The road to my aunt’s place felt longer than it actually was.
Not because of traffic or anything. Just because nobody in the car was talking. My mother kept both hands on the steering wheel like she didn’t trust it anymore. The radio stayed off. Even the usual roadside noise felt distant, like it was happening in a different world.
I kept looking out the window.
Trees.
Empty shops.
Closed gates.
And sometimes, in between, those tall shapes.
They weren’t standing close to the road. Just far enough that you could pretend they were shadows if you didn’t look properly. My mother never reacted to them. She kept driving like nothing was wrong.
My aunt’s house was smaller than ours. Two floors. Old paint. A metal gate that made noise even when you tried to open it quietly.
She hugged my mother like she had been waiting for this. She hugged me too, but her arms felt stiff, like she didn’t know how long to hold on.
Inside, the house smelled like incense and dust. The TV was on, but nobody was watching it.
My aunt said we could stay as long as we wanted. She didn’t ask why we came.
That night, I slept on the floor in the guest room. The ceiling fan made a slow ticking sound. The kind that makes you count without meaning to.
I tried to sleep.
It didn’t work.
The room felt different from mine, but the feeling was the same. Like the air wasn’t empty anymore.
Around midnight, I heard someone walking outside the room.
Slow steps. Not heavy. Not light. Just slow. I thought it was my aunt.
I called out softly.
No answer.
The steps stopped.
I waited.
Nothing happened.
I told myself I was tired.
In the morning, my aunt was already awake, sweeping the front yard like she always did. She didn’t look tired. My mother looked worse.
At breakfast, nobody talked about the town. Nobody talked about the shapes. We talked about rice, weather, and how the tap water tasted strange.
Normal things.
At least we tried.
I went outside later and sat on the small wall near the gate. From there, I could see the road clearly.
Cars passed.
People walked.
Everything looked normal.
Then I saw one of them standing near the bend in the road.
Tall.
Still.
No face.
It wasn’t close enough to touch. But it was close enough to notice.
A man walked right through it. Didn’t slow down. Didn’t look back.
My chest felt tight, like my body noticed something my eyes were still trying to understand.
That afternoon, my aunt asked me to help bring clothes from the terrace.
I climbed the stairs slowly. The sunlight felt too bright. Up there, the wind was strong. Clothes flapped against the railing. And near the corner, taped to the wall, was a drawing.
I hadn’t brought any drawings with me. But this one was here. It showed my aunt’s house.
From above.
The roof.
The gate.
The small garden.
Tall shapes stood around it. One was on the terrace. Exactly where I was standing. I pulled the paper down. My hands felt cold. There were no words on it. That scared me more than any message.
That night, I locked the guest room door. Not because I thought it would stop anything. Just because it made me feel less open. I lay on the floor and watched the ceiling fan spin.
The ticking sound slowed down.
Then stopped.
The room went quiet. Too quiet. I felt the air change. Not colder. Not warmer. Just heavier.
I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t want to see if something was there. After a while, the fan started again by itself.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Morning came like nothing happened. At breakfast, my aunt asked if I slept well.
I said yes.
She nodded like she expected that answer.
Later, my mother went to the market. My aunt stayed in the kitchen. I stayed alone in the living room.
The TV was still on.
A cartoon played. Bright colors. Loud voices. It felt wrong to watch something so normal. Then the screen flickered. Not off. Just flickered.
For a second, the cartoon disappeared. The screen showed a street.
My old street.
My house.
Tall shapes standing near the gate.
Then the cartoon came back. I sat there, frozen, holding the remote. The channel hadn’t changed.
I didn’t tell anyone.
In the evening, my aunt burned incense in every room. She said the air felt strange. I didn’t ask what she meant.
While she was busy, I checked the terrace again. Another drawing was there. This one showed the inside of the house.
The living room.
The kitchen.
The guest room.
Tall shapes stood in each space. And in the middle of the page, written softly:
“New place. Same space.”
That night, my aunt locked the main door early. She said it was better to be careful.
The power went out around ten.
No lights.
No fan.
No TV. Just darkness and quiet.
I lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling I couldn’t see. I heard footsteps again.
Slow.
Careful.
They stopped near my door. The handle didn’t move.
Nothing knocked.
It just stood there. I don’t know how long. My body didn’t move. My breathing felt loud in my own ears.
Eventually, the steps faded.
The power came back. The fan started. The world pretended nothing happened.
In the morning, my aunt didn’t sweep the yard. She sat on the steps instead, holding a cup of tea she wasn’t drinking. She asked my mother if the town was really that bad.
My mother didn’t answer.
From the gate, I could see the road again. Two tall shapes stood near the bend now.
Not one.
Two.
People still walked past them.
Nobody noticed.
But I did. And I knew something else. Leaving the town didn’t change anything. It just gave them more space to follow.
