The Lamp

The Passenger

Five more years had passed. Ten years of marriage to Emily, and they had settled into what most would call the perfect life. Their house had grown into a home, filled with memories—family vacations, birthday parties, laughter that echoed through the halls. Mike and Emily had fixed their problems, the tension and distance from those earlier years had melted away, and in its place was something solid. Unshakeable. They had built a life together that looked like everything Mike had ever wanted.

The lamp hadn't shown up in years. At least, not in any way that mattered. Life had moved on. Mike had moved on—or so he thought.

Now in his forties, Mike had been promoted again, climbing further up the corporate ladder. He was the boss now, the guy everyone answered to. His team respected him, his salary was enough to afford spontaneous trips to the beach or the mountains with Emily and the kids, and he'd even surprised the family with a European vacation last summer. France, Italy, Spain—places they had only talked about visiting. They laughed, drank wine by the sea, ate gelato in the winding streets of Rome. It was the kind of life Mike had always imagined but never thought he'd actually live.

But there was always something lurking in the back of his mind.

He'd put the lamp out of his thoughts for a long time, choosing to believe that maybe it had just been stress, an overactive imagination. Emily had been patient, forgiving, and their marriage had flourished. No arguments. No drama. Just... peace.

But tonight, standing in the hallway, fists clenched at his sides, Mike felt something stir. The darkness of the house pressed in on him, the streetlights outside casting long shadows that crept along the walls like ghosts. He had just had a small argument with Emily, but it hadn't felt small. It had felt sharp, like an old wound reopening. He couldn't even remember what had started it. Something about him staying late at work, missing dinner with the kids. It had escalated, voices rising, and Emily had stormed upstairs, leaving Mike alone with his thoughts.

And then it appeared.

The lamp.

It was back. Not a vague blur at the edge of his vision like before, but right there—solid, glowing faintly in the corner of the living room beside the bookshelf. Its light wasn't harsh, more of a soft, pale glow, but it was undeniable. Its presence pressed down on him, heavier than it had ever been. It had watched the argument. It had been there, listening. Waiting.

Mike's breath came in short bursts, his heart thudding in his chest as he stared at the lamp. It's real. It's fucking real. The thoughts circled in his head, faster and faster, until they were all he could hear.

Emily had no idea. She couldn't understand what this thing was, why it haunted him, but Mike knew. It was here for him. He had tried to move on, to live his life, but the lamp had never left. It had been waiting.

He needed air. Space. Without thinking, he grabbed his keys from the hook by the door, storming outside into the cool night. The air hit him like a slap, but it did little to calm the storm raging inside his head. He climbed into the car, slammed the door shut, and sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

But the lamp followed.

It was sitting there in the passenger seat now, glowing faintly, its light sharper than before, more real. Mike stared at it, his mind racing. How the hell is it here?

The engine roared to life as Mike floored the gas, speeding down the empty street. He didn't know where he was going, he just knew he had to get away. Away from the lamp, from the house, from Emily, from everything.

The road blurred in front of him, long and winding, the dark shapes of trees whizzing by. The lamp's glow filled the car, growing brighter with every mile. Mike's pulse raced. He couldn't escape it, no matter how fast he drove. It sat there, watching him, judging him, like it was waiting for him to finally understand something.

And then, he wasn't alone.

He glanced at the passenger seat, and his heart nearly stopped. Sitting beside the lamp was a man. Pale, gaunt, with eyes so dark they seemed to swallow the dim light around him. He was wearing a suit, tattered and frayed at the edges, his hands resting limply in his lap. His face was expressionless, empty.

Mike's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "Who the hell—"

The man turned slowly, his black, empty eyes locking onto Mike's. His lips parted, and a whisper, cold and distant, slid through the car. "Wake up."

Mike's breath caught in his throat. His heart slammed against his ribs. "What—"

"Wake up," the man repeated, his voice slicing through the air like a knife.

Mike's hands jerked on the wheel, the car swerving violently. His vision blurred, the road twisting and warping in front of him. The lamp's light flared, so bright now that it was almost blinding.

"Wake up," the man said again, louder, more insistent. The words filled the car, echoing in Mike's skull.

Mike gasped, his mind spinning, his pulse pounding in his ears. The car careened dangerously close to the edge of the road. The lamp pulsed with the rhythm of the words, "Wake up, wake up, wake up," until they were all Mike could hear.

The tires screeched, the car spinning out of control. The man leaned closer, his face inches from Mike's. "WAKE UP!"

Everything went white.

When Mike opened his eyes, he was lying on his back, his head pounding. His vision swam, the edges blurry, the world around him spinning. For a moment, he couldn't remember where he was, couldn't make sense of anything.

Then it all came rushing back. The drive. The man. The words.

Mike groaned, trying to sit up, but his body felt heavy, like it had been crushed under something. He blinked, clearing his vision, and saw that he was still in the car. The steering wheel pressed into his chest, the engine dead, the headlights casting long shadows across the road.

He looked to the passenger seat, his heart racing.

The man was gone.

But the lamp? It was still there, its glow dimmer now, more distant, as if nothing had happened. As if it hadn't just shattered his entire reality.

Mike leaned his head back against the seat, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Was it real? Had any of it been real? He didn't know anymore. His thoughts were a jumbled mess of fear and confusion, the lines between reality and whatever the hell this was blurring more with each passing second.

And then, faint and distant, like a whisper on the wind, he heard it again.

"Wake up."

Mike's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked around frantically, but the road was empty. There was no man. No voice. Just the lamp.

It sat quietly, glowing softly in the dark, as if waiting for him to make the next move. To understand.

Mike stared at it, his breath shallow, his thoughts spinning. What was happening to him? What did it want?

The lamp flickered once, its light pulsing faintly, before surging back to life—brighter than before, brighter than ever.

And then, everything went dark.