Chapter 2 - A Dark Pursuit

Autumn nears its end. A brisk breeze washes over me, reminding me that winter is near, as it counters the rising heat of the morning sun. My skin still prickles with phantom heat, so I welcome it.

As I walk down the street, the details of my dream fade along with the fear it provoked.

Instead, taking its place, there is a familiar tightness in my chest.

Ahh, anxiety, you’re truly awake. Greetings, my nemesis.

My oldest companion questions me.

How long are you going to be like this?

The question triggers my mind’s usual self-deprecating cycle. It is its usual viciousness.

You are going nowhere in life.

Thankfully, my work isn’t far away, and because I am up early, the café I rarely get to visit is even closer.

I try to focus on ordering and people-watching to avoid spiralling.

"One large Iced Latte, takeaway, please."

The lady behind the counter cheerfully nods as she takes my order and accepts my payment.

I go stand outside the café, avoiding conversation. Nodding obligatorily at the occasional cheerful pedestrian.

If you woke up earlier, maybe you wouldn't be so miserable.

I'm not my best in the mornings. I have never been despite my job giving me early shifts.

I watch the seated people, their laughter and relaxed gestures highlighting a longing ache in my chest. They seem so secure, absorbed in mundane things that feel unreachable to me.

My mind continues to drift where I don’t want it to, as it so often does these days.

As I watch a woman excitedly explain her new hobby, I wonder with a hint of envy and uncertainty what I'd say if someone asked me about it.

Hi, I’m Koan. 28. Nothing to show for it. Tell me about your very interesting life instead.

I often wonder what success, satisfying work, or meaningful hobbies feel like.

Then I wonder about having friends who are excited to hear about it. A yearning burns in the deepest part of my being.

I struggle to admit to that critical voice that I’m jealous of those who make friends easily and have their lives together. This jealousy unsettles me, making me question if I’ll ever truly belong.

"Your coffee is ready!"

The lady gestures warmly to get my attention. She pulls me from my tormented daydreaming.

I nod in thanks and pick up the coffee. She wishes me a good day. I try to respond, but nothing comes out.

Well done, Koan.

I scurry away, embarrassed, despite doing nothing wrong.

I walk with my head down to avoid any further interactions.

I focus on my iced coffee, grateful for its cold relief.

My mind drifts again as I walk slowly to work, replaying the dream in a new light.

Was my dream about having friends? People gathered when I was sick. Have I discovered a new low?

But like the dream, it is fleeting.

I slip down the alley, aiming for my work’s back door to avoid early customers.

A sharp pain pricks my arm, and I yelp in surprise.

My coffee falls to the cement.

I pull my sleeve up and stare at my arm. There seems to be no injury. I swear I can feel pain in the same spot as in my dream.

Confused, I reach to pick up the spilled drink.

The ground tilts.

A white-hot flare burns behind my eye, stabbing deep. My vision doubles.

My hand reaches for my head, but it's trapped under my body. I sprawl on the concrete. The coffee pooled beneath me. I feel it against my cheek and chest, seeping into my clothes.

I lie there, eyes clenched shut, as the darkness slightly soothes the agony tearing through my brain.

Finally, the headache subsides, from a thundering pulse to a nearly bearable stabbing pain.

The cold liquid against my cheek is soothing.

I can finally think.

As I open my eyes, the right one involuntarily twitches, struggling to work. It remains blurred as I begin to find my feet.

Thankfully, the flare has settled, and my eye focuses. That moment of relief is short-lived.

How long it had been standing there watching me, I couldn’t tell.

It stands across the street in the thin light of sunrise, allowing me finally to take in its full form.

It stands tall, the shape as if it’s been arranged rather than standing.

Perched on its long neck is a face that is neither fully human nor bird, but a horror of both, almost owl-like.

It emanates a well-muscled human torso, with arms that hang abnormally long, its fingers resting by its knees. Around it, wings fall like a cloak, parted just enough to show its frame. Feathers are dull and flat, swallowing the light.

The legs are powerfully built and bent like a goat’s; joints backward but not broken. They are covered in short grey feathers that taper into narrow, talon-like feet that rest lightly against the pavement.

It doesn’t crouch. It doesn’t tense. It just stands there, watching, like it already knows what comes next and is waiting for me to realise it too.

I command my body to run. A scream rises in my throat, but I swallow it, afraid that any sound will draw its attention. The thought of feeling that heat again sends a fresh wave of terror through me.

I start to back away, sluggish, my eyes once again being drawn to it, preventing me from turning away.

Those golden, mesmerising eyes.

It hunches forward, its neck drawing its head down, wings bunching in as it begins to move.

I am about to run, but I watch as it steps onto the road.

A flash of headlights. A passing car blurs by. The creature whisked away with it.

Panicked, I look around, expecting it to reappear as it had in the dream.

Nothing.

I realise I have been holding my breath. I let it out slowly.

Though it’s gone, I know with absolute certainty I saw it.

Or you’re just insane now?

Bracing myself, I grab the cup off the floor, being extra slow to avoid standing up too fast lest the vertigo drop me again.

