The world didn't end in fire or darkness. It ended in silence.
It began with a whisper.
Ethan Blackwell sat in the dim glow of his desk lamp, tapping absentmindedly at his laptop keyboard. The room was quiet except for the occasional flicker of the streetlights outside, casting restless shadows against the walls. Anna and Daniel were asleep in the next room—his wife and son, the only constants in his otherwise mundane life.
Lately, though, things hadn't felt… right.
It was little things at first. Objects shifting from where he last left them. The TV turning on by itself. The feeling that someone was standing behind him, just outside his vision.
Then, the dreams began.
At first, he thought they were just stress-induced nightmares. Vivid flashes of things that didn't belong in this world—towering figures wreathed in flame, ancient temples slick with blood, a sky that cracked like shattered glass. He told himself it was just his mind playing tricks on him. That's what normal people did. They rationalized.
But tonight, reality blinked.
It started at exactly 3:12 AM. A sharp knock at the front door.
Ethan frowned. The neighborhood was quiet, and at this hour, only something wrong would be knocking. He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the laptop keyboard, his heartbeat slow but heavy.
Another knock. Harder this time.
His pulse quickened. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the walls themselves were pressing in. His body screamed at him not to open it, but his mind—his rational mind—forced him to stand up.
He made his way to the door. The hallway felt longer than usual. Each step dragged, the silence pressing against his ears.
When he reached the door, he hesitated. His fingers hovered over the handle.
A voice spoke from the other side.
"Ethan Blackwell."
His breath caught.
He hadn't heard that voice before. It was deep, guttural, but wrong—like someone struggling to mimic human speech.
"You are expected. Open the door."
His body locked up. Every instinct screamed at him to walk away, to wake up Anna, grab Daniel, and leave. But his fingers moved before his mind could stop them, twisting the lock with a soft click.
The door creaked open.
The hallway beyond was wrong. The world outside his apartment should have been the same dimly lit corridor of his apartment building. Instead, there was nothing—just an empty, black void stretching endlessly.
And then, something stepped out of it.
The figure was tall, its form shifting like a man trapped between realities. Its face was blurred, as if the world refused to define it. And yet, Ethan knew—it was looking at him.
He wanted to move, to slam the door, but his body refused. His own breath sounded foreign, distant.
The figure took a slow step forward. Its voice slithered into his ears.
"The world is waking up."
A shockwave of nausea rolled through Ethan, like his body rejected whatever truth lay behind those words. The air smelled of something ancient—blood, rust, and rot.
And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the figure was gone. The hallway was normal again.
Ethan stood there, his hand trembling on the doorframe. His stomach twisted into knots. He turned his head toward the bedroom, listening—was Anna still asleep? Was Daniel breathing?
For now, everything seemed normal.
But deep down, he knew.
Something had changed.
And there was no going back.The world didn't end in fire or darkness. It ended in silence.
It began with a whisper.
Ethan Blackwell sat in the dim glow of his desk lamp, tapping absentmindedly at his laptop keyboard. The room was quiet except for the occasional flicker of the streetlights outside, casting restless shadows against the walls. Anna and Daniel were asleep in the next room—his wife and son, the only constants in his otherwise mundane life.
Lately, though, things hadn't felt… right.
It was little things at first. Objects shifting from where he last left them. The TV turning on by itself. The feeling that someone was standing behind him, just outside his vision.
Then, the dreams began.
At first, he thought they were just stress-induced nightmares. Vivid flashes of things that didn't belong in this world—towering figures wreathed in flame, ancient temples slick with blood, a sky that cracked like shattered glass. He told himself it was just his mind playing tricks on him. That's what normal people did. They rationalized.
But tonight, reality blinked.
It started at exactly 3:12 AM. A sharp knock at the front door.
Ethan frowned. The neighborhood was quiet, and at this hour, only something wrong would be knocking. He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the laptop keyboard, his heartbeat slow but heavy.
Another knock. Harder this time.
His pulse quickened. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the walls themselves were pressing in. His body screamed at him not to open it, but his mind—his rational mind—forced him to stand up.
He made his way to the door. The hallway felt longer than usual. Each step dragged, the silence pressing against his ears.
When he reached the door, he hesitated. His fingers hovered over the handle.
A voice spoke from the other side.
"Ethan Blackwell."
His breath caught.
He hadn't heard that voice before. It was deep, guttural, but wrong—like someone struggling to mimic human speech.
"You are expected. Open the door."
His body locked up. Every instinct screamed at him to walk away, to wake up Anna, grab Daniel, and leave. But his fingers moved before his mind could stop them, twisting the lock with a soft click.
The door creaked open.
The hallway beyond was wrong. The world outside his apartment should have been the same dimly lit corridor of his apartment building. Instead, there was nothing—just an empty, black void stretching endlessly.
And then, something stepped out of it.
The figure was tall, its form shifting like a man trapped between realities. Its face was blurred, as if the world refused to define it. And yet, Ethan knew—it was looking at him.
He wanted to move, to slam the door, but his body refused. His own breath sounded foreign, distant.
The figure took a slow step forward. Its voice slithered into his ears.
"The world is waking up."
A shockwave of nausea rolled through Ethan, like his body rejected whatever truth lay behind those words. The air smelled of something ancient—blood, rust, and rot.
And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the figure was gone. The hallway was normal again.
Ethan stood there, his hand trembling on the doorframe. His stomach twisted into knots. He turned his head toward the bedroom, listening—was Anna still asleep? Was Daniel breathing?
For now, everything seemed normal.
But deep down, he knew.
Something had changed.
And there was no going back.