Chapter 6: The First Night’s Scratching

Siron’s scream echoed in the silent apartment, but no one came. No neighbor knocked on the door, no shouts in reply. It was as if his apartment had been cut off from the outside world, becoming an isolated box inhabited only by him and... that thing.

He squeezed his eyes shut, not daring to look toward the window or the corner of the room again. His body trembled uncontrollably. "It's not real, it's not real," he mumbled repeatedly, a mantra whose power was quickly weakening.

Then, the sound started.

Ckk... ckk... ckk...

A scratching sound. Soft, but distinct. Like long nails being scraped across a wooden surface. It was coming from somewhere inside the apartment.

Siron opened his eyes, his breath held tight. He listened carefully.

Ckk... ckk... ckk...

It was coming from the direction of... the wall next to his bedroom. Exactly across from where he had seen the red dots earlier.

He scrambled away from the kitchen, into the living room, hiding behind the sofa. He pulled the blanket lying there over him, trying to make himself as small as possible.

The scratching stopped.

A piercing silence returned. Siron waited, his heart thundering in his ears.

Then, the sound started again. But this time, it was closer.

Ckk... ckk... ckk...

It was as if the source of the sound had moved. Now it seemed to come from the living room wall, near the main entrance.

He peeked out from behind the sofa. The corridor leading to the entrance was dark. He couldn't see anything.

Ckk... ckk... ckk...

The sound grew louder, more enthusiastic. As if the scratcher was enjoying his fear.

"Go away," Siron whispered, his voice hoarse. "Please, go away."

The scratching stopped again. Then, something else was heard. A dragging sound. Slow. Like something big and heavy being pulled across the wooden floor in the corridor. It was approaching.

Siron closed his eyes again, trying to hide himself in the darkness behind his eyelids. He prayed for Kit to arrive soon. He prayed this was all just a nightmare.

The dragging stopped right at the edge of the sofa. He could feel its presence. Cold. The smell of earth and old iron filled his nostrils.

He dared not move. Dared not breathe.

Then, a whisper so close, as if the source was leaning in next to his ear, was heard. The voice was gravelly, like stones grinding against each other.

"Don't be afraid... little... Sian..."

Siron suppressed a sob. He felt something cold touch his hair. Like a gentle, but chilling, stroke. It was the same touch as on his nape, but this time filled with a different intention. Not just recognition, but a kind of... misleading comfort.

The strange addiction he had felt earlier returned with force. Behind the paralyzing fear, a part of him responded to the touch, craving any contact, even from this horrifying source. He felt alone, deeply alone, and this presence, though terrifying, was the only thing that felt real.

But then, he remembered Kit. His friend was on his way here. If Kit came, would he be safe? Or would Morat hurt him?

With a courage that suddenly sprang from desperation, Siron opened his eyes and turned around.

Nothing was there.

Just the empty living room and the dark corridor.

He stood up, his body still shaking. He had to make sure the door was locked. He had to wait for Kit there.

He walked slowly toward the door, his eyes alert. He reached for the doorknob, ensuring it was locked. Yes, still locked.

Then, he saw something under the door.

A black shadow blocked the small gap beneath the door, cutting off the light from the outer corridor. It was as if someone, or something, was standing right across the door, waiting.

But Kit hadn't arrived yet. Or... was it Kit?

He bent down, intending to peek through the keyhole.

Before his eye reached the keyhole, something from the other side beat him to it.

An eye, dark red like dried blood, moved closer and stared directly at him through the keyhole from the outside.