The 13th Hour

father.

The shadows in Lucas's room always seemed to grow longer at night, stretching across the walls like claws reaching for him. He was six years old, and sleep came reluctantly. He had learned to listen carefully to the creaks and groans of the old house, paying attention for the sound that made his heart race—footsteps from the hall outside.

Tonight, the air was thick and heavy, a hot summer night that made the sheets cling to him. He lay perfectly still, staring up at the ceiling. His nightlight glowed weakly in the corner, casting just enough light to keep the darkness at bay, but not enough to hide the sounds from the hallway.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Lucas's body tensed as the familiar footsteps creaked down the hallway. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to be invisible. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep, the thing out there wouldn't come in. But a low growl rumbled through the air, a sound that made his chest tighten with dread. He knew that sound too well—he'd heard it before, coming from his father when he was in one of his dark moods, when the shadows under his eyes grew deep and his words turned sharp and biting.

But tonight, the sound was different. It was deeper, harsher, like something that didn't belong in the realm of humans. Lucas opened one eye, barely daring to look at the sliver of hallway visible through the crack in his door. A shadow shifted there, tall and twisted, too large to be his father's.

Lucas's breath caught in his throat. He clutched his blanket tighter, feeling his small fingers digging into the fabric. But the shadow moved closer, and he saw a shape that made his blood run cold.

In the dim light, it looked like a person, but its outline was wrong. The shoulders hunched at unnatural angles, the arms hung too long, with fingers that seemed to drag along the floorboards. Its head was twisted to one side, as if trying to listen for any sound from the darkness. Lucas caught a glimpse of its face—a pale mask with eyes that glowed a dull, sickly yellow, and a mouth that stretched too wide, showing jagged teeth that looked ready to tear into flesh.

A whimper escaped Lucas's lips before he could stop it. The thing turned sharply toward the sound, and he could feel its gaze, heavy and burning, pressing into him. For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of something familiar in those eyes—a glimmer of his father's face buried beneath the monstrous form. But then it snarled, a noise so deep that it rattled the air, and Lucas knew it was not his father anymore.

Lucas bolted upright in bed, his pulse hammering in his ears. The thing outside the door took a slow, lumbering step forward, its footfall heavy enough to shake the floorboards beneath him.

He scrambled out of bed, his bare feet hitting the cold floor. The nightlight flickered, casting his shadow against the wall as he backed away from the door. He didn't know where he could go, where he could hide. He just knew he had to get away—away from the thing that looked like his father but wasn't, from the growling, snapping monster that had taken his place.

His eyes darted around the room, settling on the window, the only escape route. It was old, with a stiff latch that he'd never managed to open on his own, but he had to try. Lucas darted to the window, his fingers fumbling with the latch, heart racing as the footsteps drew closer and closer. He could hear the monster's breathing now, a wet, hungry sound, just outside his bedroom door.

The latch refused to budge. He pulled and tugged with all his strength, but it barely moved, the ancient wood groaning against his efforts. Tears welled up in his eyes, panic clawing at his chest as he glanced back over his shoulder.

The door creaked open.

A clawed hand reached inside, its fingers bending like twisted branches as it pushed the door wider. The yellow eyes glowed through the crack, watching him, and a smile that was too wide for any human face spread across its mouth.