Temptation

p r o l o g u e ✧

"Oh, come on, girl, it's just one night," Aria's voice insists over the phone.

"I know, but I'm not feeling well. I think I'm going to stay in tonight. I'm afraid if I get up, I might throw up," I reply, staring at my reflection in the mirror, my voice wavering.

Okay, maybe I'm not being completely honest. Sometimes you have to come up with excuses to avoid last-minute plans. If I admitted I just didn't want to go, she'd probably use her peer pressure magic to drag me along. I've learned to create excuses that are just believable enough to avoid her persistent nudging.

I tell Aria I'll definitely make it next weekend, then hang up. Lying doesn't sit well with me, but it's better than dealing with her relentless attempts to convince me otherwise. I could cut ties with her, but confrontation isn't my thing. I often say I'll distance myself from her and her "posse," but I never follow through.

Placing my phone on the dresser, I head to the bathroom for a steamy shower. I need to relax and wash off the day, planning to spend the rest of the night reading.

Halfway through Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, a blinding flash and a deafening boom shake the room. A thunderstorm has rolled in. I'm relieved I didn't go out tonight; with my luck, I'd have been caught in the downpour.

But something feels off. An uneasy sensation crawls up my spine, and I can't shake it. The discomfort gnaws at me, making me decide to put the book aside. I grab the TV remote, trying to distract myself, but the storm's intensity makes it hard to concentrate on finding a channel.

The light dims, flickers, and then goes out completely. The TV shuts off with an unsettling finality.

"Great. Just what I needed," I mutter, my anxiety spiking. "Mom! Do you know where the sub-panel is?" I call out, hoping my mom can hear me over the storm's roar.

Silence is my only response. The storm outside grows louder, and the darkness feels increasingly oppressive. Which does not settle this feeling in me.

I reach to the side and open the drawer attached to my bedside table, searching for the flashlight I keep there. We usually get power outages on a normal basis, so I figured having one in my room would be handy.

I guess I was right.

Turning on the flashlight, I make my way out of my room and down the stairs. As I walk through the house, I hear faint yelling coming from my mom's room.

"Mom? Is everything okay?"

I walk over to her room, and she stands in the middle, very obviously yelling at our home phone. She must've been on the phone with a client before the power went out.

"This stupid fucking piece of–oh, Eden! Sorry. I was on a call with Robbie," I was right. "And then the power went out and I lost the line." She sighs.

"It's okay, I was just about to go to the basement to try and turn on the sub-panel." I smile softly.

"Oh, thank you, baby. You're always better at fixing things than I am." She looks at me and smiles, but it's not her full smile. She hasn't smiled the same ever since my dad left with no warning. The police say he's missing, I say he's a fucking jackass who couldn't handle the commitment of being a father and gave up after 12 years and left without having the decency to say goodbye.

The storm roars again, causing another boom to shake the house, reminding me what I'm doing. Eden, focus, you're literally in pitch fucking black right now, get it together.

I nod at my mom and back out of her room, shutting it behind me, leaving her to continue yelling at the phone.

Shaking everything off, I focus on the main goal: getting to the basement and turning on the sub-panel.

When I reach the basement, the cold air hits me like a wall, mingling with the musty scent of dampness and old wood. The faint beam of my flashlight reveals the sub-panel's rusty metal box against the far wall. I approach it, my footsteps echoing ominously in the silence that's punctuated only by the distant roar of the storm. The basement feels claustrophobic, the shadows cast by the flickering light adding to the uneasy tension that grips me. My hands tremble as I fumble with the circuit breakers, desperate to restore the power and escape the mounting sense of dread that has settled over me.

Fuck!

It's not working.

A loud thud comes from upstairs, causing me to jump out of my skin. Okay–take a breath. You're fine. Everything's fine. It probably was someone knocking on the door or a branch hitting the ground or something.

I try again, fumbling with the switches and doing everything, anything to get this stupid fucking sub-panel to work. The storm intensifies, getting louder and blinding me with the flashes through the window. Leading me to give up with the sub-panel and ditch this creepy ass basement.

As I walk up the stairs, I hear inaudible talking. I walk up to the door and press my ear against the wood, trying to listen in.

Unfortunately, that doesn't work. Frustrated, I lift my head and slowly open the basement door. Maybe someone came by asking if our power was out, which it is.

I step out of the basement, and a scream pierces through the house, sending a chill down my spine. It's a loud, horrifying scream—a sound of pure terror. My heart pounds as I stumble toward the source of the scream, moving cautiously through the darkened hallway. The storm's fury outside seems to intensify, the wind howling and rain splashing against the windows.

The screams grow louder as I approach my mom's bedroom, my flashlight barely cutting through the oppressive darkness. My hands tremble as I push the door open just enough to peek inside.

What I see through the crack in the door makes my blood run cold. In the dim light from a flash of lightning, I see a shadowy figure looming over my mother. Her once serene face is contorted in sheer terror, her body crumpled on the floor. The figure above her moves with a grim, mechanical precision, their dark silhouette stark against the brief bursts of lightning.

The horror of the scene hits me like a physical blow. My breath catches in my throat, my eyes wide with shock and fear. I want to scream, to run, but I'm frozen, paralyzed by the sight of the violence unfolding before me. The shadowy figure's face is briefly illuminated by a flash of lightning, revealing a cold, unfeeling gaze. He turns his head and I swear we made eye contact. A brief second though, enough to look into his eyes.

I stagger back from the door, the sound of my own panicked breaths mingling with the storm outside. Tears blur my vision as I scramble for my phone, desperate to call for help. My fingers fumble with the screen, and I manage to dial 911, my voice a trembling whisper as I try to explain the nightmare I've just witnessed.

The image of the attacker's eyes haunts me – a fleeting glimpse caught in a blinding flash of lightning. For a heartbeat, those hazel eyes gleamed like polished amber, cold and predatory. The storm illuminated flecks of gold and green, swirling in irises that seemed to absorb the darkness around them. In that fraction of a second, I saw a gaze devoid of mercy, calculating and utterly alien. Then darkness swallowed the room again, leaving me with nothing but the afterimage of those terrifying eyes burned into my memory.

The storm rages on, a brutal backdrop to the scene of horror inside the house. I feel utterly helpless, my mind reeling from the brutal reality of the night. The house is a tomb of despair, and I am left to grapple with the weight of what I've seen, the storm's unrelenting roar, a constant reminder of the terror that has unfolded.