He laughed and popped the door open. “Climb in.”
I’d wanted a place closer to The Crater, somewhere with a direct view. But apparently, people around here would rather dig themselves a twelve-foot grave and die in it than live anywhere near the thing.
Still, the house I settled into two hours ago wasn’t the worst. From my bedroom window, I could see the faint silhouette of the three hills that cradled The Crater. I’d only ever seen drone footage in books and dodgy documentaries. I’d always wondered what it looked like up close. Judging by the sheer scale of the surrounding hills, it had to be massive.
With my tea in hand, I stepped away from the window and crouched in front of one of my unopened boxes—the one with my cameras, historical texts, and some weird trinkets I picked up from an old collector. There was also a medallion I got when I was ten. A weird thing, circular and heavy, carved with symbols no one could translate.
I picked up my DSLR, drained the rest of my tea—it scalded my throat—and returned to the window. I raised the camera and snappeda quick shot of the mountain line. Not great. Too dark. I’d get a better one tomorrow.
My gaze dropped to the street below. It was lined with dull, flickering yellow lamps that made everything look jaundiced. The houses were far apart, and opposite mine was just a stretch of trees and thick bushes. This had to be the last house on the street.
I took a lazy shot of the road. Maybe I’d send it to Mother to let her know I wasn’t deadyet.
I glanced at the preview.
My body froze.
There was someone in the photo.
A tall figure stood dead centre in the middle of the street, head tilted back, staring up.Staring at my window.
I hadn’t seen anyone down there before I took the photo. I was sure of it. But that wasn’t what made my stomach twist.
It had no shadow.
None. The streetlamps all around it buzzed with yellow light, but it was like they refused to touch it. Even the face was buried in darkness, as though someone had blurred it out with a brush of dark grey. It was just a dark figure that stood amidst the lights, yet they cast no shadow of him.
I slowly lowered the camera and looked out the window.
Nothing.
Just the road. The trees. The bushes.
Empty.
My breath caught in my chest. My fingers, still clutching the camera, went cold. I snapped another photo. Then another. A third. Nothing. Every frame showed the same lonely street.
I went back to the first picture, and my skin crawled. My head was spinning too fast for me.
Was it a glitch?
I gasped.
Or did I just photograph a ghost?
And why the hell was it staring at my window?
I stepped back from the glass like it might shatter and pull me through. I reached for the curtains, only to find there were none. Nothing. Just bare windows like whoever set up this place didn’t believe in privacy.
Great. I’d add that to tomorrow’s list.
Flicking the light switch off, I turned towards my box to put the camera away. As I leaned down to drop it, the back of my hand grazed the medallion.
“Fuck,” I hissed and recoiled instantly, nearly dropping the camera but caught it last second, gaping at the medallion.
When I’d touched it earlier, it had felt like a cold ordinary chunk of metal. But suddenly, for the first time, it was hot. Scorching. The heat had sizzled against my skin, as if it had been sitting in a fire pit.
My brain whirred.
