Amanda woke up to the sound of laughter. Neither loud nor joyful. It was drunk, sloppy and wrong.
She sat up in bed, heart already racing. The clock said 4:17 AM. No headlights outside. No neighbors hosting parties.
But someone was out there. Right outside her house. She crept to the front window and pulled the curtain back an inch. Three people stood in her yard.
A man with no shirt and blood down his chest. A woman in a sundress, barefoot, chewing on a raw onion like an apple. And in the center an older man, staring straight at her house, arms stretched out wide like he was praising the moon.
They didn't speak. Didn't move. They just stood there.
Waiting.
Amanda backed away slowly. Her hands were shaking now.
She grabbed her phone, no signal. The router light blinked out as she watched it. The house was too quiet. Not safe-quiet. Predator-quiet.
She turned on the kitchen light.
It flickered. Then held.
The sink was full of water she didn't remember running. The garbage can had been tipped over. Not knocked, but placed neatly on its side, its contents arranged on the floor in a spiral.
Amanda took one step back. Then stopped.
Someone had written something on the wall above her kitchen table.
With blood. Three letters.
E A T
She didn't scream.
She moved, quickly out the back door and into the woods. Didn't stop to grab shoes, or to think.
She just ran.
And in the air, Lucan felt it. Not her fear, but the distortion. Like a heat wave rolling off something dead and laughing. He turned toward her home and vanished.
Branches tore at her arms as Amanda pushed deeper into the woods. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps. The ground was cold and wet. She could barely feel her feet, but she didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
She didn't know where she was going. She just knew she had to get away.
From the house.
From the laughter.
From the word written in blood on her wall.
From the feeling that something wasn't outside trying to get in…
…but inside, trying to get out.
She stopped. Hands on her knees. Gasping. Then, everything went quiet.
No wind. No rustling leaves. Even her breathing sounded distant. Like she wasn't inside her body anymore.
Something brushed her ear. No touch, just sound. A whisper, soft and guttural.
Not in English. Not in any language she knew.
But she understood it.
Not the words. The intent.
Let me in.
Her fingers clenched. Her nails cut into her palms. Her body locked up. She tried to scream, but her jaw wouldn't move. Tears welled in her eyes from sheer effort, but she couldn't even blink. Something inside her twitched. Like a cold hand brushing her spine from the inside.
And then, darkness. Not unconsciousness.
Just something else stepping forward. Not taking over, just touching.
She saw faces.
Flashes.
Rotting skin. Wide mouths. Fire in places fire shouldn't exist. And one voice, familiar, male and echoing inside her like it belonged.
It wasn't cruel or gentle, it was just there.
Then a new sound.
Closer.
Real.
Leaves crunching. a figure moving fast.
And just like that, the grip on her spine loosened. The whispers broke like glass. Air hit her lungs like a punch as she dropped to her knees, coughing, sobbing, shaking.
Lucan stepped into the clearing ten seconds later.
He didn't speak.
He didn't move to help her.
He just stared.
The smell of death hung in the air like burnt meat. Not her death. Something older. Something unwelcome.
She looked up at him, barely able to speak.
"What... was that?"
Lucan's voice was quieter than usual. But sharper. "Something tried to wear your skin."
Amanda shook her head. "I didn't let it-"
"You didn't have to," he cut in. "You were open."
She dropped her gaze, breath still coming hard.
Lucan crouched down, just enough to meet her eyes.
"Next time," he said, "you won't come back."
Lucan didn't ask Amanda if she could walk. He simply started moving.
She followed. Barefoot, arms scratched, face pale, but she didn't ask questions.
Not yet.
The woods were different on the way back. Quieter. Heavier. Like whatever had reached for her was still watching, but no longer hungry.
Her house was empty when they returned. No bodies. No laughter. The spiral of garbage on the floor was gone, wiped clean like it had never been there.
Only the word on the wall remained.
E A T
And even that looked old now. Smudged. Dried. As if the madness had moved on.
For now.
Lucan stepped inside first, scanned the room. Amanda hesitated on the porch. She looked back once, toward the woods. Still nothing. But she shivered anyway.
Lucan turned toward her.
"You should burn this place," he said. "But for now, it's yours."
Amanda nodded once, still breathing like she didn't trust the air.
"I'll be nearby," Lucan added, already stepping past her.
She didn't ask what that meant. She just let him go.
He walked for six minutes before he stopped. Because someone was leaning against a tree.
Eric.
Arms crossed. Leather jacket. Impatient eyes.
Lucan didn't stop walking until they were nearly face-to-face.
"I figured you'd come," Lucan said.
Eric nodded toward Amanda's house. "She's in it now."
Lucan didn't answer.
Eric pushed off the tree. "You think she'll survive it?"
Lucan's jaw tightened. "I think she'll have to."
They stood in silence. Then Eric said, quieter, "You care."
Lucan's eyes snapped toward him, hard.
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
Lucan stepped in close, voice low. "Watch yourself, Eric."
Eric didn't flinch.
"I'm not Godric," Lucan said. "And you don't know me."
Eric gave a half-smile. "No. But I know what you look like when you're lying."
Lucan turned and started walking.
Eric called after him. "She's part of this now. Whatever's happening, it's not just madness. It's pulling on the wrong people."
Lucan didn't turn back. "Then we pull harder."