Cliff Auburn woke with a sharp gasp, the echoes of a voice still curling around his mind. He sat up too fast, chest rising and falling in frantic bursts, his skin damp with sweat. The room was too still, too silent, the kind of silence that didn't feel empty—but occupied.
The nightmare had come again.
But this time, he remembered.
A whisper. Not from a dream. Not from his own mind. It had been inside his room.
Something had called his name.
He turned his head stiffly, his eyes darting to the Bible still open on his nightstand. His pulse quickened. The date was still there. May 10th, 2017.
But now, below it, something new had appeared.
He is watching.
The words shouldn't have been there. But they were. The ink wasn't fresh—it was part of the page, as if it had been printed there all along. Cliff ran his fingertips over the letters, his skin crawling.
Something isn't right.
A sound outside made him freeze.
Tap.
His breath hitched. His fingers curled around the bedsheet.
Tap. Tap.
Slow. Deliberate.
His entire body went still. The window was on the second floor. There was no way someone could be standing outside.
Forcing himself to breathe, Cliff stood, his legs unsteady beneath him. He crossed the room like he was moving through water, every step heavier than the last. His hand reached for the curtain, trembling.
He yanked it aside.
Nothing.
The street below was empty. The trees stood still. No movement. No sign that anything had been there.
And yet, he could feel it.
Something had knocked.
Something had been there.
And it was still watching.
Cliff spent the next morning in a daze, exhaustion pressing down on him like a weight. The whisper. The message in the Bible. The knocking. It wasn't just a dream. It wasn't his imagination.
He needed answers.
There was only one person who might have them.
Reverend Mathis.
The church sat on the edge of town, its ancient stone walls cracked with age. The moment Cliff stepped inside, the scent of incense wrapped around him, thick and suffocating. Candles flickered near the altar, their flames unsteady, as if something unseen had disturbed them.
Mathis was already there, sitting at one of the pews, his hands folded in prayer. When Cliff approached, the priest lifted his head. His pale blue eyes sharpened the moment they landed on him.
"Cliff," Mathis murmured. "It's been a long time."
Cliff swallowed. "Yeah. I—I need to ask you something."
Mathis gestured for him to sit. "Tell me."
Cliff placed the Bible on the wooden table between them, hesitating for just a moment before flipping to the page. His voice was quieter than he intended when he spoke.
"My mom gave me this before she passed. I never really looked at it much. But last night, something… changed in it."
Mathis frowned. "Changed?"
Cliff's fingers hovered over the new words. "This. It wasn't here before."
Mathis leaned in, his gaze darkening as he read. His entire body went rigid.
Then, to Cliff's horror, the priest's lips moved in silent prayer.
His fingers trembled slightly as he closed the Bible.
"You need to leave town," Mathis said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Cliff's stomach twisted. "What? Why?"
Mathis exhaled, rubbing his forehead. "I don't know what you've stirred up, but this isn't just a coincidence. That passage… that date…" He hesitated, then met Cliff's gaze. "It's a warning."
Cliff leaned forward. "Tell me what you know."
Mathis didn't speak at first. His eyes flickered toward the candles, their flames still swaying despite the absence of wind.
"A long time ago, there was a man in this town," he finally said. "A man who saw things he wasn't meant to see. He spoke of shadows that walked without bodies. Of whispers in the night that drove people mad. No one believed him—until he disappeared."
Cliff felt his hands tighten into fists.
Mathis lowered his voice. "They found his body in the woods. His eyes… they were gone."
The air in the church felt colder.
Cliff swallowed. "And you think this has something to do with me?"
Mathis hesitated. "All I know is that when someone starts seeing the signs, it means something is watching them." His voice dropped lower. "And it doesn't stop until it takes what it wants."
A chill ran through Cliff's body.
Mathis reached into his pocket and pulled out an old medallion. "Take this," he said. "It's been blessed. Keep it with you."
Cliff hesitated before taking it. The metal was cold against his palm.
Mathis' voice was quieter now, almost pleading.
"Go home, Cliff. And whatever you do—don't listen to the whispers."
That night, Cliff locked every door. Every window.
He kept the medallion clutched tight in his fist. But the air in the house felt wrong. Heavy. As if something unseen had slipped inside with him.
When sleep finally came, the nightmare returned.
This time, he saw more.
A figure. Tall. Unmoving.
It stood in the dark, just beyond his vision.
The air around it bent, as if reality itself couldn't hold its shape near the thing.
It raised a hand.
Reached for him.
Cliff.
The voice was a whisper.
Soft. Gentle.
Wrong.
Cliff tried to move, to wake up, but the nightmare held him there.
The figure stepped closer—closer—until it was right in front of him.
And then—
A knock.
His eyes flew open.
Tap. Tap.
His heart nearly stopped.
The window.
Slowly, he turned his head.
And what he saw made his blood run cold.
A figure stood outside.
Tall. Motionless. Watching.
Cliff couldn't breathe. His limbs refused to move as the figure slowly raised a hand—
And knocked.
Tap. Tap.
The air in the room grew thick, pressing down on him. The shadows stretched, reaching for him.
Then, in the silence, the whisper returned.
"Cliff."
It wasn't coming from the window.
It was inside the room now.
Cliff couldn't scream.
He could only watch as the darkness crept closer.
And this time—
It didn't stop.