Chapter 7
734 Words
The Thing That Follows
The blade clattered to the floor.
Eli scrambled back, breathing hard, skin cold with sweat and old memory. Juliet lay still—unmoving, as if nothing had ever happened. As if her body hadn’t spoken with something else's voice.
And then—
The lights died.
Every. Single. One.
Blackness swallowed the train whole.
Except—
The sound.
A dragging. Wet and slow. Rhythmic.
From the far end of the car.
Eli stilled, ears straining.
> Shhhhhh... THUMP.
Shhhhhh... THUMP.
He could feel it—something massive, wrong, making its way down the corridor. As though it had no bones. As though it moved more like spilled oil than flesh.
And then—
A whisper.
> “You remember now…”
The same voice from Juliet’s mouth. But this time, it wasn’t coming from her.
It was coming from everywhere.
The windows turned to mirrors.
And in every single one, Eli saw himself—
Bleeding.
Screaming.
Smiling.
Then the mirrors cracked, splintered outward as if something on the other side wanted in.
Eli turned—
And saw it.
A shape, crawling through the aisle. Cloaked in blood and shadow. No eyes. No face. Just a stitched mouth, impossibly wide, grinning.
It was made of teeth and regret and old, forgotten names.
On its chest—
Carved into the flesh—
ELIAS.
Eli ran.
He didn’t care where. Just away.
The thing followed, whispering in his head:
> "You woke it up. You bled your name. Now it comes to make you whole..."
Doors slammed shut behind him as he ran car to car, breath ragged, pulse screaming.
Then—
He hit a dead end.
A sealed door. No handle. No escape.
He turned back.
And it was there.
Inches from him.
And it knew him.
> “Eli,” it rasped, voice stitched from a hundred screams. “Don’t run. Not from me. Not from you.”
Its stitched mouth split open—
Revealing his father’s voice.
> “You were born to finish what I started.”
The Bargain in Smoke
Eli’s back hit the steel door.
Nowhere left to run.
The thing that wore his name like a brand inched forward. Its stitched grin oozed steam, like its mouth was cooking every word before letting it out.
> “You are your father’s heir. But you haven’t earned it yet…”
It raised a hand—five long, black fingers like scorched bone. Each tipped in blood that moved… upward.
Eli’s mind fractured under the weight of that voice, that presence, that truth he never asked for.
Then—
The train screamed.
Literally.
A shriek of twisting metal and ancient pain tore through the car.
The thing froze.
Smoke poured from the vents. Thick, silver. Sweet. It smelled like burnt sugar and pine.
And through it—
A figure stepped forward.
Cane. Hat. Velvet coat the color of a dead moon.
The boy conductor.
But older.
Eyes like eclipses. Voice deepened, shaped like lullabies told at gravesides.
> “He’s not ready yet, stitch-mouth.”
The thing snarled, backing away, hissing through broken teeth. “He bled. The mark is mine.”
> “And I keep the train,” the boy said coldly. “Back to the dark with you.”
The thing hissed again—but obeyed.
It unraveled into smoke.
Eli collapsed to his knees, gasping, vision swimming.
> “What… what was that?” he croaked.
The boy knelt beside him, suddenly young again. His smile was pity and warning all at once.
> “That, Eli, was the first shadow of your legacy. A piece of what your father made from the screams he left behind. A hollowblood.”
> “It knew my name…”
> “Of course. You carried it. For years. Pretending not to. But now?” The boy leaned in, almost kind. “Now it smells your fear like perfume.”
Eli trembled. “Why did you help me?”
The boy’s smile faded.
> “Because I want something in return.”
> “What?”
A pause. The lights flickered.
> “You’re going to find your father’s knife.”
Eli’s blood ran cold. “Why?”
The boy stood. Tipped his hat.
> “Because if you don’t… the rest of them will come for you instead. And next time, I won’t stop them.”
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- Writer
