He stepped forward quickly, gazing down at the swaddled infant, his eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, he reached into the pocket of his worn coat, pulled out a small object, examined it in his palm, and quietly slipped it into the baby's blanket.

  He looked once more at the child’s sleeping face, then gave a nod to the others—his silent cue to take the baby away.

  The door closed with a soft click.

  The woman, still weak and pale, stared at his retreating back and asked, her voice trembling, “Where’s the baby?”

  He lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply. The thick smoke blurred his expression. Then, coldly and firmly, he said two words:

  “She’s gone.”

  The woman’s pupils contracted sharply. “No—you’re lying! I heard her crying just now!”

  His eyes flickered with impatience. Flicking the ash from his cigarette, his voice turned cold and clipped. “She wasn’t healthy. I took care of it.”

  The woman tried to sit up, but her body was too weak to support her. Eyes wide, tears flooding down her cheeks, she cried out hoarsely, “No! You can’t! Give her back to me—!”

  Her fingers grasped at his coat, catching the edge. But he simply looked at her with frozen detachment, eyes heavy with something ancient and unspeakable.

  Her cries faded into broken sobs. Her strength drained away. Eventually, her head fell to the side—and she passed out.

  Silence fell like a shroud over the room.

  And then, something shifted.

  A shadow rippled across the wall.

  A pair of enormous fox eyes opened in the darkness, glowing with a quiet, ancient light. The fox watched everything—unseen,silent,eternal.

  —

  The wind howled like a blade across the black night, slashing into Nora’s collar with sharp, icy fingers. She walked alone down the desolate highway. Her red coat snapped in the gusts like a flag on the edge of tearing.

  There were no stars overhead. Just thick, low-hanging clouds pressing down like a prophecy. The world felt suspended in anticipation. The only sound was her footsteps—soft and hollow on the asphalt, like echoes in a void.

  Then, from somewhere deep in the wind, came a growl.

  Low. Ragged. Distant—and yet terrifyingly near.

  Nora froze. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

  A light.

  Far ahead, a beam tore through the black. An old-fashioned car crept toward her. But something was wrong with it. It shimmered with an unnatural glow. As it neared, she saw it clearly: on the roof, a furry tail swayed gently in the wind—like it was alive.

  Her stomach turned. She ducked her head and sped up, trying to pretend she hadn’t seen it.

  But the engine went silent.

  The car had stopped. Right beside her.

  Her blood ran cold.

  She knew she shouldn’t look—but something forced her. Her neck moved against her will, her eyes locking on the window.

  The glass rolled down—slowly.

  Fog crept across the edges. A shadowy figure appeared behind the glass. She couldn’t make out a face—but it was watching her. She felt it. That gaze was like a hand, cold and skeletal, crawling up her spine.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  She turned and ran.

  Breath heaving. Heart pounding. Was that her heartbeat—or footsteps behind her? She didn’t know. She just ran.

  And then, the world cracked.

  A thunderous rumble shook the ground. The road split beneath her feet—black, jagged fissures stretching wide. She tried to turn, but her legs wouldn’t move. Invisible chains bound her.

  Then—freefall.

  The ground vanished.

  She plunged into darkness, screaming as the void swallowed her whole.

  Darkness devoured everything.

  In the stillness of early morning, Nora jolted awake. Her heart was pounding, breath ragged and sharp in the quiet room.

  Just a dream, she realized gradually. Only a dream.

  The dim green digits of her digital clock blinked faintly — still an hour before she had to get up.

  She sat up slowly, her entire body drenched in cold sweat. The room was utterly silent, except for the echo of her own frantic breathing. She reached for the small fox figurine on her nightstand. Her fingers grazed the smooth silicone, its familiar texture soothing the panic in her chest.

  She stared at it, her throat tightening slightly. Without thinking, she began biting her already short fingernails.

  That little fox… it was a gift from her mother when she was very young.

  But now, her mother’s voice echoed in her memory:“Starting today, I’m taking away your phone and your laptop. You need to focus on your studies until I see straight A’s.”

  Nora winced. How she wished those words had only been part of the dream. But they weren’t.

  She inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself, but the fragments of the dream still clawed at her. That car… that tail… that shadowy figure…

  Who was it?And more terrifying—was it really just a dream? Why had it felt so real?

  From the kitchen came a dull clanging sound. Her mother, Elaine, was trying to shake out stubborn coffee grounds from the edge of the trash can. No matter how hard she banged, the damp granules clung to the corners like silent defiance.

  Her brows furrowed. A few silver strands stood out starkly in the morning light. Glancing at the wall clock, she noted that Nora’s wake-up time was only minutes away. She didn’t want to yell at the last second—it only made her angrier—so she took a deep breath and called out loudly:

  “Nora! We talked about this yesterday, didn’t we? You don’t want to lose your screen time and social privileges, do you?”

  Her tone was level, but laced with undeniable threat. This kind of exchange played out almost daily. Nora couldn’t even remember the last time she woke up without being shouted at.

  Of course she didn’t want to lose her few freedoms. But she knew her mother had a countdown system. She still had a few more minutes.

  "Alex—4—3—Elaine!" her mother started the familiar sequence. Right on cue, before she got to “1,” Nora mumbled, “Okay, Mom…”

  Click, click.Footsteps shuffled in the hallway. Nora finally appeared, her clothes neat, hair brushed. But something in her presence felt... off. Like she hadn’t fully prepared for the day, nor fully given up on it either — a drifting sort of detachment.

  Elaine looked at her. Her fingers curled slightly, the urge to give her daughter a hug rising in her chest.

  But she couldn’t.

  She was already in “task mode” — reminders about breakfast, homework, extra language class, no more tardiness. If she gave her a hug now, she’d relax. She’d think it was okay to slack off. And the thing Elaine feared most was Nora becoming soft... or left behind.

  So she held back.

  During breakfast, Nora barely registered the clinks of utensils, the pouring of milk, the rustle of newspaper pages — all of it merged into background noise, drowning out her mother’s every word.

  She knew her assignments were late.She knew she needed to learn an extra language.She knew all of it.

  But she didn’t want to face it all so early. Not when the weight of the real world was heavier than her nightmare.

  As she gnawed on her toast, her eyes idly scanned the kitchen — and stopped.

  A towel.

  A pattern on the towel — dark and curved — looked exactly like a tail. Curled up on the countertop, motionless.

  She froze.

  It was the same tail from her dream. From the car. The shape, the color — identical.

  Her fingers instinctively rose to her lips, biting her nail to conceal her panic. Her mind spiraled.That tail… it had appeared last night, in the rain, on that eerie car.So why was it here?

  A cold shiver climbed her spine. Her breath quickened.

  “Nora! What are you spacing out for? Put on your shoes — we’re going!”

  Elaine’s voice snapped her out of it. Nora opened her mouth — she wanted to tell her mother everything, the dream, the shadow, the tail—

  But the words never came out.Would she care? Would she even believe her?

  On the school bus, Nora sat stiffly. Her heart thudded violently. That shadow in the car… something about it tugged at a buried memory. A face, just barely visible, then gone again.

  Meanwhile, in another city’s morning light, Lucas stood in front of the bathroom mirror, shirtless, carefully trimming the newly grown hairs on his chin.

  The glass fogged up from his closeness, but he didn’t bother wiping it. Today, something more important was on his mind.

  Bang, bang!“Are you done yet? My comb’s in there! I’m gonna be late!”

  It was his sister, Lily, yelling through the door.

  Lucas sighed, irritated. “Almost! Just one more second!”

  Right then, his hand slipped — and the razor nicked his cheek.

  “Ow!”