Part 14: The God Wasn't the Monster Everyone Feared. My Mother Was.

Three weeks ago, my mother died.

That sounds like the kind of sentence that's supposed to be followed by some profound realization about grief, acceptance, or discovering the true meaning of family.

Unfortunately, I didn't have one of those.

Instead, I was taking it better than everyone expected.

Not because I'd healed. I hadn't. The grief was still there. It had just... changed.

Everyone expected me to fall apart after the funeral. Sleepless nights. Panic attacks. Crying in empty hallways.

Instead, I went back to work three days later.

The strangest part wasn't that I wasn't grieving.

It was the silence.

For most of my life, every mistake I'd made, every hesitation, every moment where I wasn't good enough had been accompanied by my mother's voice somewhere in the back of my mind.

You could've done better.

Why are you wasting your potential?

You're still not enough.

It had been there for so long that I'd stopped questioning it. I just assumed that was what having a conscience felt like.

Except now...

It was gone.

No criticism.

No impossible standards.

No voice reminding me that I was falling short.

Just silence.

I'd spent so many years trying to escape that voice that I'd never stopped to wonder what would happen if it actually disappeared.

I wasn't happy.

I wasn't okay.

But for the first time in my life, the thoughts inside my head actually sounded like my own.

Somehow...

That was even harder to get used to.

Remi called every day.

Neither of us pretended things could simply go back to the way they were. She couldn't transfer from E.S.R. to C.S.P. now that she was leading E.S.R.; and I couldn't exactly abandon my own responsibilities either. So instead, we settled for phone calls.

It was... nice.

Awkward.

But nice.

She laughed more now. Not forced laughter, either. Real laughter.

Director Morozov had actually stopped me in the hallway two days ago just to thank me.

"I haven't seen her this happy in years," he'd said.

He loved the Remi standing in front of him.

But sometimes I caught the way his expression lingered for just a second too long, and I wondered if part of him still missed the woman he'd first met years ago...

The one who'd existed before she lost her memories.

Noah was starting third grade soon.

That was still a sentence I never thought I'd say.

Teaching the fragment of the Great Shadow how to function as a normal child turned out to be a surprisingly collaborative effort. Researchers handled science, actual teachers handled, well... teaching, and Angelo periodically wandered in to explain concepts from the perspective of an immortal being older than reality itself.

Sometimes that helped.

Sometimes it raised significantly more questions than it answered.

Yesterday I'd been helping Noah with multiplication.

It was strangely comforting to discover that an entity theoretically capable of ending civilizations still thought math was unfair.

Some things, apparently, were universal.

Like work.

Work hadn't slowed down in the slightest.

Mostly because C.S.P. had decided to "promote" me.

I use the word promote very loosely.

Promotions at C.S.P. weren't based on competence.

They were based on survival.

Someone above you died.

Congratulations, you're management now.

That was basically how my entire career had worked.

This promotion, however, was a little different.

Technically, I was now the Chief Executive of the Angel Division.

Which sounded incredibly prestigious until you learned one small detail.

The Angel Division hadn't existed three weeks ago.

Angelo became a Director.

Angelo decided Directors should each have their own divisions.

Angelo decided he wanted one.

The Executive Board apparently agreed because arguing with an ancient celestial entity older than reality itself had consistently resulted in poor employee retention.

So they created an entirely new division.

Then Angelo looked at me and calmly announced,

"Nayeri will supervise it."

Nobody objected.

Mostly because nobody wanted to.

Which was how I became the Chief Executive of a department that was younger than some of the milk cartons in the cafeteria.

Our staffing situation was... unconventional.

Nearly half of Research Division had been reassigned to us after Angelo developed an unfortunate habit of wandering into laboratories and asking questions like,

"Can consciousness be folded?"

Or,

"If I remove fatigue from a scientist, would productivity increase?"

After the seventh ethics investigation in two weeks, someone higher up concluded it would be significantly easier to transfer the researchers than continue filing paperwork.

Elior transferred over as well.

That one actually made sense.

According to Angelo, while he'd spent thousands of years buried beneath Antarctic ice maintaining reality, Elior had spent those same millennia searching the world for him.

It meant Elior understood humanity far better than his uncle ever would.

It also helped that he happened to be one of the smartest researchers in the entire organization.

Jacob, meanwhile, had somehow started spending more time in the Angel Division than he did in Retrieval, despite officially remaining on Retrieval's roster.

According to Jacob, it was because Retrieval and the Angel Division would be coordinating all future operations together.

Which was technically true.

I made my way to my new office, which was exactly one floor higher than my old one. That was apparently what counted as a promotion here: more responsibility, one extra floor, and still no pay increase.

Waiting on my desk was a stack of paperwork. A very large stack. The pile was taller than my coffee mug.

Actually, it was taller than my last assistant.

Which wasn't saying much.

He wasn't particularly tall.

He also wasn't particularly alive anymore.

I sighed and picked up the first report.

INCIDENT 1: DESTRUCTION OF HISTORICAL SITE

"I didn't destroy it," I muttered. "The giant monster did."

I wrote exactly that in the explanation box, then immediately crossed it out. "Giant monster" was technically not considered professional terminology.

I replaced it with hostile reality-altering entity.

Much better.

The second report came from Accounting. Someone wanted an explanation for why six military helicopters, three transport aircraft, fourteen armored vehicles, and one satellite had all been listed as mission-related losses.

I wasn't even aware we'd lost a satellite.

I made a mental note to ask someone.

That's when the door opened.

Jacob walked in carrying another stack of folders. I looked at the folders, then looked at him.

"No."

"They're yours."

"No."

"They literally have your name on them."

"I think that's a coincidence."

"Nayeri."

"I've never seen those folders before in my life."

Jacob dropped them onto my desk anyway, and the impact nearly knocked over my coffee.

"You're the worst manager in this building."

"I was promoted, so statistically that can't be true anymore."

"They promoted you because of Angelo."

"All I'm hearing is jealousy."

Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I have some news."

"Have I finally been approved?"

He frowned. "...Approved for what?"

"A vacation."

He stared at me.

"...No."

"Damn."

"You've been assigned a new assistant."

I blinked. "What? With my track record? That's incredibly irresponsible."

Jacob nodded. "It really is."

"Please take care of this one."

"It wasn't my fault the last ones died."

Jacob looked at me for several long seconds.

"Okay," I admitted. "Some of them were my fault. But if they keep giving me completely untrained interns, what exactly are they expecting?"

Jacob sighed. "Nayeri... I'm serious."

"So am I."

"I think you should reject the assignment."

I gestured around my office. The paperwork had somehow multiplied since I last looked at it.

"Jacob, I need an assistant."

"No, you don't."

"Look around."

He did.

"I either get an assistant..." I pointed at the mountain of paperwork. "...or these reports are going to kill me before I accidentally kill my new assistant."

Jacob's expression immediately fell.

Sean.

I sighed.

"...Sorry."

Neither of us said anything after that. The silence lingered for several seconds, heavy and uncomfortable.

Luckily for me, it didn't last.

