The first scream came from the street behind our house. Not a long scream.
Short.
Sharp.
Like someone didn’t have time to breathe. Then another scream followed it. Then shouting. Then something breaking.
I ran to the window. People were outside. Running in different directions. Pointing at the road.
One of the tall shapes was moving.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Just forward.
A man tripped near the gate across the street. He tried to stand. The shape reached him.
Its arm didn’t grab. It passed through him.
The man dropped.
Didn’t move.
No blood.
No sound.
Just empty.
People started screaming for real now. Not confused screams. Panic screams.
Doors slammed shut.
Windows closed hard.
Dogs barked like they were losing their minds.
My mother pulled me away from the window. She didn’t ask questions. She just locked the door.
The screaming didn’t stop.
It spread.
Not just one street.
Many.
Sirens started.
Police cars passed by fast.
Lights flashing.
But the shapes didn’t care. They walked through the lights. Through the noise. Through the people.
I heard glass breaking somewhere close. Then crying. Then shouting again. Then silence.
The power went out.
The house went dark.
Only the streetlight outside stayed on.
I looked through the curtain again. Three shapes were in front of our house now. One of them bent toward the door.
Not knocking.
Not breaking it down.
Just pressing.
The wood started cracking.
Not loud.
Slow.
Like it was being tired open.
My mother started crying quietly. I couldn’t move. The door stopped cracking.
The shape straightened. Then it walked away. Like we weren’t important enough.
The screaming moved farther down the street.
Gunshots followed.
They didn’t help.
People ran past our gate.
Some were bleeding. Some were carrying others. Some just ran. One shape followed them. It didn’t chase. It didn’t hurry. It just walked.
Everyone it touched stopped moving.
No fight.
No chance.
Just silence.
The sky looked darker than ever.
Not clouds.
Pressure.
The air felt thick. Hard to breathe.
The smell of smoke reached our house. Not from one place. From many. I heard someone shouting my name.
From the road.
I didn’t answer.
I stayed inside.
I watched the city fall apart from behind a curtain. In the distance, buildings were burning. Not exploding. Just slow fires.
Shadows moved through the smoke. The tall shapes were everywhere now.
Not waiting.
Working.
Hours passed like minutes. Or minutes passed like hours.
Time felt wrong.
The sounds outside slowly faded.
Less screaming.
More silence.
Not peaceful silence.
Dead silence.
When the power came back, the street looked different.
Broken glass. Burned bikes. A car crashed into a pole.
No people.
Just things left behind.
I opened the door slowly.
The air outside felt heavy. Like it was harder to walk through it.
A body lay near the corner.
Not damaged.
Not bleeding.
Just… empty.
Like something had taken the inside out.
Another shape stood nearby. Watching the street. Not moving.
In the distance, sirens still cried. But closer, nothing made sound anymore.
That night, the drawings returned.
Not on walls.
Not on gates.
On the ground.
Huge.
Rough.
Showing people falling.
Cars crashing.
Houses breaking.
No messages.
No warnings.
Just what was happening.
Phones stopped working. The news went silent. Only distant sirens and burning sounds remained.
My mother didn’t sleep. Neither did I. We sat in the dark and listened to the city break.
In the morning, the sun rose like nothing had happened. But the city looked wrong.
Shops were broken.
Roads were empty.
Some buildings were burned.
No people walked outside.
No voices.
Just wind and smoke.
The tall shapes still stood around the city. More than before. They didn’t hide. They didn’t wait. They owned the streets now.
And the worst part.
They weren’t finished.
Not even close.
