After the thing stood outside my door all night, I stopped caring about sleep. I stayed on my bed with the light on. My eyes felt dry. My head felt slow. The room looked the same, but it didn’t feel like mine anymore. It felt used. Like something had been there before me.
Morning came without any drama.
No sirens.
No shouting.
Just the usual street sounds.
My mother asked if I wanted tea.
I said no. She watched me for a second, like she wanted to ask something else. Then she turned back to the stove.
At school, fewer kids showed up. Some benches were empty. A few classrooms stayed locked. Nobody explained why.
Arun’s desk was still there. Still empty. But a new drawing was on the wall behind the blackboard. It showed our school from the outside.
The playground.
The broken slide.
The big tree near the gate.
Tall shapes stood around it.
Not chasing anyone.
Not attacking.
Just standing there. No one talked about it.
Some kids glanced at it. Then looked away like it was just another school notice. That scared me more than the drawing itself.
During lunch, everyone ate quietly. No shouting. No trading food. Just chewing and staring at their plates.
I kept thinking about the words from before. “You see us now.”
On the way home, the street felt longer. The air felt heavier, like it was harder to move through it. Near the closed fruit shop, one of them was standing.
Tall.
Still.
No face.
People walked past it like it wasn’t there.
One man even leaned against the wall where it stood. My body didn’t agree with what my eyes were seeing. My legs slowed down. My chest felt tight. My hands felt cold.
I didn’t look back.
At home, the front door was unlocked again. I stood there for a second, listening.
Nothing.
Inside, everything looked normal. My shoes were where I left them.
The calendar still showed the wrong date. The TV remote was missing like always. But my room felt wrong.
The light was on.
I always turn it off.
On my bed was another drawing. It showed my house from the outside. Dark shapes near the windows. One in front of the door.
Under it, shaky writing. “We stay where you stay.” I sat on the edge of the bed. For the first time, I wondered if leaving would even matter.
That night, the silence felt busy.
Not loud.
Just full.
I didn’t hear footsteps. I didn’t hear breathing. But I felt watched.
In the middle of the night, pressure pressed down on my chest.
Not painful.
Just there.
I opened my eyes. I couldn’t see anything. But something was close. My body didn’t move. After a while, the pressure faded.
Morning came again.
At school, the teachers didn’t teach. They sat at their desks, staring at papers they weren’t reading.
Another drawing had appeared. It showed the hospital. The whole building. Tall shapes at every entrance.
Ambulances outside.
No people going in.
No people coming out.
After classes ended early, I walked to the river. Not because I had a reason. Just because I didn’t want to go home yet. The bridge was still broken. Yellow tape hung loose in the wind. On the other side, one of them was standing.
Not far.
Not close.
Just there.
It tilted its head slightly. I felt something in my chest.
Not fear.
Not calm.
Something in between. I heard a voice in my head. Not words. Just a feeling. Like something asking if I understood now.
I didn’t answer.
At home, my mother was packing clothes into a bag.
Fast.
Messy.
She said we were going to stay with my aunt for a while. I asked why. She said the town didn’t feel safe anymore.
I almost laughed.
Before we left, I checked my room. The drawings were gone. The walls were clean. But the mirror was fogged. In the fog, there were words.
“Leaving doesn’t change anything.”
Outside, cars were packed with bags.
Doors were locked.
Windows were shut.
People didn’t look at each other anymore. The tall shapes didn’t move. They just stood there. Watching the town empty.
As we drove away, I looked back. They weren’t following. They were staying. Like they had always belonged there.
And somehow, now, so did I.
