Chapter Text
Anawin didn’t hesitate. He bolted out of there, the old man’s words still echoing in his head, sharp and insistent. "Burn the book." It felt like the key, the only solution. Maybe, just maybe, if it was burned, it would be gone for good. He didn’t know why the thought comforted him, but it did. He ran toward the bus stop, hoping to catch some form of escape, but the street was empty, the bus nowhere in sight. Without a second thought, he flagged down a cab.
He practically jumped into the backseat, his words spilling out hurriedly, almost frantic. "Take me to my address. And drive faster." He didn’t even look at the driver as he spoke, his hands already fidgeting, his nails digging into his fingers. His eyes were glued to the window, his breath coming too fast, his heart hammering in his chest. Every second felt like a countdown.
Leaning closer to the glass, trying to focus, he caught a glimpse of something in the reflection,a figure seated next to him. His blood ran cold. For a split second, he froze, his breath caught in his throat. His lips parted, a soft gasp escaping him as goosebumps spread like wildfire across his skin. He didn’t dare turn his head to look.
“The owner of the book will attach themselves to whoever holds it.” The old man’s words rang louder in his mind, piercing the silence of the cab like a warning bell. His stomach twisted into a knot. No, no, no.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Anawin muttered under his breath, his hands trembling as he squeezed his eyes shut. He clung to the hope that the cab would reach its destination soon,too soon, before he lost his nerve completely.
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When the cab came to a stop outside the apartment, Anawin scrambled to fish cash from his pocket, the movements rushed, his hands still trembling. He paid the driver quickly, barely glancing at him before throwing open the door. He didn’t want to be in that space for another second. He bolted out of the cab and ran, the weight of the book still heavy in his mind.
His unit came into view, and his fingers shook as he reached for the doorknob. It was locked. Strange, he thought. He was sure he hadn’t locked it when he left this morning. His gaze flicked nervously behind him, as if expecting someone to be right on his tail. He dug through his bag for the key, his heart racing with each passing second. It was always moments like this, when everything felt too urgent, that the keys were buried the deepest.
In frustration, he dumped the entire contents of his bag onto the floor of the hallway, his eyes scanning for the keys. Finally, he grabbed them, shoving them into the keyhole. The door creaked open, and he rushed inside, heading straight for the cupboard. His fingers were quick, pushing aside his folded clothes, until he saw it,just where it had been that morning.
The book.
Anawin inhaled deeply, taking it in his hands. He stared at it for a long moment, the weight of it pulling at him. Then, without another thought, he turned and sprinted toward the kitchen. His heart pounded in his chest as he fumbled through the drawers, searching for the lighter. He grabbed it, his hand shaking, and bolted out of the room.
The lift ride felt like it took forever. His legs tapped anxiously on the floor, the silence in the elevator suffocating. Then, the lights flickered. The eerie feeling crept over him, an unsettling chill running up his spine. The doors opened a few seconds later, and Anawin rushed out, his feet hitting the ground with urgency.
The book felt heavy in his hands, the weight of what he was about to do pressing down on him. He ran toward the road, then veered into a narrow alley, unsure why he was going in that direction. His mind was racing, but his feet kept moving. Without thinking, he threw the book onto the ground. As it landed, the streetlight nearby flickered, the soft hum of electricity matching the uneasy tension in the air.
And then,whistling. That same eerie sound he couldn’t escape. His blood ran cold.
"Shit," he muttered, his eyes darting around. The street looked familiar, too familiar. It was like the place from his dreams, the one he couldn’t shake. Sweat started to bead on his forehead as he stared, panic beginning to claw at his chest. He pulled the lighter from his pocket, his hands trembling uncontrollably. He twisted the wheel again and again, the flicker of fire teasing him, but his nerves were betraying him.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the flame sparked to life. He crouched down, opened the book, and set the pages alight. The fire caught quickly, licking at the edges before spreading, devouring the paper. Within seconds, the book was consumed by the flames, turning to ash. Anawin stepped back, gasping, his eyes locked on the book as it crumbled into nothing. He couldn’t look away, hypnotized by the fire as it tore through the last remnants of it.
Minutes passed, though it felt like much longer, until the book was nothing more than ash,unrecognizable, gone. He exhaled a shaky breath, relief washing over him like a wave. The streetlight flickered one last time before steadying, the eerie whistling sound vanishing completely.
Anawin stood there, blinking, unsure whether to laugh or cry. The weight that had been pressing down on him for weeks seemed to lift, leaving him lighter, as if something had broken free inside him. He looked around, the alley now quiet, the world feeling almost peaceful. He chuckled softly to himself, the sound of it strange after so much silence.
Turning away, he walked down the street, the cool breeze brushing against his skin. For the first time in ages, he felt like he could breathe, like everything wasn’t about to crush him. He walked slowly, savoring the quiet, his steps no longer hurried, no longer full of fear. He was free, for the first time in what felt like forever.
