1
The bedroom oozed with a nauseating glow. On the nightstand, the baby doll’s head candle sagged in the heat, its wax peeling away like skin torn from bone. Shadows writhed across the walls in frantic, twitching patterns. From the doll’s scalp, molten wax bled in viscous streams, cooling into lumps that resembled rotted flesh. A jagged smear of crimson nail polish slashed across its porcelain face, glistening as though bloodied fingers had pressed against its lips to silence a scream.
Before the shattered full-length mirror propped against the wall, Jana leaned closer. Her reflection fractured into grotesque slices of eye, mouth, and pale cheek, like an unintentional autopsy of her own face. The longer she stared, the more those broken pieces seemed to twitch within the glass, clawing as if desperate to tear themselves free.
She should have looked away. Instead, a slow, feral smile crept across her lips.
Her fingers slid through her midnight-black hair. Once long enough to tie neatly back, it now stopped cleanly at her shoulders. Cutting it had been deliberate, a ritual of defiance. Each strand that fell had felt like a piece of weakness stripped away, a fragment of control reclaimed. She carried no regret.
In the dim light, her pale skin shimmered like something carved from bone. The effect was sharpened by the smear of blood-red lipstick and the dagger points of her nails. The goth persona did not simply adorn her. It possessed her. A mask, yes, but one she wore with reverence.
Across her shoulder stretched a set of claw marks, inked in meticulous detail. In the dim candlelight they seemed less like a tattoo and more like wounds, fresh and angry. Her devout parents had recoiled at the sight, branding her a child of Satan and convincing themselves she had bound her soul to a covenant. What unsettled them most was not the ink itself but how real the marks looked, as though something had once torn into her flesh and never truly let go.
The door reverberated with a forceful knock. Jana ignored it. She wanted no interruptions.
Her mother’s voice carried through the wooden barrier. “Dad and I are headed to Grandma’s place. She sprained her back again. We will be away for a few hours. I need you to keep an eye on your brother, Aiden, and his friend Brent, who will stay over tonight.”
Jana pressed her ear to the door. Silence answered her. Her refusal to respond made her mother’s jaw tighten on the other side.
Irritation flared, and a fist struck the wood. “Jana, I know you are in there. Get down to the living room and supervise them. That is an order.”
From inside came a guttural sound, low and strange. Her mother’s breath caught, but only for a moment. With a sharp shake of her head, she dismissed it. “Honestly, what is the matter with you? You are in charge. Make sure the boys do not get into trouble.”
Her footsteps retreated down the stairs until the hall fell silent once more.
A storm of anger churned inside her. Jana slammed her fist into the fractured mirror, shattering what remained of the glass. Shards rained onto the floor, glittering like jagged ice. Pain flared, and a thin stream of blood traced a path down her knuckles. She lifted her hand to her lips and licked it clean, savoring the strangely sweet taste.
“I wish my blood was black,” she whispered. For a moment the shards seemed to shiver, as if they had heard her. Her fractured face stared back, a mask of rage and something darker, something alive. The mirror no longer reflected her entirely. It belonged to her and to whatever had awakened inside.
She tugged at the sleeve of her white hooded sweatshirt, smearing a streak of red across the fabric. The stain spread slowly, sinking into the cotton. She did not care. If her mother found it during laundry, so be it. Her parents already believed she was up to no good. A few drops of blood on the floor would only confirm what they whispered behind her back, that Jana dabbled in rituals, that she summoned things better left alone.
Sometimes she wondered if they feared her. The thought pleased her. She liked the way people tensed when she walked into a room. They called it bad vibes. She called it power.
Without hurry, she fished a red bandana from the back pocket of her jeans and tied it tightly around her wounded hand. The knot pressed into the fresh cut.
No one truly liked Jana. People found her strange, even unsettling, and they kept their distance. She never cared. The only person she enjoyed being around was her friend Gavin.
She missed him. They had always accepted each other’s differences. Jana was the reckless goth girl who dove headfirst into dangerous situations. Gavin tagged along, nervous and hesitant, always afraid they might push too far or end up dead.
His recent absence gnawed at her. She had not seen him in weeks. Normally he appeared beneath her window twice a week, tossing pebbles against the glass. Jana would lean out and signal him by raising the red bandana she always carried in her back pocket. Then she would wait until her family slept before slipping outside. She pressed her ear to her parents’ door until their snores reached her, then checked her brother’s room. As usual he had dozed off with his phone slipping from his hand. Certain no one would catch her, she would slide into the night to join Gavin.
They always went to the same spot, behind the gnarled old tree at the edge of the property, and talked for hours about life and nothing at all. Jana was nineteen, but college meant nothing to her. Her parents nagged constantly about the future, but she brushed them off. She would leave when she was ready, find a job, and carve her own space.
Gavin lived alone, though he never suggested they share a place. Their friendship was not romantic. It was something else, a bond forged in darkness, in the comfort of being outsiders. On their last night together they had wandered into the ruins of an abandoned church, its broken cemetery stretching out behind it. Jana strolled among the crumbling headstones, kneeling with Gavin’s small flashlight to read the names carved into weather-worn stone. Gavin trailed close behind, his face pale, his eyes darting nervously toward every sound that stirred in the shadows.
Something unexpected happened that night. From the darkness, a figure struck Gavin in the leg. He screamed and collapsed onto the grass, clutching his thigh.
