
The bell, almost mocking, rang softly. Just once. The sound filled his chest with a slow dread, like the ice had crept too far in. Jonah's breath caught. He didn't know why he felt the way he did, but it wasn't good.
The bell... it meant something. It had always meant something. His fingers hesitated on the edge of the covers. He should leave. He should get out of there. But he didn't.
Slowly, Jonah slipped his legs off the bed and stood, his feet cold against the hardwood floor. His heart hammered, but it wasn't just fear. There was something else gnawing at him. It was a feeling that he couldn't shake. Something unnatural. Something ancient.
The bag sat there, as though it had always been there.
Jonah didn't remember hearing it fall, but maybe it hadn't. Maybe it just appeared. He crouched down. The bell was still. No more sound. It was quiet now, as if the thing had been waiting for him to approach.
Without touching it, he reached out with a trembling hand and lifted the cloth just enough to look inside. Empty. Jonah let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, but it didn't ease the tension in his chest. He backed away, shaking his head, telling himself to leave it alone. Just let it go. But his hand, against his will, reached back toward the bag.
The bell rang again. A sharp sound, louder now, like it was calling to him. His heart skipped a beat, the blood rushing in his ears. And for the first time, he understood. The bag wanted him. It had always wanted someone. It was its purpose. Its duty.
Jonah's hand closed around the bag. A cold shiver ran down his spine as the bell rang again, louder, more urgent this time. He jerked his hand back, his body frozen in place, his mind racing.
It was only when the bell rang a third time that Jonah realized what had happened. It had marked him. No one was safe once the bell rang. No one.
Jonah spun around, his eyes wide, his breath shallow. The room felt wrong. It didn't feel like his room anymore. The shadows pressed in closer, like they were watching. They had always been watching, but now they were closing in. Something in the back of his mind screamed at him to run, to scream, to do anything but stay there. But he couldn't.
Jonah opened the door, stepping out into the hall. His hands were clammy, his legs unsteady. But it didn't matter. The house seemed different now, the walls closing in on him. His feet moved without thinking, carrying him down the stairs, through the living room, past the kitchen. And then the bell rang again, sharp, piercing the quiet of the house.
He was no longer alone.
Jonah's eyes shot up to the mirror above the fireplace. He wasn't sure what he saw at first, the reflection flickering like something caught in the corner of his vision. Then, he saw it more clearly. A figure, standing just behind him. A person. But not.
It was a woman, but her face was blurred, twisted, as though she was something else entirely. Something wrong. Something that didn't belong. Her eyes gleamed in the reflection, black as oil, staring at him with an unblinking hunger. Jonah's stomach twisted, but his feet wouldn't move. He was rooted to the spot. The bell rang again.
Jonah's pulse raced, his thoughts scrambled. It wasn't supposed to be like this. The stories didn't mention this. No one had ever talked about what happened after the bell rang. But he knew. Deep down, he knew. And now he couldn't outrun it.
The figure in the mirror moved.
Jonah screamed, but it didn't matter. His voice couldn't escape his throat. The woman—no, not a woman—stepped forward, a long, grotesque hand reaching out from behind him.
Her touch was ice cold. He felt the chill burn through his skin, to the bone, to the core. The bell rang once more, its sound deafening now, drowning out everything else. Jonah couldn't look away from the reflection.
The thing was in his home, in his life, and there was no way to stop it. No way to undo what had already been done.
The hand gripped his shoulder, and Jonah couldn't breathe. It pulled him back, his body dragging unwillingly, away from the mirror, away from the warmth of his house, as if the very walls were rejecting him. His legs shook, but they couldn't run. He couldn't run.
The bell rang one last time.
Jonah stumbled into the center of the room, his chest heavy with panic. He tried to scream again, but his voice caught. His throat burned. The figure moved closer, its fingers twisting, gnarled and sharp, as they wrapped around his throat.
He clawed at the hand, trying to break free, but the grip tightened, squeezing the life from him. His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision swimming.
In the distance, a low, rumbling sound filled the air. The house. It was groaning, like something alive. Like it was breaking apart. The walls creaked and shuddered as though something was trying to break through from the inside.
Jonah's vision flickered, his body going numb as the pressure on his throat increased. He saw the thing's face again, its eyes burning into his. A twisted grin spread across its features, a grin that didn't belong. It wasn't human. It was a nightmare.
Jonah's last thought was that it wasn't supposed to be like this. He had heard the stories. He should have known. But now it was too late.
The Fairy Bag had marked him. And the bell... the bell had called.
And when it rang, it meant death.
Jonah's body went limp, his final breath stolen by the creature. And in the silence that followed, the bell, still attached to the bag, rang once more. A single, mournful chime.
The house was quiet again. Too quiet. The only thing left was the bag, sitting in the center of the room, waiting. And then, without warning, it disappeared, vanishing into the darkness it had come from, leaving nothing but the faintest echo of the bell's call.