C R E A T U R E

Nora’s Point of View

The first time I changed someone’s death, it felt like a bad tarot joke.

Rain tapped against the café windows in a tired, half-hearted rhythm. Streetlights blurred into soft halos. The Friday crowd had thinned to a few lingering students and a couple arguing softly in the back.

I sat in my usual corner booth, my tarot deck resting between my palms. The cards were old. Worn. Familiar in a way nothing else in my life had ever been. I’d owned them since I was sixteen, one of the only things that didn’t make me feel like an accident.

Tonight, though, they felt heavy.

“You’re Nora, right? The tarot girl?”

I looked up.

Mid-thirties. Office clothes. Loosened tie. Expensive watch. Eyes red from exhaustion. He radiated the kind of panic a person only has after running out of answers.

“That’s me,” I said. “Here for a reading, or to tell me I’m summoning demons?”

He gave a weak laugh and slid into the seat across from me. “Reading. My coworker said you’re creepy accurate.”

I studied him. I had seen skeptics, believers, bored teens killing time. But the ones who really needed the cards always carried storms in their eyes.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

He hesitated. “Eli.”

“Alright, Eli. Think of your question, but don’t say it out loud. Just touch the deck.”

He pressed his fingertips to the cards.

The air shifted.

For a heartbeat, the café disappeared. No tables. No lights. Only the blinding flare of headlights and the screech of twisting metal. Tires screaming. Eli shouting. A steering wheel jerking out of his hands.

Then everything went black.

I gasped and snapped back into the café.

“Sorry,” I whispered. “Static shock.”

Eli frowned. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” I steadied my shaking hands on the deck. I had never had a vision before. The cards had always spoken in symbols, not scenes that swallowed me whole. Whatever this was, it was new. And terrifying.

“Let’s see what the cards say,” I murmured.

I cut the deck and laid out three cards.

The first flipped easily.

The Tower. Lightning. Collapse. Sudden disaster.

My stomach tightened.

The second card showed the Nine of Swords. Sleepless nights. Guilt. Pressure that breaks a person from the inside.

My hand hovered over the final card. I already knew what it would be.

I flipped it.

Death.

Usually a symbol of change.

But not tonight.

Because behind Eli’s shoulder, a tall shadow stood watching him. Too still to be human. Too cold.

I blinked, and it vanished.

“Is that bad?” Eli asked.

“How often do you drive at night?” I asked.

“Every day. Why?”

“You’re exhausted,” I said, tapping the Nine of Swords. “You’re not sleeping. You’re distracted.” I motioned to The Tower. “One second is all it takes.”

His face drained. “Are you saying I’m going to crash?”

“I’m saying if you keep living like this, something will break. It might be you. It might be your car.”

He stared at the cards. “I asked about my job. My promotion.”

“The cards don’t always answer what you want,” I said quietly. “They answer what you need.”

He rubbed his face. “My wife says I push myself too hard. Says I’m killing myself for people who don’t even know my name.”

“Maybe you should listen to her,” I said gently.

His expression softened. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. If someone finds me, they find me for a reason.”

He blinked at that, then nodded. “Thank you.”

He left, disappearing into the rain.

The café felt too quiet.

I gathered my cards, but as I lifted the deck, one card slid free.

Death. Again.

My skin prickled.

“Okay,” I whispered. “That isn’t creepy at all.”

I reached for it.

A vision slammed into me.

Headlights. Screeching tires. Eli gripping the wheel, wide awake now. His foot hitting the brake early. A hard swerve. A groan of metal, but no impact.

He lived.

He lived because he was ready.

Because I warned him.

The vision snapped away.

“What in the world,” I breathed.

The card felt warm in my hand.

I had warned him, and something had changed.

A chill crawled along my spine. Something unseen pressed into the room, ancient and patient.

“We close in ten,” the barista called.

I blinked. “Thanks.”

I packed up and stepped into the rain. The city smelled like wet pavement and exhaustion.

I replayed the vision as I walked. The crash that didn’t happen. Eli gripping the wheel. Making a different choice.

My warning mattered.

By the time I reached my apartment, my hands were shaking.

Inside, I dropped my bag and stared at my deck.

“Let me confirm I’m not losing it,” I muttered.

I sat, shuffled, and asked a single question.

“Did I change anything?”

I laid down one card.

Death.

But the sun behind the skeletal rider looked brighter. Warmer.

“What are you trying to tell me?” I whispered.

The lights flickered.

Cold swept the room. My breath fogged in the air.

I froze.

A presence gathered behind me. Heavy. Ancient. Pressing into the air like a second shadow.

A voice slid through my bones without touching my ears.

“You were not supposed to do that.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. Slowly, I turned.

Nothing. Only darkness.

The cold faded, but my nerves refused to settle.

“That is enough horror for one night,” I muttered.

I looked down.

The Death card now sat in the exact center of the table.

I had not put it there.

The ink shifted.

The word DEATH thinned and dissolved like smoke. New letters formed, slow and deliberate, as if written by an unseen hand.

One word remained.

NORA.

My breath caught.

The card wasn’t warning me.

It was identifying me.

Cold attention filled the room, sharp and ancient. Something old had noticed me. Something that did not make mistakes.

Somewhere far beyond my tiny apartment, a force stirred. It watched. It waited.

I didn’t know it yet. I couldn’t sense it. Not then.

But he did.

For the first time in his endless existence,

Death had a problem.

And that problem was me.