It was a cold, moonless night when I first encountered him. The dim light of the flickering streetlamp barely illuminated his face, but his shadow loomed unnaturally large behind him. He introduced himself as Mr. Ethan Crowley—a man of peculiar charm and unnerving stillness.
I was returning from a late shift at work, exhausted and drenched from the sudden downpour, when he offered me his umbrella. “A kind gesture,” I thought at the time, but his eyes told a different story. They were as black as coal, bottomless, and chillingly void of emotion.
“Thank you,” I muttered, grasping the umbrella, unsure why my hands trembled as they brushed his.
“Think nothing of it,” he said, his voice low and velvety, almost hypnotic.
Over the next few weeks, I couldn’t shake him from my mind. Strange coincidences began to occur. I found his business card tucked inside my coat pocket one morning—though I had no recollection of him giving it to me. The card bore no contact information, just his name embossed in silver letters.
Then the dreams began. I would wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding, as visions of his silhouette standing at the foot of my bed danced in my memory. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but the room felt suffocatingly heavy whenever I dreamed of him.
Desperate for answers, I decided to confront him. I scoured the town and, eventually, found him at an old, decrepit bookstore. He was seated in a dusty corner, his long fingers flipping through the pages of an ancient tome.
“You’ve been following me,” I accused, my voice trembling.
He looked up slowly, his smile cold and calculating. “No, my dear. You’ve been following me.”
My stomach twisted as he placed the book on the table, revealing a page that made my blood run cold. It was a detailed sketch of me—my face, my clothes, even the scar on my left hand. The title on the page read The Ruined Soul.
“What is this?” I whispered, stepping back.
“Your story,” he replied. “You’re part of something bigger than you can comprehend.”
From that moment, my life spiraled out of control. Shadows moved when no one was there. My friends avoided me, saying I felt “off.” My reflection in the mirror would sometimes smile back at me, even when I didn’t.
Worst of all, Ethan Crowley began appearing everywhere—at the grocery store, outside my window at night, even in my childhood photographs where he shouldn’t have been.
One night, unable to bear it anymore, I confronted him again. “What do you want from me?” I screamed.
“To take what you so carelessly offered,” he said, stepping closer. “Your life. Your soul. You accepted my gift—a simple umbrella, and with it, my curse.”
The last thing I remember was his hand reaching out, impossibly cold. The world dimmed around me, and now… I’m not even sure if I’m alive. I exist in a hollow version of my life, a puppet in his game, forever haunted by the man who ruined everything.
The world turned dark when Ethan Crowley’s icy hand touched mine. It wasn’t death—not exactly. Instead, I found myself in a surreal, shadowy place, a liminal space between life and oblivion.
I wandered through endless corridors, each wall adorned with fragments of my life: photos, memories, and moments etched into shadowy frames. But they weren’t right. The faces of my loved ones were blurred, their smiles twisted into grotesque grins.
Then, I heard his voice. “Welcome to your new reality,” Ethan said, appearing from the shadows, his presence sucking the air from the room. “This is where souls like yours go. The ones who foolishly cross my path.”
“Why me?” I asked, my voice shaking. “What did I do to deserve this?”
“You didn’t do anything, child,” he said with a smirk. “You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Fate handed me your name, and I obliged.”
I screamed, cried, and begged, but he simply stood there, amused. Then, with a wave of his hand, he vanished, leaving me in the endless void.
Time had no meaning there. Minutes felt like years, and years like seconds. Every attempt to escape led me back to the same haunting corridors. I was trapped in a loop, reliving the moment I met him over and over, unable to change a thing.
But then, one day—or perhaps one century later—I saw a glimmer of hope. A mirror appeared in the distance, radiating light. I approached it cautiously, my reflection looking back at me. Unlike the twisted visions I had grown used to, this version of me looked… alive.
A voice whispered from the mirror: “There’s still a chance. Break the curse.”
“How?” I whispered back, desperate.
“Reclaim your soul. Defy him.”
With renewed determination, I waited. Ethan eventually appeared again, as he always did, watching me suffer. But this time, I didn’t beg or cower. Instead, I confronted him, my anger boiling over. “I want my soul back.”
He laughed, dark and hollow. “You can’t take back what’s mine.”
But something shifted. The moment I stood my ground, the walls of the void began to crack, light seeping through. Ethan’s confidence faltered, his smirk fading. “What are you doing?” he demanded.
“I’m taking control,” I said, my voice steady.
The mirror reappeared, and I stepped through it. Light engulfed me, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I woke up.
I was back on that rainy street, holding the umbrella Ethan had given me. But this time, I dropped it and walked away without looking back. The weight lifted from my chest, and the world felt real again.
Though I escaped, I’ll never forget the man who nearly stole my soul. His name is etched in my memory, a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurks in unexpected places.