Nightwatch

Dusk swallowed me whole at the riding stables—a shivering ghost pressed against earth that bit back with frost. The motorway tunnel yawned in the distance, dark as a throat. I burrowed into the meager leaf litter, frost gnawing through the sweat-damp tracksuit I wore.

Stupid. The thought echoed, sharp and cold. Peeled off too many layers. Left skin exposed to the teeth of night. My internal Correction Log clicked to life:

PRIVATE PROPERTY = FORBIDDEN.

THERMAL REGULATION FAILURE: DAY WARM NOT EQUAL TO NIGHT ARCTIC.

CLOTHING NOT EQUAL TO DISPOSABLE ARMOR.

Darkness thickened. Absolute. Suffocating. My teeth chattered, a relentless rhythm against the unbearable cold. Tears tracked icy paths down my cheeks. Childhood monsters oozed... chittering.

"Handsome Man" I whispered, a thread of sound so thin it barely reached my own ears. "Handsome Man, turn the light on."

Telepathy. How many times must I tell you? The silent reprimand from The Whole was a faint hum, a familiar anchor in the swirling chaos of my fear.

Then—Halos. Twin orbs of light, breathing in the trees. I knew he watched. The Handsome Man. My silent sentinel. The night felt strangely devoid of animal sounds, only the distant, mournful barking of dogs cutting through the oppressive quiet. Something was happening deeper in the woods. I could feel it, a resonance of unseen movement. I had to remain motionless, a shadow among shadows. Survival depended on silence.

Just before dawn, a flicker of movement. A figure detached itself from the tree line and vanished into the fading darkness. The Handsome Man. He had to be at work before anyone noticed his absence. The first hint of light, a pale grey smear on the horizon, was a cold comfort. I had endured.

In the morning, compelled by a desperate hope, I ventured towards the riding stable house, but it gaped empty. Soon, a man arrived, his eyes widening at the sight of me. "I got lost," I rasped, my voice hoarse from the cold. "Spent the night in the woods. Could you call me a taxi?" He stared at my bare feet, a flicker of fear in his gaze. "Wait for my boss," he mumbled, motioning vaguely towards the sun. "Wait in the sun."

A horse raged in the ring—hooves slamming earth like war drums. It halted before me, nostrils flared, eyes wild with something I recognized. Terror. Then wheeled, galloping away from whatever it had seen.

The boss arrived, a stern man with an unsettlingly blank expression. I repeated my request for a taxi, but time stretched, the minutes congealing into an hour. "Are you mad?" My tremor shook the words loose. "Can't you SEE? I'm ICE!" He tossed a horse blanket—stiff with old sweat. Better than nothing.

Then—blue lights. Not a cab. Cops.

Interrogation Protocol:

OFFICER: "What happened?"

ME: "I spent the night at a friend's place. Then I went for a stroll in the woods, got lost. Fell in a stream, the mud sucked my shoes away. Didn't have my phone. Tired, cold, so I just waited for morning."

OFFICER: "Where from? Someone waiting?"

ME: "Village. 20km east."

OFFICER: (Radio crackle) "Just out the hospital, eh? Who's this friend?"

ME: "Handsome Man."

He stepped away, whispered into comms. Returned smiling—a knife disguised as kindness.

OFFICER: "A friend is coming to pick you up."

RED FLASH.

Every instinct screamed danger.

ME: "No!" My control frayed. "I don't know anyone here. I'm not from here. I have no friends. I just got out of the hospital because I was drugged. I'm not talking to anyone but the Sheriff!"

OFFICER: "I've already called the magistrate," he stated, voice clipped.

ME: "The magistrate?" My mind reeled. "Why the hell have you called the magistrate? I just got lost in the woods! I want to go home! I want a taxi!"

The stable-hand shoved massive boots at me—clown-feet anchors to hide the evidence. Eventually, an ambulance arrived. Another hospital. More questions I couldn't answer . The policeman followed, and to my surprise, he finally called me a taxi. "Next time, bring your phone," he advised, his frustration clear. "Even if it's off, we can find you."

As I waited outside for my ride, I heard the policeman speaking to another man, his voice low but sharp. "...after this, my promotion is fading away." Why did he call the magistrate? The question burrowed into my brain like a parasite

We stopped by Handsome Man's house. No one was home, but a woman with large sunglasses, washing her car next door, eyed me with an unnerving intensity. "Let's move on, next village, would you mind? I have money there," I asked with the most charming attitude I could muster. "Mh" he grunted.

The village, at last. "Wait, I need to get money" I told the driver, then turned to 23, the tobacconist. "Can you lend me some money? I'll pay you back."

"I have no money, sorry," 23 replied, her gaze fixed on the concrete-block boots. My keys were inside my apartment. I walked the short distance. The landlord wasn't around. Pushing hard, I forced the door open. My neighbor next door looked up, her eyes immediately drawn to my feet. Something flickered in her expression—recognition? Disappointment?

"Here's your money. Thanks for the ride." I handed the driver a few crumpled packets of cigarettes.

Home. Finally. After almost a week, I was back. I checked my phone. A couple of friends had messaged. Quick replies. Then, a message from the Handsome Man:

"What happened to you?"

"I got lost in the woods."

"Are you okay now?"

"Yes, I need to rest."

A couple of hours later, I woke and checked my phone again. A new message from the Handsome Man.

"You do and undo."

"To grow up, you have to do and undo."

"Fuck off. Undo your family, not mine. I had to go to the police station with my aunt and my MOTHER for a two-hour interrogation!"

"What, when did it happen?"

"Leave it. It's important that you are fine. Rest. You need it." The words felt hollow. Scripted

The paranoia didn't whisper—it detonated. Reality fractured. The next fourteen days became a fever-loop of shattered mirrors and humming walls, where every shadow had teeth and every silence screamed.