ANCIENT WATCHER

Mark, you ever get the feeling something's watching you?

I set down my coffee mug and glanced at my friend, Clara, who was staring out the window with a pensive look. Her fingers tapped nervously on the worn tabletop of the diner.

All the time, I replied, trying to mask the sudden chill that ran down my spine. Why do you ask?

She finally turned to face me, her eyes wide and unblinking. I think something followed me home last night.

I took a deep breath, leaning back in my chair. Clara had always been the practical one, the rock in our friendship, so hearing her voice tremble was unsettling. The diner around us buzzed with the usual hum of conversation and clinking cutlery, but Clara's words seemed to muffle all other sounds.

I decided to press her further. Followed you? Like a person?

No. Not a person, Mark. Something else. Something... not right.

I couldn't shake the feeling that this was the beginning of something I wouldn't be able to explain away with logic or reason. Clara's eyes flickered towards the door every few seconds, as if expecting someone—or something—to walk in.

Okay, start from the beginning, I urged, trying to keep my voice calm. What happened?

She sighed deeply, her gaze drifting back to the window where the rain began to pour, streaking down the glass like ghostly fingers. I was walking home from work. It was late, and the streets were empty. I felt it before I saw it—a presence, like eyes boring into the back of my head. I turned around, but nothing was there, or at least, nothing I could see. But I knew, Mark. I knew something was there.

An icy trickle of fear ran down my back, but I forced myself to focus on her words. If Clara was serious, then this was serious. I needed more details, something to grasp onto.

Did you see any shadows, hear any noises?

She nodded slowly, her lips pressed into a thin line. At first, I thought it was just my imagination, but then I started hearing footsteps that weren't mine. They were soft, almost like whispers against the pavement, but they were there. I kept walking faster, and the footsteps sped up too. I didn't dare to look back again. I just ran.

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. Clara was always rational, never one to jump to conclusions or let her mind play tricks on her. If she believed something had followed her, then I had no reason to doubt her.

And when you got home? I asked, already dreading the answer.

I locked the door and closed all the curtains. I sat in my living room, trying to convince myself it was all in my head. But then, I heard scratching at the window. It was faint, but persistent. It stopped after a few minutes, but I couldn't bring myself to look outside. I didn't sleep at all last night, Mark.

The hair on my arms stood up as she spoke. The normalcy of the diner around us contrasted sharply with the eerie tale she was unraveling.

We need to figure out what this is, I said, sounding more confident than I felt. Maybe it's someone messing with you, trying to scare you.

Clara shook her head vehemently. No, this was different. This wasn't a prank. It felt... ancient, like something that doesn't belong in our world.

Her words resonated with an ancestral fear deep within me, a dread that defied logic or sense. I looked around the diner, half-expecting to see a shadowy figure lurking in some corner. But everything seemed normal. Too normal.

Alright, I said, taking a deep breath. We'll figure this out together. You're not alone in this.

Clara offered a small, grateful smile, but the fear in her eyes remained. We left the diner together, stepping out into the rain-soaked streets. The world around us felt both familiar and alien, shadows stretching and twisting in the dim light of the street lamps.

As we walked, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was indeed watching us, lurking just beyond the edges of our perception, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal itself.

We moved through the dimly lit streets, the rain drenching us, but neither of us cared. Clara's earlier words echoed in my mind, a sinister mantra I couldn't ignore. The feeling of being watched grew stronger with each step, and I found myself glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see something lurking in the shadows.

We reached Clara's apartment, an old building with creaking stairs and faded wallpaper. She fumbled with her keys, her hands shaking. The door finally opened, and we stepped inside, the warm air of the apartment a stark contrast to the chill outside.

Clara immediately went to the window, pulling the curtains shut with a sharp tug. She turned to me, her eyes wide and desperate. What are we going to do, Mark?

I tried to think, my mind racing. We need to figure out what this thing is. Maybe there's something around here that can give us a clue. Have you noticed anything strange in your apartment?

She shook her head. No, but I haven't really looked. I've been too scared.

We started searching the apartment, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The only sound was the rain pounding against the windows, a constant reminder of the world outside. After a few minutes, I found something. Clara, come look at this.

She hurried over, and I pointed to a small, strange symbol etched into the wooden frame of her bedroom door. It looked ancient, like something out of a forgotten language. Clara's face went pale. I've never seen that before. What does it mean?

I don't know, but it can't be a coincidence. Maybe it's some kind of marker, something to let this... thing know where you are.

Clara's fear seemed to deepen, and I knew we needed to act fast. We need to get rid of it. Do you have any tools?

She nodded and fetched a small toolkit from a closet. I grabbed a screwdriver and started chipping away at the symbol, hoping that removing it would somehow break whatever connection it had to Clara.

As I worked, the room seemed to grow colder, and a low, almost imperceptible hum filled the air. Clara backed away, her eyes wide with terror. Hurry, Mark. It feels like it's getting closer.

I chipped faster, the symbol slowly disappearing under the force of the screwdriver. The hum grew louder, a resonant vibration that seemed to penetrate my very bones. Finally, the last piece of the symbol was gone, and the hum ceased abruptly, leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

We both stood there, breathless, waiting for something to happen. For a moment, nothing did. Then, a loud crash echoed from the living room, followed by the sound of shattering glass.

We rushed out to find the window broken, rain pouring in. But there was no sign of anything—or anyone—outside. Clara looked at me, her face a mix of relief and confusion. Is it over?

I don't know, I admitted. But I think we disrupted whatever it was.

As we stood there, trying to process everything, I noticed something on the floor near the broken window. It was a small, tattered piece of parchment, soaked from the rain. I picked it up, unfolding it carefully. The words written on it were in the same strange language as the symbol.

Clara peered over my shoulder. What does it say?

I don't know, I replied, but we need to find out. This might be the key to understanding what just happened.

We spent the next few days researching, trying to decipher the parchment. We consulted experts, scoured libraries, and searched online forums. Finally, we found someone who recognized the language. It was an ancient dialect, long forgotten by most of the world.

The translation revealed a chilling truth: the symbol was a summoning mark, a beacon for an entity from another realm. The parchment contained instructions for banishing it, but there was a catch. The entity would be drawn to wherever the parchment was read.

Clara and I exchanged a grim look. We knew what we had to do. We packed our bags, taking the parchment with us, and left her apartment for good. We drove out to the countryside, far from any other people, and read the banishment ritual aloud.

As we finished, the air around us seemed to shimmer, and a terrifying roar filled the sky. The ground shook, and for a moment, I thought we wouldn't survive. But then, as quickly as it began, it was over. The air was still, and the world was quiet once more.

We never spoke of it again, but the memory lingered, a haunting reminder of the thin veil between our world and the unknown. We moved on with our lives, always wary, always watching, never forgetting the night we faced an ancient horror and lived to tell the tale.

And sometimes, in the quiet moments just before sleep, I'd feel that familiar chill, as if eyes were watching me from the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal themselves once more.

Victor Hal

Venture into the depths of darkness and fear with Victor Hal, your storyteller of haunting secrets and supernatural dread.