I don't know what's wrong with me, though I sure as hell am not going to work while experiencing this.

I begin the journey home, jittery from leftover adrenaline. The persistent headache echoes distantly in the back of my skull.

Nervously, I scan for golden eyes in alleyways and windows. Nothing following.

I approach the canals, and I glance into the water's reflections. My subconscious searches for it, expecting to see it. Thankfully, I don’t.

I take a moment, forcing deep breaths. For an instant, doubt and hope wrestle inside me.

I fumble for my phone with a shaking hand, determined to inform my boss that I won’t make it to work. My mind races for an excuse, embarrassment tightening my gut, since I know saying being haunted by a dream creature won’t suffice.

Crossing the canal bridge, I enter the warrens where I live. They are now alive with morning routines.

Revving engines mix with the absent sloshing below. A cool breeze flows through the bridge’s balusters. I huddle in; the lingering warmth has left me now, so the chill wears on me.

​I make it three houses in before I see it in the reflection of someone’s front window. It’s tall form only metres from mine.

My body moves before I properly think, snapping into motion like something inside me has already decided the outcome. I’m vaguely aware that I’m screaming.

People on their way to work turn to stare.

I don’t slow down or stop screaming.

The mental picture of its face fuels my run. That void of a mouth. Those golden eyes, which fix on me with a pressure that feels physical.

My headache evolves, sharper and more invasive.

The entity that hunts me appears again in a car window as I pass. It’s closer than it should be.

My stomach drops, my voice cuts off, and I cut sharply right into a narrow walkway between houses.

String lights stretch overhead between fences. I duck instinctively, nearly catching my head as I run beneath them.

My breathing is already tearing at my chest, every inhale shallow and ragged, as if the air isn't reaching where it should.

Lactic acid is starting to burn within.

The path narrows into a lane. The sun disappears behind clouds. The world dulls. Colour flattens, as if someone is slowly draining it of detail.

There is an alcove to my left, filled with dumped boxes and rubbish. I drop in behind them, forcing myself into as small a ball as possible, while trying to steady my breathing through my nose.

It does not work.

Instead, my nose wrinkles at whatever is in the bag next to me.

Then I hear it. The sound I’ll now likely never forget.

It’s gross breathing. Close. Laboured. Wrong in its rhythm, as if something is imitating the shape of breath without understanding it. Underneath it, a faint static hum seeps through the air, low and constant, like a signal trying to push through interference.

My hands go to my ears.

It changes nothing; I can still hear it.

I push out of the alcove and run again.

The lane opens into a narrow residential street in the middle of the Warrens.

Morning life continues around me, people stepping out of houses, cars idling, routine resuming in a world that feels completely unaware of what is wrong.

They look at me as I run past.

I do not stop.

My hands are crushing my ears trying to keep the noise out as I constantly scan everything. Windows, reflections, parked cars, shadows between fences.

Attention torn, my foot catches the gutter, and the world tilts violently. I hit the ground hard, air knocked from my lungs in a single brutal shock.

It barely registers compared to the urgency of getting home. I rise quickly, wheezing, vision unstable at the edges.

I take a moment to look around. I look toward the central village fountain without meaning to.

Just keep moving!

The water is still, perfectly ordinary, no golden eyes in its reflection.

But the statue above it is not.

At first, it feels like a mistake in perception, something my overworked mind is trying to impose meaning where there is none. Then the shape resolves clearly.

Perched where nothing should be, partially hidden by angle and structure, it is there.

Watching.

Not approaching, not hiding, but waiting for my next move.

How it got there to observe me, I don’t know. Speed doesn't seem apparent to it.

Its head shifts slightly as it becomes aware of me noticing it.

Something in me fractures at that.

“Are you okay, mister?”

The voice cuts through everything.

An elderly man has stood from a nearby seat, concern on his face, trying to understand what he is seeing.

I cannot answer him. There is no space left for anything but escape.

It is closer now. The space between its movements feels unreliable, as if something is compressing time around it.

I shout in alarm, startling the concerned man.

I run.

I can sense its presence behind me, its inevitability.

My view of the street tightens as I reach my building. Everything narrows to a single point of focus. Door. Inside. Safety that may or may not exist.

The corner of my eyes catches the downstairs neighbour watching me from their front window, as I frantically rush to my door.

My hand goes into my pocket for keys.

They slip.

Metal clatters onto the pavement.

I drop to my knees immediately, grabbing them, hands shaking too hard to coordinate properly. My breathing is uneven, broken into fragments that do not satisfy anything.

I fumble the key toward the lock.

It does not align.

Behind me, something shifts again. Not louder. Not faster. Just closer in a way I cannot measure.

My fingers finally find the lock, and I twist.

The mechanism catches.

I feel the heat now, caressing me as my body squirms in response. My mind ignites with it, carving flesh behind my eyes.

My headache is taking no mercy.

The lock clicks.

The door starts to open, and I fall through.

I turn to face my fate, and nothing is there.

I slam the door without a second thought. Locking it.