Chapter 1 - The Entity

Something digs in my arm, scraping against bone.

A sharp, precise pain moves beneath the skin.

I try to pull away.

A spike of helplessness races through me. I’m unable to act.

I’m not numb. My body simply refuses to respond.

I know I’m awake. I’m almost sure of it, but my eyes will not open.

I try to move, but no muscle answers, as if my commands vanish into a void.

I’m too present for sleep.

This stillness isn’t rest.

It’s a loss of control.

My body breathes.

Odd.

The breath is slow, even, occupying space that should be mine.

It is not mine.

A harsh, clinical beeping fractures the silence, droning on.

I do not belong here.

A sharp flicker lances through my vision. Something shifts.

Light begins to flow in.

They’re open.

My relief is short-lived. I realise it with stark finality.

I didn’t do that.

The ceiling tilts above, my vision smearing, unfocused.

Shapes leak in at the edges. Four, maybe five forms.

Koan. Dead. Kidnapped. Worthless. No emergency contact. No dignity at death.

My self-deprecation makes me spiral faster.

My eyes are so dry. I try to blink.

Nothing.

The figures continue moving around me, one coming closer.

My arm lifts, presented and prepared.

No, no, no...

A pinch; clean, expert. Cold threads through me, fast and targeted.

My head slumps, and the room slides away from the ceiling. I’m stuck facing left, but I struggle to care, induced weariness dulling my terror.

My focus drifts, taking in the end of another medical bed and a tall cream dresser.

My foggy eyes fix on a figure across the room.

My mind is distant, but staggers awake.

The cold recedes.

My mind and vision are clear in an instant.

And the silhouette sharpens.

Behind the dresser, it watches me.

It doesn’t move at first; it just exists.

The shape is wrong.

Its outline is humanoid. Its pose is statue-still, unnaturally balanced, with the head thrust forward and the shoulders caved in. It stares, unblinking, with an eerie, motionless focus.

Its face is covered in muted grey skin.

It’s not quite human, but close enough that my mind recoils.

What looks back is dense grey, ringed with gold.

It looks beyond the body, straight at my mind. A primal fear washes through me.

I can’t look away.

The bark-like folds of its face sit wrong. Not stretched. Not torn. Misplaced.

It just watches, unwavering.

I will myself to move. Make a soft sound. Anything.

Silence and despair. Every nerve raw, unanswered.

It appears to rise, the movement is almost undetectable; so slow, so careful.

Skin creaks and clinks as it unfolds from behind the dresser.

Its neck elongates, moving the twisted face closer.

It shouldn’t move like that.

Its lower jaw drops, and an abyss stares back.

Blink.

It vanishes.

The beeping remains a steady droning. The monotonous tone yet to waver, despite my racing heart.

What in the hell was that?!

The bed shakes.

Something is wrong.

Something is…

Warm?

It starts low. Almost indistinguishable, a phantom heat that spreads languidly. Intimately.

The creeping heat that doesn’t belong.

It presses through blanket and clothes, right into me.

The thought comes stark and sickening.

IT IS ON ME.

My stomach twists, clenching tight, as dread pools, heavy and hot, coursing through me.

There’s no weight, just pressure and heat.

It begins to burn. My nerves feel as though they’re intent on tearing from my flesh and leaving me behind.

The heat ebbs, receding from my legs, as if it’s pulling itself up, using my body as an anchor. Searing fingers trace across my stomach.

Fear clamps down. My mind howls, useless and trapped.

I’m stuck staring at the dresser, eyes spitefully unresponsive.

The relentless, steady beeping continues, paying no attention to my torment, mocking that I am fine.

The blaze renews, creeping higher.

It flares over my abdomen, settling deeper.

My mind scratches at the walls of my skull, desperately trying to abandon my body to this creature. My thoughts fester, painting the worst scenarios, should it spare me.

A charred husk for the remainder of eternity.

It’s so close, I feel everywhere it touches; chill invades where its flames are absent.

It encroaches on my neck. It blooms there, my attempted screams fueling its desire.

