The night was thick with shadows, pressing against the small studio where Lucy Grey worked late into the evening. The hum of the city beyond her window was distant, muffled by the oppressive quiet of her cramped apartment. A single lamp cast a dim glow over her latest painting—a wolf, its silver fur shimmering under a phantom moon, its amber eyes almost too alive.
Lucy set her paintbrush down and studied the creature on the canvas. There was something about those eyes—something haunting. A shiver ran through her despite the warm summer night.
She glanced at the clock. 1:03 AM. Time had slipped away from her again.
A faint rustle outside her window drew her attention. She froze, her pulse quickening. It was subtle at first, like the wind brushing against leaves. But then it grew louder. A scratch—deliberate, slow, and unrelenting.
Lucy's breath hitched. Her gaze darted to the window, but all she could see was the night—a vast expanse of black, broken only by the faint glow of a streetlamp. She shook her head, forcing herself to exhale.
"You're imagining things," she whispered, though her voice sounded hollow.
The scratching stopped.
She turned back to her canvas, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that she was being watched. Picking up her brush, she added a few strokes to the wolf's fur. But the feeling persisted, crawling up her spine and settling like a weight on her chest.
When she finally stepped back to examine her work, her stomach twisted. The wolf's eyes looked different—sharper, fiercer. Almost accusing.
Lucy blinked, shaking her head. It's just a painting. Get a grip.
Hours later, she gave in to exhaustion, leaving the painting unfinished. As she curled up under her thin blanket, the shadows in the room seemed to shift, but she closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.
It began like it always did.
The forest was alive with whispers, the trees swaying in a wind she couldn't feel. Moonlight spilled through the canopy, painting the ground in silver. Lucy was running, her bare feet pounding against the cold earth.
Her breaths came In short, panicked gasps. She didn't know what she was running from, but the sound of paws crashing through the underbrush told her she didn't want to find out.
"Run!" a voice screamed in her mind.
She stumbled, her legs trembling under the weight of fear. Behind her, the growling began—low, guttural, and too close.
A shadow leapt at her, amber eyes flashing in the darkness.
Lucy woke with a start, her heart hammering against her ribs. She sat up, clutching her blanket as she scanned the room. The lamp on her desk flickered weakly, the painting looming in the corner like a specter.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, needing to ground herself. That's when she saw it.
Three jagged claw marks streaked across her bedroom window, the glass glinting faintly in the moonlight.
Her breath caught In her throat. She reached out, hesitating before brushing her fingers against the scratches. They were real. Deep.
A shiver crawled down her spine.
Someone—or something—had been there.