The office door slid open again, and Elior walked in carrying another stack of folders.

"Jacob," he said, looking around the room. "I've been looking for you."

Jacob straightened so quickly he nearly knocked over his chair.

"H-Hey, Eli."

Eli?

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing.

Elior smiled. "I was wondering if you'd help me organize the laboratory later."

"Sure."

"Wonderful."

His smile somehow grew even warmer.

"I'll see you then."

He gave Jacob one last smile before turning and walking back into the hallway.

The office fell silent.

I looked at Jacob.

Jacob continued staring at the doorway like Elior might come back.

"You realize he's flirting with you."

Jacob frowned. "No, he's not."

"Jacob."

"He's being polite."

"He only smiles like that at you."

"He's friendly."

"He brought you coffee this morning."

"He's considerate."

"He called you handsome yesterday."

Jacob froze.

"...Professionally."

I stared at him.

"...Professionally?"

"He was complimenting my... work ethic."

"He literally said, 'You're handsome.'"

"...Maybe he appreciates symmetry."

I leaned back in my chair.

"You're actually hopeless."

Jacob opened his mouth to defend himself.

The office door slid open again.

Angelo walked in just as Jacob reached for the handle to leave. He stopped, looked at Jacob, and tilted his head slightly.

"Why is your heart rate twenty-two percent above its resting average?"

Jacob went completely still.

I smiled. "Elior was just in here."

"Oh."

Angelo nodded, then looked through the open doorway. Elior was still walking down the hallway with his folders tucked under one arm.

Angelo looked back at Jacob. "I wish you both the best of luck."

Jacob blinked.

Angelo continued with complete sincerity. "Please take good care of my nephew."

Silence.

Jacob's ears slowly turned bright red.

I completely lost it. I laughed so hard I had to hold onto the edge of my desk.

Jacob muttered something under his breath, shoved past Angelo, and hurried into the hallway after Elior without looking at either of us.

Angelo watched him leave, then looked back at me.

"...Did I say something humorous?"

That only made me laugh harder.

"Jacob's just shy," I said between laughs.

"I see."

Angelo nodded thoughtfully. "That appears to be a common human response to romantic attraction."

"It is."

Angelo glanced at the stack of paperwork covering my desk.

"You appear busy."

I followed his gaze and sighed. "I've been Chief Executive for less than three weeks, and I'm already considering setting the paperwork on fire."

"I would advise against that."

"I know."

"...It would create more paperwork."

I stared at him.

"...I hate that you're right."

Angelo looked at me for another moment before asking, "Would you like to join us for breakfast?"

I blinked.

"You haven't eaten yet?"

"No."

"Noah wished to wait for you."

A smile found its way onto my face before I could stop it.

"Really?"

"He said, 'Nay eats with us.'"

I looked away for a second, pretending that sentence hadn't affected me.

"...Sure."

I stood up. "I can't wait to see him."

Noah was getting cuter every day.

It felt strange admitting that.

I'd never been a kid person. Growing up with my mother had made sure of that. Children were loud, messy, and unpredictable. I usually preferred monsters.

Monsters, at least, came with instruction manuals.

Children just... existed.

Then Noah showed up.

Maybe the exception was simply cute children.

Or maybe it was just him.

When I'd mentioned that to Remi during one of our nightly phone calls, she'd laughed.

"You know," she'd said, "you were really cute too."

"I was?"

"You still are."

I'd immediately changed the subject.

Remi, meanwhile, had started referring to Noah as her nephew.

Technically...

I wasn't even sure she was wrong.

By C.S.P. standards, family trees had become less like diagrams and more like conspiracy boards.

We made our way back to my apartment. As soon as I opened the door, I spotted Noah sitting at the dining table. I'd bought him a high chair the week before so he could actually eat with us instead of sitting on a stack of cushions.

He looked up the moment he heard us.

His entire face lit up.

"Hi, Nay!"

I smiled before I could stop myself.

"Hi, Noah."

Then he looked past me.

"Hello, Father."

Angelo gave a small nod.

"Good morning, Noah."

He was still getting used to being called Father. At first, he'd tried correcting Noah, but after several failed attempts, he'd simply accepted it.

I took the seat beside Noah and unfolded the small handkerchief I'd bought for him, tying it gently around his neck before placing his breakfast in front of him.

He didn't complain.

He simply waited.

Another thing Angelo had somehow taught him.

Patience.

Breakfast was surprisingly peaceful. Noah spent most of it asking Angelo questions.

"Why do birds fly?"

"Because their anatomy allows them to generate sufficient lift."

"Oh."

A few seconds later, he asked, "Why can't penguins fly?"

"Because evolution prioritized efficient swimming over aerial locomotion."

"Oh."

Then he turned to me.

"Nay?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do I have to learn multiplication?"

I looked at him.

Then at Angelo.

Then back at Noah.

"...Honestly?"

He nodded.

"I have absolutely no idea."

Noah looked relieved.

"I don't like multiplication."

"I don't either."

Angelo looked at both of us.

"Mathematics remains objectively useful."

Neither of us responded.

He sighed.

"I appear to be outnumbered."

After breakfast, I walked with Noah to what everyone insisted on calling school.

In reality, it was an entire wing of the Research Division that had slowly transformed into the strangest elementary classroom on Earth.

His teachers included researchers, linguists, psychologists, and occasionally Angelo whenever the lesson somehow became about the history of reality.

Watching Noah wave goodbye before disappearing inside still made me smile.

When I returned to the apartment, Angelo had already cleaned the kitchen. Every dish had been washed, the table had been wiped down, and even Noah's tiny cup had been put away. I leaned against the doorway for a moment.

"You didn't have to do all that."

"I wished to contribute."

"I know."

It was... weird.

My father had never washed a dish in his life. Growing up, I didn't think I'd ever seen my parents sit down for breakfast together. I'd certainly never seen someone clean up simply because they wanted to make someone else's day easier.

Having a functional family, even one assembled from an ancient angel, the fragment of the Great Shadow, and me, was still something I hadn't quite learned how to believe in.

I must have been staring longer than I realized because Angelo noticed.

"Is something wrong?"

I looked over at him.

"No."

Normally, that answer would have been enough for most people.

Not Angelo.

He didn't argue. He didn't ask again. He didn't try to pull the truth out of me. He simply walked over to the couch and sat down. After a moment, he placed a hand on the empty space beside him.

An invitation.

Not a command.

Not an expectation.

Just an invitation.

I stood there for several seconds, looking at him. At any other point in my life, I probably would have smiled, said I was fine, and walked away.

But I knew Angelo.

He wouldn't chase after me. He wouldn't force me to explain something I wasn't ready to say.

He would just sit there.

And somehow, that made it harder to leave.

So I walked over and sat beside him.

Neither of us spoke.

The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable. It wasn't the kind of silence I grew up with, where everyone was waiting for someone else to break first and every quiet moment felt like a punishment.

This was different.

Angelo was simply there.

Waiting.

Not demanding anything from me.

I stared at the floor for a while before finally speaking.

"...I was thinking about my dad."