Soft rasping whispers cross my ear, laboured and desperate.

Behind that, an incessant incoherent noise. A muttering, low and piercing.

A lab coat flashes past, and the breathing heightens.

I feel cold fingers take my temples in hand, and slowly begin adjusting my position.

The world begins to shift.

It fills my vision.

INESCAPABLE.

Its face is an inch from mine.

Its eyes ensnare me. Entrancing.

Irises churn like a river of molten gold, pulsing with a heat and intensity, as if the fire itself lives within them.

I silently wail.

Its head tilts.

Just slightly.

I yearn to follow its eyes. A spike of frost reaches my core as the golden rings release me.

Its head tilts, curious. Like it’s trying to understand what I am.

It raises an arm, pointing its long, stony finger directly between my brow. The pristine granite grey hovers for a moment.

It moves, driving its finger down towards my brain.

I jerk back, trying to roll.

The motion takes me, and I feel myself falling out of its way.​

***

​I wake, violently falling to the floor beside my bed.

I writhe on the carpet, limbs flailing, as I choke on my screams.

Air tears into my lungs. I gasp as my mind battles against the sudden absence of pain.

Face, throat, chest, limbs.

Pressing, searching, dragging across my skin like I expect to find burn marks or anything off.

Nothing.

Just sweat. My skin is flushed, raw, whole.

I stop, hunched, leaning against the bed, breathing too fast, eyes scanning the room for changes.

It hasn’t. My room sits still. Dark. Quiet.

I really need to stop with the late-night horror movies.

The heat under my skin hasn’t fully faded, and I get the urge to dig my thumb into the exact spot I felt the first stab.

There’s nothing there.

The sensation lingers, raw and haunting, refusing to leave me.

“What the hell…”

I reach for my phone.

6:35.

Far too early. A hollow laugh escapes me, dry and brittle.

“Perfect.”

I grab my towel, half undressing as I head for the bathroom.

In the living room, the stale air feels settled, but familiar.

A faint orange light spills through the large central window.

The couch and spare chair sit unbothered. The cushions are in the same place as always because they’re never disturbed.

The kitchenette is messy. Dishes stack high in the sink, waiting for me. The bin starts to overflow with premade meal packets. I know I should take it out.

“Do the dishes, Koan!” I say authoritatively in some made-up parental voice.

I make no effort to make the place presentable. Nor do I move towards the dishes. No reason to.

Not like anyone comes up here.

Even the walls feel bare in a way that isn’t accidental, which admittedly does pain me a little. No photos, no decorations. Just blank space, marked in places by scuffs and faint discolouration where things used to be before I moved in.

“Where are our cute photos, Koan?” I mock in a feminine voice.

I wish.

Thankfully, nothing has changed. It’s exactly how I expect it to be.

And today, somehow, that almost makes it worse.

Forever alone.

I move into the bathroom.

It’s cramped and poorly kept, the kind of space that’s been used more than it’s ever been cleaned.

A thin film of grime clings to the sink and tap, water stains marking where things have been left too long, while the tiles carry a dull, uneven sheen that never quite looks dry.

I should feel a little ashamed, but I am long past that.

I enter the shower, pulling the discoloured white shower curtain across.

The shower hits cold, sharp enough to snap something back into place. I stand under it longer than I need to, letting it run, letting the noise fill the space in my head, trying to forget.

It’s not completely working; the heat still simmers within me, so I shut it off.

I dry off and glance at the mirror.

It’s cracked where my left eye sits when dead on, splitting my reflection just enough that it never lines up properly in all the shards. I remember telling myself I’d replace it.

My face sits uneven in it, pale, drawn tighter than it should be, eyes slightly off where the crack cuts through them.

I lean closer, examining my eyes, bloodshot and bagged from poor sleep.

I need to go out.

I don’t finish drying off. I don’t think about anything beyond leaving. Clothes go on fast, unevenly, barely registered.

The hallway stairs feel tighter as I step into them, like the space has shifted while I wasn’t looking.

I don’t stop. Right now, home doesn’t feel safe.