The Dark Singer

The Whisper In The Water

Three months had passed.

Three months since Alaya had last seen the shadow—the entity that claimed her body, her mind, her soul. Life had resumed its glittering pace. Sold-out shows, magazine covers, spontaneous interviews—she was everywhere and nowhere, slipping between flashbulbs and lyrics, acting like she hadn’t once felt a demon breathe against her neck.

But the truth was... she still heard him. Sometimes.

It began small. The cold wind that wrapped around her at night when the windows were tightly shut. The feeling of fingers brushing her thigh when she was alone in bed. She’d tell herself it was nothing. Just stress. Jet lag. Overthinking. Until the dreams returned.

Alaya would wake in sweat, heart pounding, sheets tangled between her legs. In the dream, she was no longer herself. She was being watched, touched—worshipped and used by an unseen presence that moved like smoke, like heat. She never saw his face, only the eyes—burning in the dark.

And always, before she woke up, she heard it: Your body is mine.

She never told Rhea. What was she going to say? That something was haunting her again? That her dreams were turning into strange, erotic episodes she couldn’t control? That she sometimes caught her reflection smirking at her when she wasn’t smiling?

No. She’d hold it in. She was good at that.

One evening, back at her hotel after another show, Alaya stepped into the bathroom to unwind. The marble tiles were warm beneath her feet, and the faint scent of jasmine from her candles filled the air. She turned the faucet, letting hot water pour over her skin. For a moment, she felt peace—like nothing could touch her here.

Steam fogged up the mirror. The world outside faded.

She closed her eyes and let the water trickle down her back, her hands gliding over her body in slow, methodical rhythm. But then—she gasped.

Something touched her.

Not her hand. Not the water.

It was slow, deliberate, warm. She felt it slip between her thighs, fingers made of breath and darkness. It curled against her, stroked her, entered her.

Her moans echoed off the tile walls before she even realized they were hers.

It felt too real.

Too good.

Her head tilted back. Her knees buckled.

Then, the voice—right by her ear.

Your body is mine.

She stumbled back in horror, heart slamming in her chest, her breath shaking as she stared into the fogged-up mirror. No one was there. Only her reflection, shivering and wide-eyed.

She didn’t say a word to anyone.

The next morning, Rhea asked if she was okay. Alaya just smiled. “Didn’t sleep well,” she muttered. “I’m good.”

But she wasn’t.

Things escalated.

Lights flickered in rooms she hadn’t entered. Her phone would play her old, unreleased songs—songs she’d written when she first started, ones about fame, temptation, sacrifice. Her own voice sounded foreign now—possessed, distant.

And every time she closed her eyes to sleep, she found herself back in that dream.

A shadow loomed behind her. Hands gripped her waist. Lips brushed her shoulder. A voice whispered in her ear in a language older than sin. She wanted to scream, to wake up—but her body melted into it, welcomed it. She ached in her sleep, trembled with pleasure and dread until the final whisper returned:

Your body is mine.

Alaya would wake up breathless. Wet. Confused.

She stopped talking about her dreams. Stopped sharing anything, even with Rhea. The tension tightened around her life like a rope—subtle, invisible, deadly. She felt watched. Owned. Like something was crawling beneath her skin, inching closer to her mind.

Then came the night everything cracked open again.

She was driving home alone. The streets were empty. The radio played low—a ballad she didn’t remember recording. Halfway through the verse, she caught movement from the corner of her eye.

A shadow.

Sitting beside her in the passenger seat.

She turned sharply—but it was gone.

Her breath fogged up the windshield. The air turned cold.

She gripped the wheel, trying to steady herself, but the voice echoed inside the car like it came from the very air:

You thought I left? You are mine.

Alaya screamed and slammed the brakes.

She sat there, shaking, staring at the empty seat beside her.

The nightmare had never ended.

And now it was closer than ever.