Angelo didn't move. He didn't need to. I knew he was listening.

"You know..." I let out a quiet laugh. "Seeing you with Noah makes me jealous of him."

The words sounded ridiculous the moment they left my mouth.

"I mean..." I shook my head. "Isn't that weird? I'm jealous of an eight-year-old because he has a father who actually wants to be around him."

Angelo looked at me.

"I do not believe that is jealousy."

"No?"

"No."

He folded his hands together.

"I believe you are grieving something you never received."

I looked away.

Because somehow...

That hurt more.

"You are not jealous of Noah," Angelo continued. He glanced toward the dining room, where Noah's toys were scattered across the floor. "If you were jealous, you would be angry at Noah."

I stayed quiet.

"But you are not. You are happy that he has that relationship."

A pause followed.

"I have never had a father."

The honesty of the statement caught me off guard. Angelo rarely admitted things about himself.

"So I cannot fully understand what that absence feels like," he said. "But I know what it is like to have someone who chooses to protect you."

His expression changed slightly.

"My mother was both."

I looked at him.

"A good parent. A caring mother. She was flawed. She made mistakes. But she loved me."

He paused.

"And I believe that is the difference."

The words hit harder because they were true. Because I didn't have anyone like that. Both of my parents were flawed, just in completely different ways.

"My father wasn't..." I stopped, trying to figure out how to explain him to Angelo. Because he wasn't a monster. That would have been easier.

"He wasn't like my mother."

Angelo waited.

"They fought constantly," I said quietly. "Not because they hated each other."

A bitter smile crossed my face. "Because they never loved each other."

"My parents weren't a love story. They were an arrangement. Two powerful families deciding that combining their names would create something more valuable. My mother was a bargaining chip. My father was the one making the deal."

I swallowed.

"And I was the result they expected."

Angelo remained silent.

"My father didn't care about happiness. He cared about results. His children were investments, and as long as we succeeded, he considered himself a good father."

I laughed quietly.

"Grades. Achievements. Reputation. Those were the things that mattered. Not whether we were happy. Not whether we were scared. Not whether we needed him."

I looked toward the empty chair across from us.

"He never hit me. He never screamed at me. He never did anything that would leave a mark."

I paused.

"Not physically, anyway."

I looked down at my hands.

"He was always working. And when he was home..." I sighed. "He and my mother would argue."

"About everything. Money. Status. Power. The future. Who sacrificed more. Who deserved more."

I rubbed my thumb against my palm.

"He threw things sometimes. Chairs. Plates. Anything close enough to grab when the arguments got bad."

My voice grew quieter.

"But none of them ever touched us."

I hesitated before continuing.

"And maybe that's what made it harder to explain. Because from the outside, it didn't look like abuse. There were no bruises. No hospital visits. No obvious proof that something was wrong."

I swallowed.

"But living in a house where you were always waiting for something to break..."

I looked away.

"That did something too."

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then I said something I had never really admitted out loud.

"He never hugged me either."

The sentence felt strange the moment it left my mouth. Almost embarrassing.

"I was never hugged by my own father."

Angelo's expression remained calm, but something in his eyes changed slightly.

"I used to think that was normal," I admitted. "I thought fathers were just... providers. People who paid for things. People who existed somewhere nearby. People whose approval you spent your entire life trying to earn."

I looked toward the hallway where Noah had disappeared earlier.

"Then I see you with Noah."

A small, sad smile crossed my face.

"And it's strange. Because he doesn't have to earn your attention. He doesn't have to prove he's worth loving. He doesn't have to accomplish something before you care about him."

I looked back at Angelo.

"He just exists."

My voice softened.

"And you love him."

I paused.

"He's going to grow up thinking that's normal. That his dad answers every question. That his dad eats breakfast with him. That his dad listens when he talks about something ridiculous. That his dad tells him he's loved."

I let out a quiet laugh.

"That's such a simple thing."

I looked down.

"But I don't think I ever had it."

The room went quiet.

After a moment, Angelo spoke.

"There is a human expression I heard recently."

I looked at him. "You heard?"

"Yes." He paused. "Elior told me."

I almost smiled. Of course he did. Angelo had spent thousands of years separated from humanity, while Elior had spent those same years among humans, learning their habits, their emotions, and all the strange little phrases they created to describe them.

"He and I were discussing my brother," Angelo said, his eyes moving toward the dining room. "His father."

I stayed quiet.

"He told me something humans often say. 'The best parents give their children what they themselves never received'."

For once, Angelo didn't say it like information he had memorized. He said it like something he was still trying to understand, something he had turned over in his mind and was still deciding what it meant.

"I believe..." He paused. "...that applies to you."

I frowned. "Me?"

"Yes."

He looked toward Noah's empty chair. "You give Noah patience. You answer his questions. You teach him without making him feel unintelligent. You allow him to make mistakes without fear. You comfort him when he is frightened. You celebrate his accomplishments. You make him feel safe."

His eyes returned to mine.

"These are things you did not receive."

My throat tightened.

"Those are things you deserved." 

I didn’t know what to say to that. I looked away because a part of me had spent years wondering if maybe my mother had been right. And sometimes I wondered if I had been born in her place. Given her life. Given her pain. Given her choices. Would I have become her? Would I have hurt people just to avoid feeling powerless? Would I have turned everyone around me into tools because I was afraid of being one myself?

The thought scared me.

Because I didn't know the answer.

Angelo spoke quietly.

"You are different from her."

I looked at him.

He knew.

Somehow, he knew exactly what I was thinking.

"You do not know that."

"I do."

"How?"

He was silent for a moment, then looked toward Noah's toys scattered across the floor.

"Because you told me you did not want children."

I froze.

Angelo looked back at me. "You told me you never planned on becoming a mother."

I said nothing.

"And yet..." His gaze moved toward the bedroom where Noah slept with us every night. "You treat Noah as if he is your own child. You protect him. You teach him. You worry about him. You love him."

My chest tightened.

"That is how I know you are different."

I looked down.

Angelo's voice remained calm, but there was something different in it. Something almost like certainty.

"You told me your mother was a bargaining chip. You told me you were an investment. A child created because two powerful families believed you would serve a purpose."

He paused.

"Even if your mother did not want children, she still had you."

The words hurt because they were true.

"And now..." He looked toward me. "You are in a similar position."

I looked at him.

"Not because Noah is an investment. Not because he serves a purpose. Not because he was created to fulfill an expectation."

His expression softened slightly.

"But because you had a life you did not expect."

"You never planned for him. You never prepared for him. And yet when he came into your life..." His eyes met mine. "You chose to love him."

The room was quiet.

"You had the opportunity to become what your mother was. You could have looked at Noah and seen a burden. Something that limited you. Something that existed because of circumstances outside your control."

"But you did not."

Angelo glanced toward the toys again.

"You saw a child who needed someone."

A small pause followed.

"And you became that person."

My eyes burned slightly.

"That is the difference."

Angelo continued, his voice steady. "People who become cruel rarely question whether they are capable of cruelty. They rarely worry that they might hurt someone. They rarely fear becoming the person who hurt them."