Jana’s blood boiled. She shot to her feet, hands trembling with adrenaline, and lunged at the attacker. Before she could reach them, the assailant hurled a board studded with jagged nails. It whistled past her face. She ducked just in time, eyes blazing, as the figure melted into the shadows.
She bent to pick up the weapon, heavy and splintered, nails bent and caked with dirt. If they were rusty, Gavin would need a tetanus shot.
Gavin staggered upright, jaw tight, forcing himself to mask the pain. They limped away in silence at first, then spoke in hurried tones.
“Probably some grave keeper,” Gavin muttered, his laugh hollow. “Or a creep trying to rob us.”
“Then why run?” Jana asked, tightening her grip on the board.
“Because you ran at him like a wild animal,” Gavin said, his voice trembling. “No wonder he bolted.”
When they reached her street, Gavin insisted he would go straight to the hospital and refused to let her come with him. He said he would be fine, but his limp betrayed the truth.
Since the attack at the cemetery, Jana had not heard a word from him. She wondered if his leg had worsened, if the wound had festered until he could barely move. The silence gnawed at her.
The problem was Gavin lived in a cabin buried deep inside the Woods of Forgotten Souls. Nobody went there during the day, let alone at night. The place had a reputation, and people whispered enough stories to keep anyone away. Jana was not like everyone else. Fear never stopped her.
Tonight the urge to check on him was stronger than ever. She had to see him, to make sure he was alive and not suffering alone in that isolated house. First she needed to confirm her parents were gone. They had left for her grandmother’s place after another back injury, and Jana doubted they would return before morning.
That left the boys. If she wanted to slip away, she had to get Aiden and Brent into bed early. Once they were asleep, nothing would stand between her and her goal. She had to see Gavin, even if it meant walking through the dark, ominous woods alone. Her pulse quickened at the thought, her mind sharpening into a single focus. Nothing else mattered.
Jana dropped onto her hands and knees and peered beneath the bed, into the hiding place where she kept her most treasured possession. A jewelry box shaped like a coffin. As she inched forward, her hair tangled in dusty cobwebs, strands clinging to her face. Tiny spiders skittered across her skin, their delicate legs brushing her cheeks and neck. The crawling sensation made her shiver, though a strange pleasure stirred within her. A fit of sneezes and coughs broke free before she finally snatched the box and backed out.
Cross-legged on the floor, she opened the coffin-shaped box and spilled its contents across the wood. A macabre collection spread before her: rotted teeth, tufts of hair, a small plastic bag filled with dry white scales of shed skin, a pocketknife with a stained blade, and a pair of black sclera contacts that gleamed like ink pools in the low light.
She studied the strange assortment for a long moment, then rose to her feet, leaving the mess where it lay. Moving to her closet, she pulled out a pile of worn stuffed animals. One by one she arranged them on her bed with practiced precision until they formed the crude outline of a body beneath the covers. Anyone peeking in would believe she was fast asleep.
Jana pressed her forehead against the cool glass, straining to listen. She was not sure if her parents had already left. No sound of an engine. No crunch of tires on the driveway. The silence downstairs felt unnatural, as though the house itself was holding its breath.
Then something thudded against the roof.
Curiosity pushed her forward. She unlatched the window and slipped through, careful not to make a sound. The shingles were cold and gritty under her palms. The moment her feet touched the slant, a wave of dizziness swept over her. Her knees wobbled, her balance wavered, and a chill of panic spread through her chest.
She hated heights, but she had chosen this path. Forcing herself to move, she edged farther out, her heart hammering as she leaned to glance toward the ground. The world spun, tilting and blurring in her vision. Sweat broke across her forehead, cold and clammy.
“How the hell am I supposed to get down without breaking my neck?” she whispered.
The sun had already sunk, leaving a faint purple glow stretched across the sky. The house was wrapped in uneasy silence until a heavy thud shook the roof.
Jana spotted a dark shape crumpled against the shingles. Moving with care, she crept closer, the slant tugging at her balance.
It was a raven, wings splayed, feathers bent as if it had dropped straight from the sky. She crouched beside it and pressed a finger to its side. Cold. Lifeless.
While she studied the bird, she failed to notice the eyes fixed on her from next door. Behind the slightly open window of the neighboring house, her neighbor watched. His face was unreadable, his gaze steady and unblinking, as if waiting for what she would do next.
The neighbor’s face twisted in disgust. He knew it was Jana, the pale girl who always seemed out of place. She had never done anything to him, yet something about the way she moved and looked made his skin crawl. Her family appeared ordinary and devout, attending his church regularly, but Jana had never set foot inside. Every time their eyes met, it felt as if she were daring him, her stare sharp and unyielding.
Fear clawed at him. She might lash out one day, and he could not wait to see if anyone would be hurt. In a rush, he grabbed the rifle from beneath his pillow and pushed it out the slightly open window, aiming carefully. He told himself he had no choice. This was the only way to protect himself.
The first shot cracked through the quiet evening. Jana froze, her pulse hammering in her chest. The second shot ripped across the shingles, knocking her off balance. She scrambled backward, heart racing, limbs trembling. A third shot cut through the air. Time slowed. She teetered on the edge of the roof, the ground yawning below her, darkness pressing in from all sides.
For a heartbeat, everything held still. Then the roof gave a treacherous creak, and Jana felt herself slipping.
Somewhere in the house, the neighbor’s finger tensed on the trigger, ready to fire again.
The night swallowed her scream.
