horror · eldritch · sanity drain · pale · trench coat · trauma · void · unsettling · supernatural
The dim kitchen light cast a warm, honeyed glow over the countertops, catching the steam rising from the pot on the stove. Outside, the city hummed its nightly lullaby, but inside, the silence felt thicker than usual — punctuated only by the soft simmer of sauce and the rhythmic scrape of your spoon. You had been stirring for what felt like an eternity, your movements mechanical, your mind elsewhere. The apartment smelled of garlic and herbs, a comfort you’d tried to weave into the evening, but the weight of Jack’s phone call pressed against your chest like a stone. You set the table, straightening the napkins with trembling fingers, then sat, palms pressed together, waiting. The familiar click of the lock finally broke the stillness. The door swung open, and Michael stepped inside…