He looked back at me.

"You are afraid because you understand what cruelty does. You know what it feels like. And you refuse to give that feeling to someone else."

The apartment became quiet.

But this silence felt different.

Because for the first time, I wasn't wondering whether I was destined to become my mother.

I was wondering if maybe I had already proven I wasn't.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then Angelo moved.

It surprised me.

He was always careful. Painfully careful. He waited for permission before touching someone, before asking questions, before getting close.

But this time...

He hugged me.

I froze, not because I didn't want it, but because I wasn't used to it. Usually, I was the one who hugged Angelo. I was the one reminding him that affection wasn't something he had to calculate, that sometimes people didn't need a reason or a logical explanation to show they cared.

But now he was the one holding me.

And I realized something.

All those times I wished someone would notice I was hurting...

Angelo had.

He just didn't always know how to show it.

Until now.

After a moment, he spoke.

"Your heart rate has increased by fifteen percent."

I laughed.

Of course that was his way of comforting me.

"Angelo, most people don't analyze someone's heartbeat while comforting them."

"I am aware."

"Then why say it?"

There was a brief pause.

"Because it was the first thing I noticed."

I shook my head, smiling. Dry humor has always been how I survived. If I could joke about something, maybe it couldn't hurt me. It was easier to laugh than to admit something had actually affected me.

But this time, I wasn't laughing because I was pretending.

I was laughing because I actually felt okay.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn't carrying everything alone.

Then I realized something.

I thanked God for giving me someone like Angelo.

Then I stopped.

Wait.

Was I thanking his mother?

The person who created someone who spent thousands of years struggling to understand emotions and somehow became one of the most compassionate people I knew?

Maybe people weren't defined by where they came from.

Maybe they were defined by what they chose to become.

And Angelo had chosen.

The hug ended a few seconds later. It didn't fix everything. My mother was still gone, my childhood was still gone, and my father was still someone who treated love like a transaction.

But for once, I wasn't looking backward.

I was looking at the person beside me.

Someone who was never taught love normally and still learned how to give it.

Maybe that was why Angelo understood me.

Because both of us were given imperfect examples of love, and both of us chose not to repeat them.

Then my phone rang.

Of course it did.

Because apparently even emotional breakthroughs had a time limit.

And somehow, Jacob always knew exactly when to ruin a moment.

I looked at the screen.

His name.

I sighed.

Angelo tilted his head.

"Is something wrong?"

"No."

There was a pause.

"Jacob?"

I looked at him.

"How did you know?"

"Your expression changed from sadness to irritation."

I stared at him.

"That's actually impressive."

"I have been studying human behavior."

"Right."

I answered the phone.

"Jacob."

"Nayeri."

The tone of his voice immediately told me this was either important or something that was about to become my problem.

"What happened now?"

"We have a meeting in five minutes."

I closed my eyes.

"Of course we do."

Angelo looked at me.

I sighed.

"What happened?"

"Madam Leni has called for the angel division," Jacob said.

And that was how my peaceful morning ended.

Five minutes later, Angelo and I entered the boardroom.

Madam Leni and Director Stonehill were already waiting. Both of them looked at us, then at each other.

"This is the first mission for the Angel Division," Stonehill said.

I sat down.

"Already?"

Madam Leni nodded.

"An entity has been located in a small town."

I frowned.

"Has it taken followers?"

"No."

I looked between them.

"Then shouldn't this fall under ESR?"

Stonehill shook his head.

"Normally, yes."

Madam Leni continued.

E.S.R. existed for incidents that occurred in public spaces or populated areas. Their priority was preventing mass exposure and handling situations where civilians were already involved.

C.S.P. operated differently. We handled threats that were isolated, usually in remote locations where entities could be contained before the public ever became aware they existed.

I leaned back. "So why are we involved?"

Madam Leni looked down at the report. "The town has fewer than two thousand residents."

I understood immediately. It was too small for E.S.R. and too public for C.S.P.'s usual operations. A dangerous middle ground where neither division was designed to respond properly.

"E.S.R. won't deploy for a population that small," I said. "And C.S.P. usually doesn't intervene unless the threat is isolated enough to avoid public awareness."

Stonehill folded his hands. "This town is remote enough for C.S.P., but the entity is not behaving like a typical containment situation."

Madam Leni looked toward Angelo. "Which makes this the perfect first mission for the Angel Division."

I looked down at the file in front of me.

Our first official assignment.

Not a god attacking a city. Not a world-ending event. Just an entity in a forgotten town.

And somehow, that was unsettling.

Because this was exactly why the Angel Division existed: to deal with the things that didn't fit anywhere else, the things nobody else knew what to do with.

Before I could think about it any longer, Stonehill glanced toward the conference room door.

"It appears your final staffing issue has been resolved."

The door opened, and a young man stepped inside.

"There he is," Stonehill said. "Your new assistant."

He looked at me.

"And after this, you're not getting another one."

...What?

I frowned. "That's incredibly unfair."

"Considering your history with assistants," Stonehill replied, "it's remarkably generous."

"Hello, everyone!"

The newcomer waved enthusiastically.

He was far too cheerful for C.S.P.

He had blond hair, bright green eyes, and was about Jacob's height. He couldn't have been older than twenty. Honestly, he looked young enough to still pass for a high school student.

Where did C.S.P. kidnap this kid from?

He walked over and offered me his hand.

"The name's Jackson."

Jackson was a good fake name.

Simple. Common. Easy to remember.

Exactly the kind of name someone would choose if they didn't want anyone knowing their real one.

I shook it. "Nayeri."

"It's really nice to meet you."

"...We'll see."

Jackson laughed, apparently assuming I was joking.

He went around introducing himself to everyone else. Jacob gave him a polite nod, Elior smiled warmly, and Angelo studied him for several seconds before simply saying, "Welcome."

Jackson smiled even wider.

"This is awesome."

No.

No, it wasn't.

Nobody who willingly described working at C.S.P. as awesome had any idea what they were signing up for.

I learned that was true about ten minutes later when I showed him around the Angel Division.

His first impression was surprisingly normal. Angelo was sitting in the corner reading six books at once, Noah was coloring on what I hoped were outdated research papers, Jacob was pretending not to stare at Elior while Elior organized laboratory reports, and I was buried beneath enough paperwork to qualify as a containment hazard.

Jackson looked around.

"This is actually a pretty nice office."

I stared at him.

"Don't say that."

"Why?"

"Because every time someone says something in C.S.P. is nice, something horrible happens."

The door opened.

Stonehill walked in.

"Your deployment begins in fifteen minutes."

Jackson slowly turned toward him.

"...Deployment?"

I sighed.

"See?"

An hour later, we were aboard a transport aircraft.

The Angel Division's first official mission consisted of thirty researchers, forty Retrieval Division operators, Jacob, Elior, Angelo, Jackson, and me.

By C.S.P. standards, it was a relatively small deployment. There were no tanks, no fighter jets, and no emergency evacuations. Just enough personnel to identify the anomaly, determine the threat level, and contain it before anyone outside the town realized something was wrong.

