Chapter 8: Static in the Blood
575 Words
There was something wrong with the air.
Not the kind of wrong you could name—just that subtle, ticking sort of off-beat wrong that crept into your lungs like whispered static. Kade hadn’t moved in what felt like hours. His body was crouched behind the laundromat counter, the world dim, the street outside long empty…
But inside him, something moved.
It wasn’t a heartbeat.
It wasn’t fear.
It was a hum.
Like a memory trying to crawl out of his veins.
> “You’re marked.”
He remembered the voice. Not a voice, really—more like a pressure in his head, too sharp to ignore. The fourth one. The one that hadn’t blinked. The one that hadn’t needed to.
He didn’t think it had a name.
Kade sat up slowly. His legs had gone numb, and he wasn’t sure if it was from crouching or from something else—something deeper, leaking from wherever that… world had touched him.
He reached into his coat.
The cigarette case was still there.
Still warm.
Still glowing.
He stared at it, fingers trembling. Part of him wanted to throw it away. Burn it. Forget it existed.
But another part—one he wasn’t sure was still him—wanted to light another one.
Outside, the street was abandoned.
No cars.
No sounds.
No people.
It was like the whole block had fallen asleep. Or been replaced with a dream’s cheap replica.
He walked slowly, the cigarette case weighing heavier in his pocket than it should. With each step, that strange static grew louder—not around him, but in him.
He stopped at a rusted-out mailbox and leaned against it.
> “Am I still me?”
The question came out of nowhere. He didn’t mean to say it. It felt like someone else asked it through him.
Then, something strange happened.
He blinked—
—and saw a version of himself across the street.
Standing still.
Staring back.
Same clothes. Same face.
But not moving.
Not breathing.
Just watching.
> No. No no no—
Kade stepped back.
His reflection didn’t.
And in that split second of misalignment—he knew.
That thing wasn’t him.
But it used to be.
He ran.
Didn’t know where. Didn’t care.
He needed to move. To keep the blood circulating. If it stopped… he didn’t know what he’d become.
He ducked into a side alley.
Stopped. Panted.
Then he felt it.
The static in his blood was no longer random.
It had rhythm.
Pattern.
Words.
His fingers twitched. His arms shook. His brain began translating something that wasn’t in human language, but his nerves understood.
He screamed.
It didn’t come out.
Only static did.
His body dropped to its knees, eyes wide, mouth open—frozen. The world twisted slightly, and for a brief, horrifying moment, he could see every version of himself standing in every alley of every possible city—
Each one screaming with no sound.
Then a touch.
Gentle. Soft. Cold.
A hand on his shoulder.
He looked up.
It was her.
The girl with crimson eyes and moonlit skin.
But this time… she knelt beside him.
And whispered something only the static could hear.
Kade woke up in the middle of the street. Alone.
But something was different now.
He didn’t know how to describe it.
But it was under his skin.
Something that didn’t belong to this world…
And now?
It lived in him.
- Writer
