Rain drummed against the windowpane, a soft, insistent rhythm that matched the thrum of my heart. I had always liked rainy nights—they made the city feel quieter, intimate, like it was keeping a secret just for me. But tonight, the rain sounded different. Sharper. Louder, like it was warning me.
I shouldn't have looked up. But curiosity is a trait that comes with consequences.
There, in the reflection of the window, I saw him.
He was standing behind me, perfectly still. Not in the reflection of the room behind me—he wasn't really there. Yet I felt the chill of his presence, the brush of cold air that no heater could explain. My pulse spiked.
I spun around. Nothing. Just the familiar clutter of my apartment: a stack of books tipped over by the wind, a coffee mug still half-full, the soft glow of my desk lamp. I laughed nervously, trying to convince myself it was a trick of the light, a ghost of imagination, nothing more.
But then I felt it.
A whisper. Not a sound, but a sensation that coiled around my spine. A name, spoken as if it were meant only for me:
"I've been waiting for you."
My breath caught.
I was used to seeing ghosts—minor, fleeting spirits that wandered city streets, lost souls occasionally brushing past me. But they never spoke. And never like this. Not like… him.
I froze, my hands gripping the edge of my desk. My instincts screamed to leave the apartment, run into the night, lock myself in, call someone—anyone. But something deeper than fear rooted me in place.
Something magnetic.
The air grew colder. My fingers tingled as the lamp flickered. Then, slowly, impossibly, he appeared. Not fully solid, not fully vaporous, but somewhere in between—a man suspended in the delicate boundary between life and death. His eyes—piercing, impossibly blue—met mine.
And I felt it.
A pull, a draw, a pull that had nothing to do with reason. My rational brain shouted at me to flee. My chest whispered a forbidden, dangerous truth: I wanted to stay.
He stepped closer, not touching, but the space between us seemed to hum.
"Don't be afraid," he said. His voice was soft, melodic, yet carried the weight of centuries—or maybe just the pain of a life cut short. "I won't hurt you."
I swallowed. He won't hurt me. The thought seemed naïve, reckless, foolish. And yet… I couldn't move. My eyes traced every feature of his face—the sharp jaw, the curve of his lips, the shadow of grief behind his gaze. It was intoxicating.
"Who… are you?" I whispered, my voice trembling.
He tilted his head slightly, a ghostly smirk tugging at his lips. "I could ask you the same thing. But we don't have time for introductions… not yet."
Before I could respond, the lights flickered violently, and a cold wind tore through the room. Papers scattered, curtains fluttered, and I heard it—a soft, sinister laughter echoing from somewhere I couldn't see.
"They know you see me," he said, urgency in his tone now. "And they don't like it."
A chill ran through me so deep it felt like it had seeped into my bones. I wanted to scream. I wanted to bolt. But I also wanted to ask—who are they? Who was this mysterious spirit, and why did he care so much about my safety?
And before I could formulate a coherent thought, he extended a hand—not quite human, not quite ethereal—toward me. "Trust me," he said. "If you want to live… follow me."
I hesitated, my mind a storm of fear and disbelief. But then I felt it again: the pull, undeniable and almost painful. My heart betrayed my instincts, quickening with a dangerous curiosity I couldn't resist.
I reached for his hand.
The moment my fingers brushed his, the room shifted. The walls seemed to breathe, the air thickened, and suddenly, I wasn't just in my apartment. I was somewhere else entirely—dark, misted streets lined with flickering lanterns, shadows stretching in impossible directions. A city that existed only in the space between reality and dreams.
"Welcome," he said, voice low, carrying a warmth that contrasted the icy mist surrounding us. "I've been waiting for you for a long time."
My stomach twisted with anticipation and fear. For me?
"Why… why me?" I whispered.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, his eyes softened, almost painfully. "Because you can see me… and because you might be the only one who can stop what's coming."
A cold realization dawned on me. This wasn't just about a ghost with unfinished business. This wasn't just about a connection that defied life and death.
This was danger.
And it was headed straight for me.
The sound of footsteps—not mine, not his—echoed behind us. But when I turned, there was nothing. Only the mist, curling and shifting like living smoke. My breath caught. My heart raced.
"You're next," he murmured, almost too softly to hear. "But I promise… I'll protect you. Even if it costs me everything."
And in that instant, despite fear, despite the impossibility, despite everything I knew about ghosts and murder and danger… I believed him.
And that was when I realized: my life had just become terrifyingly, irrevocably entangled with his.
Cliffhanger for Chapter :
A shadow moves closer in the mist, whispering her name… but is it friend or foe? And the ghost? He vanishes suddenly, leaving only the faint warmth of his hand—and the cold certainty that danger is already hunting her.