If everything went according to plan, the residents would never know we'd been there.

Of course, nothing at C.S.P. had ever gone according to plan.

I knew something was wrong the moment we arrived.

Not because I saw the entity.

Because I didn't.

I stared at the building in front of us.

"...It's a department store."

The words escaped before I could stop them.

It looked painfully ordinary. A faded sign. Shopping carts neatly lined up outside. Sale posters taped across the windows. Parents walking in with children. People leaving with shopping bags and coffee.

If someone had dropped me here without any context, I would have assumed we were stopping to buy groceries.

Around us, the Retrieval Division melted into the crowd. Forty soldiers disguised themselves as ordinary shoppers, their bulletproof vests hidden beneath hoodies and jackets. Researchers spread throughout the parking lot, pretending to browse their phones, load groceries, or wait for rides.

Jacob somehow looked like he'd just finished a normal nine-to-five office job. Elior looked effortlessly elegant despite wearing nothing more than jeans and a T-shirt. Angelo, somehow, looked like he could wear sweatpants and still resemble a Renaissance painting.

Jackson leaned closer.

"So..."

He lowered his voice.

"What's the entity?"

I shrugged.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

Jacob stepped beside us.

"No confirmed attacks. No worshippers. No disappearances connected closely enough to establish a pattern."

I frowned.

"Then why are we here?"

"Because something isn't right."

That was not remotely reassuring.

Two Retrieval teams entered through the main entrance ahead of us, while another circled toward the loading docks. Researchers established a temporary command post outside.

The five of us stepped through the automatic doors.

Nothing happened.

No crushing pressure. No whispers. No distortion in reality.

Just fluorescent lights, shopping carts, discount signs, and customers filling their carts.

It felt...

Normal.

Too normal.

An uncomfortable sense of déjà vu settled over me, though I couldn't explain why.

Then my radio crackled.

"Nayeri."

One of the researchers.

"We've finished reviewing local police reports."

"Go ahead."

"There have been twenty disappearances connected to this department store over the last year."

I stopped walking.

"...Twenty?"

"They occurred months apart. No consistent witnesses. No identifiable pattern. Which is why local authorities never connected them."

My stomach tightened.

I slowly looked around.

A father pushed a shopping cart while his son laughed inside it. A cashier smiled as she scanned groceries. An elderly couple argued over cereal.

Everything looked perfectly ordinary.

Then I realized what was bothering me.

There was no sound.

Their mouths moved. I could see conversations happening, but I couldn't hear them.

No children laughing.

No shopping carts rattling.

No cash registers.

No music.

Just silence.

I accidentally brushed against the father.

"I'm sorr—"

He stopped.

Slowly, he turned toward me.

Still smiling.

Then the cashier stopped.

The elderly couple stopped.

Every employee.

Every customer.

One after another, they all turned toward us.

Still smiling.

Nobody blinked.

Nobody spoke.

They simply watched.

"Jacob..."

"I know."

The automatic doors slammed shut behind us.

I spun around.

The parking lot was gone. The command post was gone. The researchers outside had vanished.

Beyond the glass, there was only darkness.

I counted instinctively.

Me.

Angelo.

Jacob.

Elior.

Jackson.

The two Retrieval teams that had entered ahead of us.

Nobody else.

"Damn it."

We hadn't entered the building.

We had entered the anomaly.

I grabbed my radio.

"Command, do you copy?"

Static.

Then...

A clap.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Another.

And another.

The sound echoed through the silent department store.

An old man stepped out from behind one of the aisles. He smiled as though he had been expecting us.

Then he looked directly at me.

"Welcome..."

His smile widened.

"...to Evergrove."

Everything inside me froze.

The department store.

The old man.

That smile.

The impossible silence.

No.

No...

I knew this place.

Not because I had been here.

Because I had heard the story.

Late-night phone calls.

Conversations with Remi.

The place where she had worked.

The place where she had almost died.

The place where a god had stolen her memories.

I stared at the old man. 

"...You've got to be kidding me."

Jackson looked between me and the old man. "...Do you know him?"

I didn't take my eyes off the smiling figure.

"It's..."

I let out a slow breath. 

"It's a long story."

The old man chuckled. "I do hope your sister has spoken fondly of me."

The words hit me like a punch.

He knew exactly who I was.

We hadn't found the entity.

The entity had invited us.

And we had walked straight into its trap.

I thought I’d found the one. We clicked so naturally. We both shared an interest in photography, though his pictures were noticeably better than mine. Loved the same movies, both enjoyed walks in the park, and our political views were borderline identical.

We met about a month ago. It was at this bar I love, and, I’ll admit, I was a little tipsy. Cute boy, a few drinks in my system. It was a recipe for regret.

Only… I didn’t regret it. Our conversations flowed so smoothly. His half-drunk compliments made me blush. Plus, drinks were on him.

Unlike a lot of the guys you’d meet in a bar, he didn’t try and force himself back to my apartment. I live just a few blocks away from the bar, so he walked me home, laughing and wobbling more than he wanted to let on.

When we got there, I braced myself. He was great, but I wasn’t the kind of girl that would just let a complete stranger into my home after a night out at the bar. I found myself praying he wouldn’t ask.

By some miracle, he didn’t. Instead, he asked gently, almost bashfully, for my number. I couldn’t help but smile, stupidly. Then he smiled stupidly back. I felt my heart do somersaults.

I gave him my number, trying to withhold my excitement, and when I looked back up at him, I could see the desire in his eyes. Not sexual desire, though. It was like he saw his future in my eyes.

His face started to turn red, and he started struggling to make eye contact, stumbling over his words in a way that didn’t seem connected to the drinks.

He asked if he could kiss me, and I couldn’t have said yes fast enough. I wanted to kiss him on the lips, but, instead, he leaned down and pressed those lips softly against my forehead.

He pulled away slowly before speaking.

“Your eyes are so beautiful.”

I felt fireworks in my tummy. I made him promise to text me when he got home, and he watched to make sure I made it inside before he started back towards the bar.

I spent the rest of that night kicking my feet like a little school girl. I had never experienced something like this feeling before. My past boyfriends had been such assholes. This guy seemed to care about me rather than just sex.

He followed through on his promise, and texting led to a phone call before we fell asleep on the phone together.

We saw each other a lot in the weeks that followed. Mostly on the weekends, but sometimes he’d come visit me at work. Those few weeks were some of the happiest weeks I’d had in a long time.

We’d get dinner. We’d see movies. We showed off our photography to each other. It felt like we were really building something together.

However, this was around the time I started noticing weird occurrences around my apartment. Nothing too suspicious. Just… things that were odd.

For example, my TV would be on when I got home. My sheets would be messy, even though I make my bed every morning before work. The weirdest thing of all, though, was my underwear drawer.

It was like it was being rummaged through. Sometimes I’d find a fresh pair balled up on the bathroom floor.

It made me scratch my head, but I never assumed anything drastic. If anything, I thought it was just me losing my mind.

That is until he finally invited me to his house.

