Chapter : 2

Rowan never believed in curses.

But after the house, after the night the darkness tried to steal Elias’s face and his life… he believed in everything.

For a month, things were quiet.

He and Elias moved into a small apartment on the edge of town—modern walls, bright lights, no drafts, no strange corners. Rowan thought it would fix things. Thought Elias would finally sleep without waking up in a cold sweat. Thought they’d finally go a day without checking over their shoulders every few minutes.

But the first night in the new apartment, Rowan woke up to find Elias sitting upright in bed, staring at the far wall.

Just like before.

“Elias,” Rowan whispered, voice catching, “it’s okay. We’re safe now.”

Elias didn’t answer.

His eyes didn’t blink.

Rowan touched his arm—

Elias flinched like he didn’t recognize him.

Then he whispered a sentence that chilled Rowan to the bone.

“It knows where we live now.”

The days after were worse.

Shadows clung to Elias like wet cloth. He jumped at every sound, stared too long at empty hallways, and sometimes, Rowan would find him humming a tune Rowan had never heard before—low, haunting, like something whispered through cracked wood.

One night, Rowan came home to find Elias sitting on the floor of the living room, staring at the blank wall.

But this time, he wasn’t alone.

He was talking to it.

Rowan froze in the doorway. Elias’s voice was soft, broken—he sounded like a child.

“I know you’re angry,” Elias whispered to the wall. “But you can’t have him. You can’t have Rowan.”

Rowan’s blood ran cold.

“Elias… who are you talking to?”

Elias flinched and looked at him. His eyes were glassy, terrified.

“It found me.”

Rowan felt his throat dry. “What found you?”

Elias swallowed.

Then he looked at the corner again.

“The thing that wore your face.”

That night, Rowan insisted Elias sleep in his arms. He stroked Elias’s hair until he finally drifted off.

But Rowan stayed awake.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was in the room—breathing softly in the dark.

Around 3 a.m., Elias stirred.

Rowan whispered, “Hey, I’m here. You’re okay.”

Elias didn’t answer.

He only sat up slowly, mechanically.

Rowan blinked. “Elias?”

Elias turned his head.

But the eyes that stared back were too dark. Too deep.

Too empty.

Elias smiled—slowly, impossibly wide.

And when he spoke, it wasn’t his voice.

“I finally know how he sleeps.”

Rowan’s stomach dropped.

“No,” he whispered. “No. Elias—”

The thing wearing Elias’s face leaned closer.

“Don’t worry, Rowan. He’s still here.”

It tapped its own chest.

“I just borrowed him.”

Rowan scrambled backward off the bed, panic surging through him.

“Give him back,” he choked. “Give him back!”

The thing tilted its head, watching him like a curious animal.

“I will,” it purred. “But first—I want to learn what you taste like.”

Rowan bolted for the bathroom and slammed the door shut. He pressed his back to it, shaking violently.

Outside, Elias’s voice—wrong, stretched—whispered through the crack beneath the door.

“Rowan… come out… don’t hide from me…”

The doorknob twisted.

Hard.

Rowan sobbed. “Please—please, stop—please give him back—”

The rattling stopped.

A moment later, a soft knock came.

Gentle.

Rhythmic.

Three knocks.

Just like the black door.

Rowan clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming.

Then the voice changed.

Shifted.

And now it sounded exactly like Rowan.

“Baby… it’s okay. It’s me. Open the door.”

Rowan pressed his head to the cold tile floor. “You’re not me. You’re NOT me!”

It giggled—a horrible, bubbling sound.

“Fine. Then I’ll use his voice.”

And then—

Elias’s real voice, terrified, muffled, came from the other side.

“Ro… Rowan? Help… please…”

Rowan’s breath hitched.

His chest cracked with pain.

“ELIAS! ELIAS—!”

He reached for the doorknob—

Stopped.

He remembered the house.

The voices.

The lies.

He pulled his hand back, shaking violently.

“I’m not opening,” Rowan whispered. “I don’t care what voice you use.”

Silence.

Then—

“Good.”

A long pause.

“You’re learning.”

And footsteps walked away.

But Rowan didn’t sleep.

Not that night.

Not ever fully again.

At sunrise, he opened the bathroom door slowly.

Elias lay unconscious on the bedroom floor, skin pale, breathing shallow, like he’d been drowned in cold water.

Rowan dropped to his knees, shaking him. “Elias—baby—wake up—wake up—!”

Elias gasped awake and clung to him, sobbing.

“Rowan, I’m scared,” he whispered. “It was inside my head. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I felt it wearing me like a shirt. I felt it smiling with my mouth.”

Rowan held him tightly. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

But Elias trembled.

“You don’t understand,” he whispered. “It’s stronger now. And it didn’t just follow us.”

Rowan froze. “What do you mean?”

Elias lifted his shirt.

Across his ribs, bruises formed the shape of fingers. Long, uneven, too many joints.

And etched into his skin—

thin, dark lines—

like something had scratched words into him from the inside.

Rowan leaned in, heart pounding.

The scratches formed three words:

ANSWER THE DOOR