I tried to resist him.

For weeks, I clung to my parents like a lifeline, staying in their shadows, hovering in doorways, following them from room to room. They never said it outright, but I saw the worry etched into their faces, the quiet whispers behind closed doors when they thought I wasn't listening. At night, I turned my room into a fortress of light, lamps blazing, the hum of music cranked so loud it hurt my ears.

But it didn't help.

He was always there.

The humming crawled through the walls like an infestation, slithering under the door, coiling beneath my blankets. It didn't matter how loud the music was or how tightly I pressed my hands to my ears—his voice still found me. Soft, insistent, a melody made of promises and commands.

I started seeing him everywhere. Flickers of movement at the edge of my vision. The faint outline of something too tall and too sharp, lingering in the corners of empty rooms. His shadow stretched unnaturally long, impossibly close, even when I knew I was alone.

And then, one night, I woke up at the door.

The air was heavy and wrong, thick with silence, like the whole house was holding its breath. My hands were trembling, clutching the cold doorknob. The lock was undone. The chain hung limply, swinging in time with my shallow, hitching breaths.

I didn't remember getting out of bed. I didn't remember walking down the stairs. But there I was, my bare feet numb against the wood floor.

His voice was waiting for me.

"It's time," he whispered, so close I felt the words sink into my skin. "I'm waiting."

Panic surged, and I tried to turn back, to scream, to call for my parents. But my body didn't listen. My fingers twisted the knob, and the door creaked open with a sound like a low, mournful groan.

The night outside was cold, a bitter wind slicing through my thin pajamas. I took a step onto the porch, my feet dragging against the wood as if they were being pulled by invisible strings. The world was still, unnaturally still, the kind of silence that made my ears ring.

And then I saw him.

He stood at the edge of the yard, his outline stark against the black of the woods. He was clearer now than ever before—horribly clear. His limbs were too long, his joints bending in the wrong places, his silhouette stretching and twisting like a marionette on tangled strings. His smile was the worst of it, impossibly wide, filled with too many teeth that gleamed faintly in the dark.

He waved.

I didn't want to follow him. My mind screamed at me to run, to hide, to do anything but take another step. But my feet betrayed me, moving forward on their own, crunching against the damp grass as I crossed the yard.

The forest loomed ahead, its shadows thick and hungry, but I couldn't stop. His voice was louder now, no longer a whisper but a song that filled my head and blocked out everything else.

"You're so close," he said. "You're doing so well."

Tears streamed down my face as I fought to break free, but my legs carried me faster, the world narrowing to the sound of his voice and the pull of the woods. The trees closed around me, the last slivers of moonlight swallowed by their jagged silhouettes. The air grew heavier with each step, thick with the smell of damp earth and something far worse—something sour and rotting.

And then I saw the culvert.

It was darker than I remembered, the creek a lifeless trickle barely audible over the pounding of my heart. He was waiting for me inside, crouched low, his frame distorted and stretched to fill the tunnel. His glowing smile cut through the shadows, teeth too sharp, too bright.

The air reeked of decay, a wet, suffocating stench that made my stomach churn. I gagged, my legs trembling beneath me, but I kept moving closer.

"You made it," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

I wanted to scream, to fight, to run, but all I could do was stare as he reached out a hand. His fingers were long and thin, the skin pale and slick, glistening in the faint light like something pulled from the depths of a stagnant pond.

"Come now," he said, his voice soft and soothing, like a lullaby. "I've been waiting for you."

My hand rose, trembling as it reached for his. I felt his cold, damp fingers close around mine, the pressure firm but wrong, as if there were no bones beneath his skin.

The last thing I saw was his smile, stretching wider, wider still, until it consumed the darkness around him.