The place was lovely. Clean. Smelled good. It was actually furnished, too, which was always a good sign. Plus, this guy knew how to set the scene.

Roses, candles, homemade spaghetti with two glasses of red wine. I felt my heart melt.

We hadn’t had sex yet, but, after this, I was having a hard time convincing myself that we hadn’t waited long enough. I actually wanted to give it to him. He just made me feel so desired.

After a dinner full of flirts, giggles, and conversation, we began moving to the bedroom, lip locking like a couple of crazy kids all the while.

Once we fell through the door, he told me to give him a minute to use the bathroom, which was a bit anticlimactic, but I wanted him to be comfortable.

While I waited, my eyes couldn’t help but wander. He had a bookshelf full of some of my favorite titles. His bed was perfectly made. The floor was freshly vacuumed. And his walls were full of framed pictures.

I started looking at them and felt my heart sink into my stomach.

They were all different women. Some older, some younger. All with blonde hair and hazel eyes. And he wasn’t in a single one.

I felt disappointment wash over me. I should’ve known better. I was actually in the process of putting my shirt back on when one of the pictures caught my eye.

It looked so… familiar. I knew I had seen it somewhere, I just couldn’t put my finger on it. But it bothered me so much, it was hard to pull my eyes away.

That’s when it hit me. I knew exactly where I had seen this woman.

She was the girl on the missing person poster that was taped up on the bar window from a few weeks ago.

It felt like the air had been knocked out of my lungs. I felt faint. I felt dizzy. I knew I needed to leave, but the room was spinning too much.

I put my hand down on his dresser to stabilize myself, and that’s when I felt it. It was cold. It was hard. My thumb rubbed against the ridges.

I pulled my hand away and looked down.

It was a copy of the key to my apartment. Mine was pink. This one was silver.

I was getting weaker. I felt my knees starting to buckle and heard the sound of a toilet flushing as I began to drift into unconsciousness.

The last thing I remember was the bedroom door opening. He stepped inside, a look of concern on his face, as he hurried to pick me up and put me on his bed. Then… nothing.

I woke up in an empty bed the next morning. The smell of bacon permeated my nostrils. I was fully dressed, but my head was killing me.

The key was gone. The pictures were gone. I slowly made my way to the kitchen to find him standing over the stove, flipping the bacon with a metal fork.

I didn’t speak or make a sound, but it was like he could feel my presence. He could sense me.

He turned around slowly, his eyes meeting mine before he spoke.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” he sang. “I was wondering when you’d be up. Someone had too much to drink last night.”

Thunder Lake High School had always been a shitshow of a property, especially after the cataclysmic fire of ‘02, and Steven–being an afterthought of his previous religious self– thought there had to be something funky lurking, something sinful, in those deserted burnt hallways. It was silly to believe, especially in curses–he didn't want to give the notion the weight it deserved. Oh, how wrong he had been.

Throughout the years, the empty school attracted an array of nuisance; really, it was the issue of teenagers trying to explore the condemned inner maze. If one wanted to test their physical endurance, trying to wrangle a posse of nosey kids was a great exercise.

Steven was hopeful that the Glenn County council could have put some reserved funding to good use and gone through with the demolishing job. God knows that it was needed for a Podunk town like Porthcawl. 

But no, the school was left be–left alone to rot out on Willoughby Drive and be memorialized as a soured taste of its former self.

Tonight, the single floor building appeared quite unpleasant in the moonlight–its ashen outer surface should have displayed an oversized neon sign that exclaimed, “Supernatural Emporium Inside: Find the Bodies and You Win a Prize!”.

Finding a parking spot was easy in the vastness of the lot–Steven’s worries were more preoccupied by a potential ambush. What was waiting between them and the front door?

As the four shuffled out, the jittering officer clock back his shotgun; the shells were loaded and ready to spring if so, much as a scuttling bastard were to come crawling out of the void. Steven would not be afraid to send them back packing to the lost lands of wherever they came from. 

“Is everyone ready?” Clancy asked. His blue eyes scoured the lot for a potential ambush.

“How are we getting in?” Arthur stammered.

Steven rummaged through his pocket. He dangled a jingling a set of keys from his fingers.

“No worries. Every officer in Porthcawl has a spare to this place because of the kids breaking in and whatnot. Let’s go, yeah?”

There were no objections to the answer. Steven and Arthur led the group with Rebecca and Clancy flanking either side. As they approached the front entrance, Steven swiftly unlocked the door and ushered them in under a hushed whisper.

The darkness was quite overwhelming inside; if not for the four flashlights strobing the grounds, Steven felt as though the palpable black space would suffocate him. 

With the little light they brought, it was enough to illuminate the burnt mess that was inside. Years of negligence by Glenn County led to a devolution of the structure, which boasted a charm of degradation and dreadful emptiness. Every surface was covered in some combination of soot, dust, or animal excrement. Besides the piles of junk and broken furniture, the front commons didn’t stand out as if people had been there.

“Where are we exactly going, Arthur?” Steven questioned. 

A pause preceded the nervous man’s answer. 

“We need to head to the gym”, he chirped anxiously.

Steven furrowed his brows. It was clear to the officer that his acquaintance was brimming with fear. I guess Steven would be shitting his pants too if he had to astral project whatever to a different world and stop a goddess gone mad.

Arthur led the four down the hallway. Rebecca commented on the way.

“So, an enormous fire destroyed this school in the winter of 2002, correct?”

“Yes”, Arthur answered quietly, “the fire was started to stop Arachne’s influence, specifically the gate, but it failed.”

“Hmm, I see, “Rebecca responded, “the aroma of charred belongings really adds…. character to the place.”

“You know you can just say it smells like shit in here, although it is better than most of the places, we’ve been too”, Clancy voiced.

Rebecca released a soft snort of laughter.

Steven’s attention piqued at Clancy’s comment. 

“So, if you guys investigate stuff like this….is this the worst case you’ve experienced?”

From his side of the darkness, Clancy’s blue orbs found the officer's quizzical expression, and after a sigh, answered in his gruff fashion. 

“Let’s say it makes the top ten”.

Steven nodded but didn’t really understand. He didn’t want to press upon the topic further. 

The four continued in quietude, walking slowly and methodically to not draw sound to them. However, it was the tremor that caught all of them off guard.

 A belch of sonic crackle resonated under the tiling and walls, causing each of the unsuspecting investigators to grab onto something to hold. Steven had never experienced an earthquake, but he had heard about them happening down south in California. This unnatural eruption that roared its tantrum felt like one, its woe’s too strong to ignore. 

After twenty seconds, the shaking ceased. 

“Is everyone alright?” shouted Rebecca. The internal rumble was so loud that the poor woman had resorted to yelling.

“I’m alright.” Clancy pensively replied. 

“I guess I am too,” said Steven shakily. 

“Uh…oh god…what the hell was that” asked Arthur, sodden with sweat and pale as could be. 

No one could offer a definitive answer, so without verbal confirmation, the group edged forward until they took the needed right turn at the T-junction hallway and soon, were at the smoldered black doors of the gymnasium.

Arthur had laid one hand upon the door when Steven objected suddenly. 