He walked toward his apartment, the weight of the evening still lingering in his chest, but a strange calm settled over him as he reached the lift. The lights were steady now,no more flickering. He chuckled at the thought, something in him relaxing at the change. It felt like an ordinary night again.
When he arrived at his unit, he noticed that his belongings were still sprawled out in front of the door, scattered across the hallway. He crouched down, carefully gathering everything back into his bag, taking his time, almost as if the act of putting things back in order was a small gesture of reclaiming control. After a moment, he stood up and unlocked the door, stepping inside.
The room was exactly how he’d left it. For a brief moment, he stood there, smiling to himself, the familiar sights comforting him. He hadn’t cleaned in weeks,his mind had been too occupied to care. Now, with the room before him, he felt a sudden urge to tidy up, to restore the space he’d let go of. He began sweeping, the soft swish of the broom against the floor filling the quiet.
Suddenly, a loud, continuous barking broke through the stillness. Anawin froze, his gaze flicking toward the window. He walked over and opened it, leaning his head out to peek into the street below. The dog was there, barking furiously, its voice echoing through the air. Anawin scanned the area, but the street was empty,no one was around. The dog seemed to be barking at nothing.
He leaned back, not bothering to close the window, letting the cool night air drift in. The barking continued as he resumed tidying, but soon it stopped. Completely. The silence was almost too abrupt. Anawin walked and glanced out the window again, but the dog was gone. The street was empty, no sign of life in sight.
A frown creased his brow, a sense of unease creeping up his spine. Just as he was about to turn away, a series of sharp knocks echoed through the hallway. His heart skipped a beat. He stared at the door, confused, his thoughts momentarily scrambled. It was 10 PM,far too late for anyone to be visiting. His mind raced, but the sound of the knocks brought a sudden, unsettling stillness to the air.
Then, after a brief pause, a thought crossed his mind. Maybe it's the neighbor. They often knocked at his door when they had too much leftover food, offering him a plate when they didn’t want to waste it. It was a small kindness, a gesture of neighborly routine.
When he opened it, a cold wave of dread washed over him. The lights in the hallway flickered erratically, casting strange shadows on the walls. Standing before him was a tall figure, cloaked in dark clothing. His skin was unnervingly pale, the waterline beneath his eyes a faint red. Something strange, like a strange symbol, marred his neck. The man smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes.
Anawin felt his breath catch in his throat, like a vice had gripped his chest. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak.
"I think you left something behind," the man said, his voice cold and deliberate, as he casually pointed toward the inside of Anawin’s room.
Anawin froze, his body stiffening at the sound of those words. He didn’t move for a few seconds, as if his brain was struggling to process the reality of the situation. Slowly, almost unwillingly, he turned his head.
His eyes first landed on the open window. The curtains fluttered gently in the breeze. But it was the table that caught his full attention. There, sitting in the middle of it, was the book.
The very book he had burned just minutes ago. The book he had watched turn to ash in the flickering flames. The book that was supposed to be gone, wiped from existence.
No, no, no…
Anawin’s mouth hung open, his breath suddenly caught in his throat. His heart hammered in his chest, the thud of it deafening, as if it were trying to break free. The room seemed to tilt around him, the familiar walls suddenly feeling foreign, like a trap closing in on him. He could feel the dryness creeping up his throat, the taste of panic rising in his mouth.
His gaze snapped back to the man standing in the doorway, his smile still there, twisted and knowing.
“Why do you look so scared?” the man asked, his voice oddly calm, almost mocking. “Do I look that bad?” he continued, tilting his head slightly to the side, his smile widening. “Even the dog barked a lot,” he added, as if it were a private joke.
Anawin stood there, frozen, unable to tear his gaze away from the figure. His mind raced, but his body refused to obey.
“Funny how fate works,” the man said, his voice softening. “You look a bit like him,” he said, pausing for a moment, his smile turning almost nostalgic. “Your great-grandfather. We used to talk a lot back in the day,” he added, as if he was recounting a memory.
Anawin’s eyes widened. The words struck him like a cold hammer to the chest. His great-grandfather,rumored to be possessed, muttering to walls, speaking to unseen figures in the air.
Anawin had heard the stories.
The whispers of madness, of things no one could explain. His throat tightened as he gasped for air.
The man’s voice softened again, but his smile didn’t fade. “You know me,” he said, each word dripping with familiarity. “You wrote about me in your stories. Every line, every word.” The man’s smile grew wider, almost impossibly so. “But you don’t know how I looked and never gave me a name.”
He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with something darker, something older. “So, this is me.” he smiled, “My name is Damon Cillian,” he said, the finality in his voice as chilling as the night air outside. “Let’s have a happy ending this time, Anawin,”