Chapter 4 "He Is a Really, Really Bad Person"

 “The world’s full of people some kind, some cruel, some worse than you can imagine. Mai’s about to meet one of the worst. You’d do well to pay attention, dear reader, lest you cross his path…”

Mai Nguyen, a 25-year-old cashier at a corner store, locked up the shop at 9:00 p.m., her hands trembling from the cold.

Her night shifts paid the bills, but the walk home through empty streets always set her nerves on edge. 

She lived alone in a small apartment, a 20-minute walk away, through dimly lit alleys and past shuttered storefronts. 

She’d heard stories muggings, worse but had no choice. No car, no extra cash for a cab. She pulled her jacket tight, glanced over her shoulder, and started walking.

At home, exhausted, Mai kicked off her shoes and froze. On the floor, just inside the door, lay a book. 

Old, leather-bound, its cover cracked like dried skin, etched with twisting branches that seemed to pulse in the dim light. No title, no author. 

She frowned. She hadn’t bought it, hadn’t seen it before. Had someone broken in? Her apartment was locked, undisturbed. 

Curiosity tugged at her she loved thrillers, the kind that kept her up past midnight. She picked it up, its weight heavy, its cover oddly warm. 

After dinner, she’d check it out. Mai microwaved leftovers, ate quickly, and carried the book to her bedroom. 

The pages crackled, releasing a faint smell of ash and damp earth. The first three pages were missing, torn out jaggedly, leaving a faint red stain. 

She shivered but turned to the first intact page: Chapter 4: " He Is a Really, Really Bad Person. "

The text was handwritten, the ink uneven, like it was scratched into the paper with a nail. Mai, intrigued, began to read. 

Every night, he hunts. When someone walks home alone, he follows. His name is Verk, a creature from the underworld, where shadows have teeth and time bends to his will. 

He’s tall, his form cloaked in tattered rags that writhe like smoke. His face is a void, save for a single, unblinking eye that glows like a dying ember. 

You don’t see him at first just feel him, a weight on your back, a prickle on your neck. 

He trails you, silent, savoring your fear. When you reach your door, thinking you’re safe, Verk strikes. 

He twists time, trapping you in a loop. You step through your door and find yourself back where you started the street, the shop, the alley. 

Again and again, you walk, confused, terrified, while Verk watches, his eye gleaming. 

He feeds on your despair, growing stronger with each cycle. He is a bad person worse than you can fathom. 

No one escapes his game, not unless he lets them. And Verk never lets go.

Mai slammed the book shut, her heart racing. “That’s… creepy,” she whispered, glancing at her bedroom window. 

The story hit too close her night walks, her fear of being followed. She laughed it off, nerves jangling. Just a coincidence. 

The book felt heavier now, its pages rustling faintly, though no breeze stirred the room. 

She shoved it under her bed, turned off the light, and tried to sleep. But the story lingered, Verk’s glowing eye burning in her mind.

The next day, Mai’s shift dragged, the story stuck in her head. She kept glancing out the shop’s window, half-expecting to see a figure in the shadows. 

By 9:00 p.m., as she locked up, her stomach knotted. The street was darker than usual, streetlights flickering, the air thick with a sour, ashy smell. 

She started walking, her footsteps echoing too loudly. Halfway home, a prickle ran down her neck like eyes on her back. 

She spun around. Nothing. Just empty pavement and swaying trees. “Get a grip, Mai,” she muttered, quickening her pace.

Her apartment building loomed ahead, a beacon of safety. Mai fumbled with her keys, heart pounding, and unlocked the door. 

She stepped inside, relief flooding her then froze. She wasn’t in her apartment. She stood outside the shop, the closed sign swaying, the clock on her phone reading 9:00 p.m. 

Her breath caught, panic rising. The street looked wrong trees twisted unnaturally, their branches like claws. 

The air grew colder, the ashy smell choking. In the distance, a single red light glowed, unblinking, watching her.

Mai’s legs trembled as she started walking again, her mind screaming it was impossible. 

The book’s pages flashed in her memory Verk, the loop, the fear. She reached her door again, hands shaking as she turned the key. 

The shop’s storefront greeted her, the same flickering streetlight, the same claw-like trees. 

A low chuckle echoed, not from the street but from her bag, where the book now lay, its cover glowing faintly.“

Verk’s got you now, Mai. Keep walking. He loves a good chase.”