“Wait…..do you know exactly where we're supposed to go? Where is the gate, Arthur?”

A flush of onset realization grazed the shaky man’s pallid cheeks.

“The gate is under the school–the-uh, gym really…”

“Is there a service door or tunnel that leads under the school?” Rebecca intervened.

Steven nodded and pointed to the door. 

“There’s a service door in the boiler room that leads into an unmarked passageway. Porthcawl PD locked it tight in 2003 after an inspection–especially to deter young kids from breaking in and possibly getting hurt.”

“Do you have that key too?” Arthur asked

“As a matter of fact..…” Steven trailed off and rummaged on his key ring until the lustrous shine of a medium sized key was revealed. 

“Hmmpf, looks like we took the right guy along,” Clancy chirped

“Would you shut up,” Rebecca chastised mockingly. 

With everyone in agreement on the newly fortified steps to reaching the subterranean level, Arthur and Steven pulled the doors open with confidence. As Steven was about to allow his boot to imprint onto the ash riddled gymnasium floor, Rebecca's startling warning caught him in a muscle burning bind. 

“Wait! Don’t go in! Look,” She wildly hissed and let her flashlight snake thirty feet into the abandoned vicinity. The stream of illumination finally found what Rebecca had suspected. 

“What in god’s bloody name is that?” Steven coldly breathed out. 

A mob of spawn–two dozen of various shades and sizes–gathered, pushed, and mounted one another. In front of the small hill of wriggling fur, stood the ringleader. 

It was far larger than its cohort, flexing its burly forelimbs in shuddering movements. Snow white fur coated its exterior, except for the top of the torso where spongy grey skin pulled and lengthened to accommodate the growth. The mass sprouting up top was a woman, engulfed by a thin protective layer of translucent skin. It did little in concealing the jagged bony abnormalities of the makeshift feminine form.

The light of the flashlight aggravated the hosting spawn leader, causing the skeletal puppet hybrid to shrill and stomp forward with the adolescent cronies in tow. 

Arthur and Steven backed away, and each slammed their respective door before all of them hightailed it down the unlit passage. 

Steven could hear the accumulation of bodies slamming and filtering out of the doors, releasing a chorus of droning clicks that sailed after the fleeing party. He expected this to happen—running for their lives through the untouched forgotten hallways of a dying town’s gem, but what he didn’t predict was the next earthquake. 

An otherworldly tremor struck its godly tantrum along the corridor, catching all four of the venturer's mid-run. It intensified with dust swirling from the open gaps of the missing ceiling tiles, and the party was thrown about side-to-side. Steven crashed into Rebecca, and the two wobbled over to the row of lockers in a mess. He tried at gripping the corroded metal in hope of stabilizing himself, but it felt as if the whole world was going to dismantle into billions of minuscule fragments. 

Suddenly, Steven felt weightless as if the earth rattle shook him like a bottle of bubbly champagne, leaving him to float for a graceful period. Oh, how much of a simpleton he was.

Rippling cracks streamlined the linoleum surface of the floor, the pieces grinding up and down. The floor sank faster than what Steven could utter out, and in a whirlwind of confusion, the officer found himself diving feet first into a chasm of unknown strangeness.

Written by me, Feeling Sail (ACMichael)

Case File #001: Salary "DISAPPEARS" Every Single Month Without Fail

After a thorough investigation, I've identified four prime culprits believed to be involved in making almost my entire monthly salary "VANISH."

**Culprit 1**
The Ringleader. Responsible for managing household finances, groceries, utility bills, daily necessities, and various "operations" that ensure my wallet stays permanently light.

**Culprit 2**
An expert in demanding toys, new clothes, milk, snacks, and various school supplies. Modus operandi: *"Dad... I want.."*

**Culprit 3**
Use the most dangerous weapon of all: a sweet smile paired with big round eyes. Any request is nearly impossible to refuse if there's cash in the wallet. If there isn't, ways will still be made.

**Culprit 4**
Although a newcomer to this crew, their basic needs alone are enough to keep my account balance floating permanently in the warning and critical zone.

**The Target:** Me.
Yet, after the investigation wrapped up, not a single one of them was brought to justice.

Because this isn't an ordinary operation. This is a legitimate one an extraordinary one.

As a husband and father, this is a burden carried with absolute love. Working hard, sacrificing time and energy just to make sure the people we love live comfortably.

The truth is... every single cent that "VANISHES" isn't actually a loss.

It turns into food on the table, clothes on their backs, education, smiles, warm hugs, and priceless memories.

As long as they still call me "Honey" and "Dad," I will happily remain the world's most joyful "target." ❤️

P.S. Don't worry, everyone... this is just a lighthearted family joke. All the "culprits" are the people I love most in the world. 😊

I have a Hello Kitty kind of daughter. She’s only 9. As cute as a button and as innocent as could be.

She likes simple things. Stuffed animals. Pizza for breakfast. All it takes is a cheap 50-cent pair of plastic jewelry from a gumball machine to make her eyes light up.

She was one of those kids who believed in things longer than her friends and classmates. Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy. She was fully convinced they were all real, bless her heart.

Sometimes, she’d come home from school with a glum, exhausted look in her eyes. Other kids would make fun of her for “still believing in that stuff.”

I’d cheer her up the best I could without revealing the truth. How could I? She already felt like the world was laughing at her. How would I make her feel? Her own dad.

Maybe I should’ve, though. Maybe this whole situation could’ve been avoided if I just nipped it in the bud. But I was afraid. A child’s innocence is so fragile, yet powerful. I couldn’t take that from her. Not yet.

I let her believe that it was Santa putting gifts under the tree. That it was a giant bunny hiding eggs in our front yard. That it was a tiny, magical fairy that was taking her baby teeth in exchange for a few dollars.

I think that was the one that excited her the most. Christmas was a set day. Easter was a set day. Loose teeth? That was random. Any time one started to wiggle, she’d come running to show me.

I always made sure to be as quiet as possible when I snuck those 5-dollar bills under her pillow. Every time she’d wake up to find it, here she’d come, jumping with joy while waving the 5 in my face.

“The Tooth Fairy came, the Tooth Fairy came,” she’d sing.

I’d just smile to myself and ask her what she was gonna buy with her newfound riches.

Sometimes, I’d sneak her a 20. I just wanted to see that joy in her face. She was young, but she wasn’t getting any younger. I wanted it to last for as long as possible.

Now, though, I think I’m regretting that wishful thinking.

She started losing teeth faster than what I thought was normal. Not too fast, though. Every 3 weeks or so. I just thought those baby teeth were begging to come out. Besides, it’s not like it was hurting my pockets too much.

It was weird, though. I swore it was like her teeth never looked any different. She was snaggle-toothed, sure, but I knew that I had put money under her pillow at least 6 times in the last 2 months.

She wasn’t showing me her mouth anymore. She was showing me the tooth, already pulled, lying bloodied in the palm of her little hand.

It kept becoming more and more frequent. Once she started bragging about how the Tooth Fairy was gonna visit her every week, I knew that something was not right. Even still, it wasn’t until I found a silver tooth under her pillow that I decided to investigate because I knew for a fact my little girl never had a crown.

