Requiem (A Psychological Horror) (Original Debut Story)

What would one do if their past pursued them?

"You cannot outrun the past. It does not rest. It offers no mercy. It only lingers... waiting."

---

They draw near.
They draw near.
THEY DRAW NEAR.

I know not who they are.
I know not what they seek.

No faces. No names. Only forms-shadows that stretch too far, too fast.
Only whispers that slip through the cracks in the walls, in the very air I breathe.
Voices that were never meant to be heard.

I must flee.
I must move.
But there is no door.
No exit to the darkened halls that stretch on forever.
No escape from them.

Their presence grows nearer with each passing breath.
A pull, a weight, a pressing, invisible hand that drags me deeper.
Yet, every step I take only brings me closer to... them.

Hands-too many hands-clawing, raking, digging into my flesh.
I can feel them all, though I cannot see.
Cold. Wet. Unrelenting.
Are they reaching from behind the walls?
Or am I merely losing my mind?

Laughter. Or perhaps... screaming.
A sound that is both too familiar and not familiar at all.
The kind that comes from deep within, as if it rises from the pit of my own soul.

I cannot breathe.
I cannot think.
I cannot-

Because the past does not rest.
It does not die.
It only waits.

It waits in the spaces between moments, between breaths.
It waits in the flicker of shadows and the silence of broken memories.
It waits in the echo of every door I've closed, every face I've forgotten.
And when I look back... it is always there.

It is the thing I cannot outrun, for it is never truly gone.
It is the thing I cannot hide from, for it is always watching.

And neither am I.
Not truly.

For the past does not sleep.
And neither do I.

© [Smiruna-Painira], [2025]. All rights reserved.
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