Darkness.
Say it's just the absence of light. Others call it a void, a place no photon dares trespass. But I've learnt the truth in the last blood-soaked hours: darkness is never empty. It is crowded with teeth, crowded with whispers, crowded with the wet, punching sound a heart makes when it is ripped still-beating through a cage of ribs. It is a living thing that slithers behind the eyes and rearranges every quiet thought into screaming furniture. My life used to be boring—gloriously, blessedly, numbingly boring—and i would trade every remaining second of his existence to feel that boredom again. Because right now, inside the familiar walls of the Harlan house, we are all on their knees before fear. And fear, I now know better than anyone, is the only real darkness.
The entity stirs at the edge of his mind, a velvet chuckle only he can hear.
Sleep, little vessel. The night and I are the same now.
Kayden jerks awake on the couch, lungs on fire, heart slamming against bone like it wants out. Sweat has fused his hoodie to his skin. He shoves his glasses up, scans the room in a panic—and freezes.
Familiar wallpaper. Family photos. Home.
"Kayden?"
Sasha drops the dish towel and crashes into him, arms locking so tight he feels her ribs shake. Lavender soap and raw terror. "I thought I lost you forever."
"Mom…" The word comes out cracked. The hug is too warm, too real to be another of the entity's tricks.
"You're awake," Emily whispers from the hallway shadows. Jake sits rigid in the recliner, arms folded like armor. Maya hovers beside him, hugging a pillow, eyes swollen.
Sheriff Good stands at the front window, a black silhouette against the bruised violet sky. He doesn't turn. "The darkness happened," he says, voice like gravel soaked in whiskey.
Kayden pulls away just enough to look outside. The street is dead. Cars abandoned mid-flight, doors hanging open. A child's bicycle lies in the road, training wheels spinning lazily though there is no wind. The eclipse has swallowed every star; only a sickly amethyst glow bleeds across rooftops.
Good lifts his old corncob pipe and packs it slowly. The sweet tobacco scent rises like a ghost.
"Found your kids collapsed in the car" good mutters. "I dragged you in. Rest of the world's gone while we were busy surviving."
"It's not a dream," Maya says, voice small. "I keep waiting to wake up."
Good strikes a match. Flame flares, carving tombs under his eyes. "Every phone, every radio, every satellite—dead. Ravenswood's been cut out of reality and dropped into something else's stomach."
"We have to call someone," Maya pleads.
Good exhales smoke. "There is no one left to call, darlin'. My deputies are either dead or running. Probably both."
Silence drops like a blade.
"So what do we do?" Kayden asks.
Good meets his gaze—cold, ancient, hollow. "We wait."
Jake explodes out of the chair. "Wait? My families out there—"
"If they were outside when the sky broke," Good cuts in, calm as a grave, "they're already food. You want the same fate? Door's open."
Jake's fists tremble. "You're the goddamn sheriff!"
Good steps forward. The room temperature plummets. "Answer me straight, boy. Do you want to die tonight?"
Jake's mouth works soundlessly.
"I said," Good repeats, softer, deadlier, "do you want to die?"
Jake swallows. "No."
Good nods once, turns toward the kitchen. Sasha stands. "He's right—we need to find their families—"
"We will," Good says. "But right now the smart play is stay inside, lights low, mouths shut. Hundreds of those things own the streets. One wrong noise and they'll pour through the walls like smoke." He adjusts his hat, glances at Kayden. "I'm going scouting. Might bring back survivors. Might not come back." His eyes linger on Kayden a second longer, as if he senses something off but can't name it. "Keep them breathing, kid."
The door shuts. The house feels suddenly smaller.
Sasha forces trembling hands to brew chamomile. The cups rattle like teeth when she hands them out.
"Thank you, Mrs. Harlan," Emily whispers, cradling the mug with both palms as if it's the last warmth on earth.
"In times like this," Sasha answers, voice fracturing, "we hold on to each other. That's all that's left."
Jake drifts to the window. Kayden follows.
"You okay?" Kayden asks, touching his shoulder.
Jake's reflection is a skull in the glass. "I watched something wear Sarah's face like a Halloween mask, Kayden. Define okay."
A shape—too long, too jointed—skitters across a distant roof, vanishing behind a chimney.
"Why us?" Jake mutters. "Did we piss off the universe?"
"No," Kayden says. Inside his head the entity purrs, amused. "Sometimes the universe just… opens its mouth."
Jake's knuckles whiten. "I'm going to make them bleed light. Every single one."
Kayden forces half a smile. "Together."
They bump fists—two scared kids swearing vengeance against an endless night.
Across town – Mayor's mansion
The war room is packed shoulder-to-shoulder with council members, reporters, and the last three deputies who still have pulses. Lanterns throw frantic shadows on walnut panels.
"We evacuate at first light!" Councilwoman Reyes insists.
"With what roads?" the fire chief barks. "They're parking lots of burning metal and meat."
"National Guard—"
"Phones are dead, Reyes. We don't exist to the outside world anymore."
"SILENCE!" Mayor O'Mally B. Walters rises. The room obeys instantly.
He lets the quiet stretch until it hurts.
"Ravenswood has been surgically removed from every map, every satellite, every prayer. No help is coming tonight. Maybe not ever. Panic is the second invasion, and I will shoot it myself if I have to." His voice is iron wrapped in silk. "We barricade. We ration. We protect the children. We survive until the sun remembers its job." He leans to his secretary. "Find Sheriff Good. Tell him the clock is ticking."
Back at the Harlan house – 2:17 a.m.
They sit in a candlelit circle on the living-room floor. Sasha has finally collapsed on the couch, shotgun across her lap like a sleeping cat.
Emily hugs her knees. "Do you think… anyone else is left?"
"Some," Kayden lies. He has to believe it.
Maya rocks. "I keep hearing my little brother. Same voice from the car. But he was at daycare…"
"It's them," Jake growls. "They steal voices the way they steal faces."
A human scream slices the night two blocks away—abruptly silenced. The candles bow as if the house inhaled.
The entity uncoils inside Kayden's skull, lazy and warm.
Listen to them, little vessel. So many heartbeats, so little time. Shall I teach you their songs?
Kayden grinds his teeth until his jaw throbs. Not. Yours.
Jake catches the flinch. "It's hard to believe right?"
Kayden nods once.
Emily's fingers find Kayden's, cold but steady. "We're still here, Kayden. That still counts."
Kayden looks around the trembling circle: four teenagers, one exhausted mother, one empty chair waiting for a sheriff who might never return. Outside, claws scrape softly across the roof tiles like curious fingers testing the wood.
The entity laughs, a sound like silk ripping.
Dawn is a fairy tale, darling. This night is forever. And you are already mine.
Kayden squeezes Emily's hand harder than he means to. Not yet.
Somewhere in the dark, a child sobs behind a locked door. Somewhere the mayor counts bullets and pretends he is still in control. Somewhere claws click across asphalt, patient as time.
And in the Harlan living room, five hearts hammer in terrified unison, waiting for whatever chooses to walk next out of the long, long night.
This is only the begining.