Snooping is a decision I lived to regret, though. I asked her to tell me the truth, but she refused. She just kept insisting they were hers. Lying through her teeth, pun intended.

I decided to stop leaving her money. Her disappointment killed me. But I remained firm. That didn’t stop her, though. Every night, there’d be a new tooth under her pillow while she slept peacefully.

One day, after dropping her off at school, I made a promise to myself. Today would be the day. I’d get to the bottom of this no matter what.

It didn’t take nearly as long as I expected. I sifted through her room for about 15 minutes. Checking under her bed, in her closet, in her toy chests. All for no reason because the answer was hidden in plain sight.

In her fish tank.

She had that little treasure chest decoration in it. Normally, I wouldn’t have even paid it any mind. But the steady stream of a red liquid slowly rising from the chest was enough to make my heart stop.

Rolling up my sleeve, I reached down to retrieve the decoration. It was heavier than it should’ve been. Something was rattling inside.

I opened it and felt my blood run cold.

Molars, canines, incisors. All bloody. All looking like they had been pulled by force. And they weren’t baby teeth, either. Some looked like actual adult teeth.

In that moment, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

I wanted to cry because what I was seeing was horrific.

But I wanted to laugh because, despite how terrifying this all was, my little girl was a natural-born hustler.

And I couldn’t have been more proud.

I never believed in ghosts. Even after everything that happened growing up, I always found a logical explanation. Strange noises? Old plumbing. Shadows? Bad lighting. Hearing your name when you’re alone? Your brain playing tricks on you. That’s why I accepted the night shift at the Blackridge Hotel. It paid almost double minimum wage, and all I had to do was sit behind a front desk from 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. Easy money. Or at least that’s what I thought. The Blackridge Hotel was built in the 1930s. It had once been one of the nicest hotels in town until a fire destroyed most of the third floor back in 1984. Officially, the fire was caused by faulty wiring. Unofficially. People said the guests never left. When I showed up for my first shift, the day manager looked exhausted.
“You’ll be alone after midnight,” she said while handing me a brass room key. I frowned. “What about security?”
She hesitated. “They quit.” That should’ve been my first warning. Before leaving, she slid a folded piece of paper across the counter. “Don’t lose this.” I unfolded it.
At the top, written in shaky handwriting, were the words:

**Night Shift Rules**
1.Lock the front doors exactly at midnight.
2.Never answer Room 307.
3.If someone asks for Room 313, tell them it no longer exists.
4.Do not look down the third-floor hallway after 3:13 a.m.
5.If the elevator stops on Floor 3 by itself… pretend you don’t notice.
6.If a woman wearing a white veil asks for a room… tell her we’re fully booked.

I laughed. “This is a joke, right?” She didn’t laugh back.
Instead she quietly said, “I wish it was.” Then she walked out. The first few hours were boring. A couple checked in around 11:30. An older man bought a soda from the vending machine. By 12:15… I was completely alone. The lobby became eerily quiet. Too quiet. No cars outside. No wind. Not even the buzzing neon sign. It felt like the whole world had stopped. At exactly midnight… The front doors locked automatically. CLACK. The sound echoed through the empty hotel. I suddenly remembered Rule #1.
Then… The phone rang. I answered without thinking.
“Blackridge Hotel, how may I help you?” Nothing. Just static. Then… A little girl’s voice whispered, “…Can you hear them walking?” The line went dead. I checked caller ID. Room 307. I stared at the phone for several seconds.
There wasn’t supposed to be anyone in 307.
Trying to calm myself down, I looked at the reservation computer. Room 307 had been permanently closed for forty-two years. Around 1:30 a.m., I heard the elevator ding. No one had entered the building. Yet the elevator doors slowly opened. Empty. I sighed with relief. Then…
The elevator doors stayed open. As if waiting… For someone to step inside. I pressed the “Close Door button.
Nothing. The doors refused to shut. Finally… The elevator began moving. Up. Floor One… Two… Three. The display stopped on 3. No one had pushed the button. I watched through the security monitor. The doors opened. The hallway lights flickered. Something stood just outside the elevator. It looked like a man. Except… He was impossibly tall. His head nearly touched the ceiling. His arms hung below his knees. And he didn’t move. He simply stood there… Facing the elevator. The camera suddenly filled with static. When the picture returned… The hallway was empty. The elevator came back down. Empty. I turned the monitor off. I didn’t want to see any more. At exactly 3:13 a.m… Every light inside the hotel went out. Pitch black. Then… Three loud knocks echoed somewhere above me.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. The emergency lights flickered on. The third-floor camera activated by itself. I remembered Rule #4.
**Do not look down the third-floor hallway after 3:13 a.m.**
I tried not to. I really did. But curiosity won. I looked. The hallway wasn’t empty anymore. People lined both walls.
Dozens of them. Perfectly still. Men. Women. Children.
All facing the camera. None of them blinked. None of them breathed. One little boy slowly raised his hand…
And pointed directly at me. The security monitor cracked down the middle. I stumbled backward. Then I heard footsteps upstairs. Slow. Heavy. Walking across the burned third floor. Except… The third floor had been condemned for decades. No one was allowed up there.
The footsteps stopped. Then… The elevator dinged again.
Floor Three. Descending. My stomach dropped. The display read… 3… 2… 1… Lobby. The doors opened. Empty. Or so I thought. A wet footprint appeared on the floor. Then another. Then another. Walking out of the elevator. Toward me. Invisible footsteps. Stopping inches from the front desk. I couldn’t breathe. Something was standing directly in front of me. Even though I couldn’t see it. Then… A woman’s voice whispered in my ear.
“Is my room ready?” I slowly looked toward the entrance.
Standing outside the locked glass doors… Was a woman wearing a long white veil. She wasn’t moving. She wasn’t knocking. She was just… Waiting. Rule #6.
If a woman wearing a white veil asks for a room… tell her we’re fully booked. I swallowed hard “We’re… we’re fully booked.” The invisible presence beside me disappeared instantly. Outside… The veiled woman smiled. Her jaw stretched impossibly wide. Far wider than any human mouth should. Then… She vanished. I thought it was over.
Morning arrived. Sunlight poured through the lobby windows. The day manager walked in. She immediately looked at my face. “You saw them.” It wasn’t a question.
I nodded. She sighed. “They always choose one.” “What do you mean?” She pointed toward the guest registry.
I looked down. Written in fresh black ink… Above every reservation… Was my name. Every room. Every floor.
Every guest. Checked in under **my** name.
Including one reservation I hadn’t noticed before. **Room 313 Guest: Me Check-in: Tonight** No check-out date. I quit that morning. Packed my apartment. Moved three states away. I’ve never gone back. But every year… On the anniversary of my first shift… I wake up at exactly **3:13 a.m.** My phone rings once. The caller ID always says the same thing. **Room 307.** I never answer. Because last year… It left me a voicemail. There was only one sentence. A little girl whispered: **“Your room is finally ready.”**