Chapter 4: The Shadow Follows

The library attendant with his trolley passed exactly between Siron and the figure, breaking the terrifying eye contact. For a few seconds that felt like an eternity, Siron's view was blocked by the stacks of books and the whistling attendant's back.

He didn't think twice. A surge of wild adrenaline pushed him to move. He scrambled backward, then turned and bolted, leaving the book about Morat lying on the floor. He didn't dare look behind him. His footsteps hammered on the silent marble floor, echoing his panic.

He fled down the corridor, burst through the library exit, and kept running until he was outside the campus building. The blazing midday sun offered no warmth at all. His chest was tight; every shadow cast by the trees seemed ready to reach out and choke him.

He is real. It wasn't a hallucination.

The thought pulsed in his head, wiping away all lingering doubt. Morat was there. In the library. Only a few meters away.

The entire journey back to the apartment, Siron felt that every person he passed could be Morat in disguise. Every whisper of the wind sounded like his name being called. He constantly looked back, ensuring nothing was following him. But the feeling never went away, the feeling that he was being watched, that something dark and invisible was treading in his wake.

Upon arriving at his apartment, he locked the door with three turns and leaned his weak body against the door. His breathing was ragged. The silence inside the apartment felt more terrifying than the crowds outside.

"He's gone," he whispered to himself, trying to be convincing. "He can't get in here."

But could he? What could stop a creature like that?

The afternoon was spent uselessly. Siron couldn't study. Couldn't watch TV. Every little noise, a floor creak, the refrigerator's hum, made him jump. He sat on the sofa, hugging a pillow, his eyes constantly scanning the room, especially the bathroom door.

As night fell, the fear intensified. He turned on all the lights, but the small shadows in the corners of the room seemed to come alive and move. He decided to take a hot shower, hoping to calm his taut nerves.

He stood at the sink, brushing his teeth with a trembling hand. His eyes were fixed on the mirror in front of him, alert to any strange movement. Nothing. Just his weary face.

Then, without warning, the bathroom light flickered once, twice, then went out.

Siron let out a small shriek, his mouth full of toothpaste foam. He froze in the darkness, his heart pounding.

Just a power outage.

He fumbled along the wall, searching for the switch. As his fingers found it, the light suddenly flickered back on.

And in the mirror, reflected was not just his pale face.

Behind him, in front of the closed bathroom door, stood a dense black shadow figure. Fainter than at the library, but undoubtedly there. The figure was silent, staring at him without eyes, its presence filling the small room with a biting cold.

Siron turned around so fast he almost fell.

Nothing was there. The bathroom door was closed. The room was empty.

He turned back to the mirror, panting heavily.

The shadow was still in the mirror, still standing in the exact same spot, as if waiting.

It was not a hallucination. It was here, with him, inside the apartment.

He felt a frantic urge to get out, to run, to get away. Without thinking, he wiped his mouth roughly, burst out of the bathroom, and rushed to grab his jacket and keys.

He had to get out of here. Now.

He yanked open his apartment door and sped into the brightly lit corridor. He repeatedly jabbed the elevator button, feeling a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, as if the shadow was breathing behind him.

The elevator opened. Empty. He stepped in and frantically pressed the lobby button. As the elevator door began to close, his wild eyes glanced down the corridor toward his apartment.

There, from behind the corner of the wall, a long black shadow slowly crawled across the corridor floor, lengthening and approaching the elevator.

The elevator door closed completely before he could see the source of the shadow.

Siron leaned against the elevator wall, his knees weak. He was almost there. He would go to a 24-hour café, where there were people and light.

The elevator descended smoothly. Floor 5… 4… 3…

Suddenly, the elevator stopped abruptly on the 3rd floor. Not the lobby floor.

The elevator door opened slowly.

The 3rd-floor corridor was dark and silent. No one was there.

Siron stared blankly into the dark corridor, his heart hammering.

Then, from within the corridor's darkness, came the sound of clear, rhythmic footsteps, approaching the elevator.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Like someone casually walking closer.

He repeatedly pressed the door-close button, but the elevator door moved slowly, too slowly.

The footsteps grew closer, louder.

Siron pressed himself back against the rear wall of the elevator, his eyes wide open, fixed on the open door.

The footsteps were now right in front of the elevator.

And as the elevator door finally began to close, something long, black, and pointed, like the tip of a horn, briefly appeared from behind the wall, visible for a moment before the door…