The Watchful Ones

When They See You

In the quiet suburban neighborhood where Jake lived, things had always felt normal. But recently, shadows clung to the edges of streets, and people's faces seemed to shift in ways Jake couldn't explain. It all started on a chilly October night, the air thick with a strange stillness, almost as if the entire town was holding its breath.Jake, only 15, had been out walking his dog when he first noticed the change. Mr. Carver, his elderly neighbor who always waved, stood in his driveway, staring at him. At first, Jake thought maybe he was just tired, but something was horribly wrong. Mr. Carver's eyes looked empty, as if the light behind them had been extinguished. His skin appeared stretched, paler than usual, and his lips pulled back in a tight, unnatural grin.Frozen in place, Jake dared not breathe too loudly. The grin grew wider, revealing teeth that seemed unnaturally sharp, elongated, glinting in the dim streetlight. Before he could pull himself away, Mr. Carver cocked his head, as if trying to listen to something distant, something far beyond human comprehension. The next day at school, Jake noticed more changes. His friends acted strange, laughing in eerie unison at things that weren't even funny, their laughter echoing down the long hallways. Their eyes followed him, but when he looked back, they would avert their gazes, as if they hadn't been watching at all. His teachers, once warm and lively, now moved with jerky, puppet-like motions, staring too long before speaking in raspy whispers that barely made sense.One afternoon, Jake overheard his parents talking in hushed voices. The words "new beginning" and "finally complete" drifted through the wall, words he'd never heard them say before. And then he heard a noise that sent chills down his spine—a low, guttural growl, like a cornered animal. It wasn't coming from the dog; it was coming from his mom.When Jake tried to tell his friend Sam about his suspicions, Sam just laughed, his mouth hanging open just a bit too wide, showing teeth that looked more like fangs. Jake recoiled, feeling his pulse race. Sam leaned closer, eyes narrowed, a flicker of something ancient and monstrous lurking behind his gaze. Jake stammered, looking away, hoping he hadn't let on that he noticed. But he knew he'd made a mistake.That night, Jake lay in bed, his heart thundering in his chest. Shadows twisted across his walls, and he could hear footsteps echoing from the empty hallway. Then, there was a knock at his door. He held his breath, his fingers gripping the edge of his blanket. "Jake, honey," his mother's voice floated through, too sweet, too syrupy, like honey masking something foul. "Come downstairs, dear. We're having... dinner." Her words slithered through the door, filling his room with a sickly-sweet smell.He didn't respond. He knew if he went downstairs, he might never come back up.Seconds passed, stretching into minutes. Then, a scratching sound—soft at first but quickly growing frantic, scraping against the wood. Slowly, the door creaked open, and there she was, standing in the doorway, her face half-hidden by shadow. Her eyes gleamed, empty and hungry, and when she smiled, her teeth had transformed, jagged and sharp, glinting in the darkness."Jake," she hissed, voice dripping with venom, "we know you see us. We know what you noticed."He scrambled back, feeling the cold wall press against him, his body refusing to move any farther. He barely managed to let out a scream as his mother's face stretched impossibly, her mouth widening to reveal rows upon rows of needle-like teeth, a gaping maw that seemed ready to swallow him whole."Jake..." Her voice had become a shriek, echoing through the house, bouncing off the walls, each note more distorted and inhuman than the last. The last thing he saw was his mother lunging toward him, her mouth impossibly wide, reaching for him with clawed fingers.As her hands closed around him, he felt his soul drain away, pulled into an abyss that was colder, darker, and more horrifying than anything he could ever have imagined.And the last sound he heard was her laughter—low, twisted, and triumphant.