What Should Have Stayed Buried
875 Words
Stayed Buried
I didn’t remember leaving.
One moment, he was standing in front of me—too close, too real, his words still echoing inside my chest like something alive.
The next…
I was outside.
Cold air burned my lungs as I stumbled down the empty street, my heartbeat loud enough to drown out everything else.
You already belong to it now.
No.
No, that wasn’t possible.
This was insane. He was insane.
And yet…
He had known.
The records. The name. The way I had been searching.
No one was supposed to know that.
No one except—
“Me.”
The whisper brushed against my ear.
I spun around.
Nothing.
The street was empty. Silent. Too silent.
My hands trembled as I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to ground my thoughts, trying to convince myself I wasn’t losing my mind.
“You’re not.”
This time, the voice wasn’t in my ear.
It was behind me.
Again.
I didn’t turn around.
“I told you,” I said, forcing the words out despite the way my throat tightened, “I’m not saying your name again.”
A pause.
Then, softly—almost amused:
“You don’t have to.”
Footsteps.
Slow. Measured. Closing the distance between us.
Every step sent a wave of something sharp and electric through my body—fear, yes… but something else too. Something worse.
Something that didn’t want to run.
“You’ve already called me once,” he continued. “That’s enough.”
I clenched my jaw. “For what?”
“For me to find you.”
My breath hitched.
His presence was right behind me now. I could feel it—heat against my back, a gravity that pulled at me without touching.
“Turn around,” he said.
It wasn’t a command.
It wasn’t forceful.
And somehow… that made it impossible to refuse.
I turned.
Too fast.
Too close.
I almost collided with him.
He didn’t move.
Of course he didn’t.
He just stood there, watching me like he had all the time in the world—and I was the only thing worth looking at.
“You shouldn’t be real,” I whispered.
His head tilted slightly. “And yet.”
My eyes dropped—just for a second.
That was my mistake.
Because that was when I noticed it.
The mark.
It curled faintly beneath the collar of his shirt, dark against his skin. Not quite a scar. Not quite ink. It looked… wrong.
Alive.
Like it didn’t belong to his body any more than he belonged to this world.
“What is that?” I asked before I could stop myself.
His expression changed.
Not much.
Just enough.
“You see it,” he said quietly.
Not a question.
I swallowed. “I—yes.”
Another pause.
Then he stepped closer.
“Show me your wrist.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Your wrist.”
There was something in his voice this time. Something heavier.
Not a request.
Something deeper than that.
And before I could think better of it…
I lifted my hand.
Slowly.
His gaze dropped to it immediately—and the moment it did, the air between us shifted again.
Sharpened.
Darkened.
“Interesting,” he murmured.
A chill ran through me. “What?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he reached out—
And this time, he did touch me.
The moment his fingers wrapped around my wrist, everything shattered.
The street disappeared.
The night tore open.
And suddenly—
I wasn’t there anymore.
Fire.
That was the first thing I saw.
It roared around me, swallowing everything—walls, ceilings, memories.
A house.
No.
A home.
Burning.
Voices screamed in the distance, but they sounded far away, like I was underwater.
And then—
Him.
Standing in the middle of it.
Unaffected.
Untouched.
Watching it all burn.
His eyes lifted.
Locked onto mine.
And this time… there was no distance between us.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.
But I wasn’t sure if he meant me—
Or himself.
I gasped as the vision snapped.
The street slammed back into place.
The cold. The dark. The silence.
His hand was still on my wrist.
But now…
I could feel it.
A faint, burning sensation just beneath my skin.
I yanked my hand back.
“What did you do to me?!”
His gaze didn’t leave my wrist.
Slowly… deliberately…
I followed it.
And my breath caught.
Because there—
Faint, but unmistakable—
A mark had appeared.
Not just any mark.
The same one.
The one I had seen on him.
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No, no—this isn’t—this isn’t possible—”
“You saw it,” he said quietly.
My eyes snapped back to his. “Saw what?!”
“The truth.”
My chest tightened. “That wasn’t real.”
“It was.”
“That was a fire from years ago!” I snapped. “That family is dead—you’re supposed to be dead!”
Something flickered in his expression at that.
Not anger.
Not surprise.
Something darker.
“Supposed to be,” he repeated softly.
Silence stretched between us.
- Writer
