Charlie

Imagine this: a cold, quiet night, the kind where every creak in the house feels like it’s holding its breath. Emma’s dog, Charlie, lies on the rug, half-asleep, when she hears something—a whisper, almost human, drifting up from the floor.

“Emma…”

Her blood runs cold. She stares, feeling a trickle of dread rise up her spine. It couldn’t be him… could it?

“Emma…” the voice insists, gentle but strange, like it’s peeling away layers of language just to form her name. She feels her heart hammer in her chest. Slowly, she turns, seeing Charlie’s eyes—too intense, too aware. She can barely breathe.

“Emma…do you hear me?” Charlie asks, his mouth barely moving but his eyes gleaming with a depth she’d never seen.

She stumbles backward, knees nearly buckling, a scream trapped in her throat. It’s her dog. Her dog—speaking to her. She wants to turn away, to run, to call someone, but something keeps her there, frozen, transfixed in horror.

“I’ve watched you,” he continues, his voice low, each word feeling…wrong. “Watched you every day.”

He inches forward, his gaze never breaking, a strange light in his eyes, something she can’t escape.

“I’ve seen everything.”

Night's Hunger

They say there are people who walk only under the stars, faces hidden, shadows draped around them like cloaks. These figures move through city streets unseen, slipping through darkened alleys, their presence barely a whisper. You might catch a glimpse—pale skin, eyes that gleam too sharply in the moonlight—but by the time you look twice, they’re gone.

These wanderers live by an ancient need, an insatiable hunger that pulls them out after dusk. They search for warmth, for something to sustain them, slipping close to those who feel… vibrant, alive. You’ll feel the chill when they’re near, an odd shiver, like the temperature dropping. And if you’re sensitive enough, you might even feel them watching you, waiting for just the right moment.

There are stories about those who felt a strange fatigue after an encounter—a weakness, a loss they can’t explain. A memory lingers of a face in the shadows, of an energy drained, leaving them feeling… different.

And as the sun rises, these night travelers vanish, leaving only a fading sense of emptiness behind. Some say they’re cursed; others call them a myth. But the ones who’ve met them? They just remember the hunger in those eyes—and the darkness that seemed to follow.