Familiar Voices
The stillness in Lara's apartment was unbearable, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Her hands hovered over her phone, unsure whether to go through with what she was about to do. She had avoided calling Victor all night, terrified of what she might hear. But the smudged handprints on her window and the message on her phone left her with no choice.
If Victor was still himself, he could help her. If not… she didn't want to think about that.
Steeling herself, Lara dialed his number. The phone rang once, twice, three times. Her breath hitched when it clicked to life.
"Hello?" Victor's familiar deep voice answered, laced with concern.
Relief flooded through her, but doubt lingered like a shadow. "Victor? It's me, Lara."
"Lara," he said, his tone softening. "You okay? You didn't sound great yesterday."
She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the phone. "I… I'm fine. Just had a rough night."
Victor chuckled lightly, the sound calming but strange, as if it was slightly… off. "Tell me about it. The whole building felt like it was alive last night. Lights flickering, weird noises… I barely slept."
Her pulse quickened. His words mirrored her own experience, but it felt too convenient. Too rehearsed.
"Victor," she said cautiously, "do you remember what we talked about last week? At the diner?"
There was a pause on the other end. Too long of a pause.
"The diner," Victor said slowly. "Yeah, of course. We talked about… work stuff, right?"
Lara's stomach churned. They hadn't been to a diner in months.
She tried to keep her voice steady. "No, we didn't talk about work. What did we really talk about, Victor?"
There was another pause, longer this time. When Victor spoke again, his voice was low and measured. "What's with the questions, Lara? Are you trying to test me or something?"
Her heart pounded in her chest. "I just need to know it's really you. Something's been happening, and I—"
"Lara," Victor interrupted, his tone sharper. "It's me. You don't need to play these games. Just tell me what's going on, and I'll help you."
She bit her lip, uncertainty gnawing at her. His voice was so familiar, so convincing. But the pause earlier, the mistake about the diner—it didn't sit right.
"Why don't you come upstairs?" Victor offered suddenly. "We can talk in person. I'll make coffee. You could use a break from whatever's going on down there."
The invitation felt wrong, like a trap baited with familiarity.
As she hesitated, Lara thought she heard something faint in the background on Victor's end of the line. It was subtle, but unmistakable—scraping, like nails dragging across wood.
Her blood ran cold. "Victor, are you alone right now?"
"Of course," he said smoothly, too quickly. "Why?"
Her grip on the phone tightened. "Because it sounds like there's someone with you."
The line went silent.
"Victor?" she whispered, dread pooling in her stomach.
When he spoke again, his voice had shifted, losing its warmth. It was colder, deeper, almost inhuman. "Come upstairs, Lara. Let's talk."
The call ended abruptly.
Lara stared at the phone, her hand trembling. Whatever she had just spoken to—it wasn't Victor. At least, not entirely.
Her gaze flicked to the ceiling, where faint creaks echoed from above. Victor's apartment. She couldn't shake the feeling that something—or someone—was waiting for her there.
But if she wanted answers, if she wanted to understand what was happening to her and this building, she couldn't hide forever.
The question was whether she was ready to face it.
Lara couldn't bear the suffocating stillness of the apartment any longer. The walls felt alive, closing in on her with every passing second. Shadows lingered in places they shouldn't, and the faint scratching sound from the window was enough to push her over the edge.
Throwing on a jacket, she grabbed her keys and the photograph. Her instinct told her to leave it behind, but something about its weight felt significant—like it would guide her, or perhaps protect her. With a final glance at the locked door behind her, she stepped out into the hallway.
The corridor stretched longer than she remembered, the walls dim and flickering under the fluorescent lights. The air was damp and heavy, carrying a metallic tang that clung to her senses. Her footsteps echoed unnaturally, each step reverberating like a warning.
When she reached the elevator, she hesitated. The buttons seemed worn, as though they had been pressed thousands of times more than was reasonable. The door reflected her face in warped, unsettling proportions.
Taking the stairs seemed safer.
The moment Lara stepped outside, the city felt different.
The world seemed… off, as if she were looking at it through a smudged lens. The familiar streets were there, but they twisted in subtle ways: street signs pointed in impossible directions, cars idled without drivers, and the sky was a washed-out gray that cast no shadows.
The people were the worst.
Figures bustled along the sidewalks, their movements eerily synchronized. Their faces were either blank, featureless voids or frozen in grotesque, exaggerated expressions of joy. A man in a suit passed her, laughing uncontrollably, his mouth stretched too wide, his eyes unblinking.
Lara ducked her head, pulling her jacket tighter around her. "Stay unnoticed," she whispered to herself.
But she couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching her.
Clutching the photograph tightly in her pocket, Lara turned down a street that seemed oddly familiar. The image of the park in the picture tugged at her mind, its fountain and willow trees standing out against the hazy backdrop of the warped city.
Her feet moved instinctively, as if the photograph itself was guiding her. The further she walked, the quieter the city became. The hum of traffic faded, the synchronized figures disappeared, and soon she found herself standing at the edge of a park.
It was the park from the photograph.
The fountain in the center trickled with water, its sound oddly soothing despite the tension crackling in the air. The willow trees swayed gently, though there was no wind. It was peaceful in a way that felt wrong, like the calm before a storm.
She pulled out the photograph, comparing it to the scene before her. The image was identical—except for one detail.
In the photograph, the shadowy figure stood beneath one of the willow trees, holding the key. But as Lara scanned the park, the figure was nowhere to be seen.
Lara stepped cautiously onto the soft grass, her boots leaving faint impressions in the damp earth. She approached the fountain, her gaze darting to the willow tree where the figure should have been.
"Looking for someone?"
The voice made her freeze. It was deep and smooth, with an undertone that sent shivers up her spine. Slowly, she turned.
A man stood behind her, tall and impossibly thin. He wore a dark suit that seemed to absorb the light around him, and his face… his face was almost normal, but not quite. His features were too symmetrical, his eyes too sharp, and his smile too wide.
"I—" Lara stammered, gripping the photograph tighter. "Who are you?"
The man tilted his head, his smile never wavering. "A friend," he said simply. "You've been looking for answers, haven't you?"
Her pulse raced. "You know what's happening to me?"
"I know many things," the man replied, stepping closer. His presence seemed to distort the air, making it harder to breathe. "But answers come at a cost, Lara. Are you willing to pay it?"
She took a step back, her instincts screaming at her to run. "How do you know my name?"
The man chuckled softly. "Oh, I know much more than that. I know about the photograph. About Margot. About the thing knocking on your door at night."
Her blood ran cold.
"You want it to stop, don't you?" the man continued, his voice like honey. "You want peace. I can give you that."
Lara's mind raced. This man, or whatever he was, clearly wasn't human. But he spoke with such confidence, such ease, that a part of her wanted to believe him.
"What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice trembling.
The man's smile widened. "Just a small token. A favor, if you will. Nothing you'll miss."
His words were light, almost playful, but they sent a wave of dread through her. "What kind of favor?"
"Let me in," he said simply.
Her stomach churned. The phrase echoed in her mind, the same words whispered by the thing outside her door.
"I can't," she said, shaking her head.
The man's expression darkened, his smile fading. "You'll regret that," he said softly, his voice like a distant rumble of thunder. "But I'm patient. I'll wait."
Before she could respond, the man stepped back and dissolved into the shadows, his form flickering like smoke.
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