Shadows in the Rain
The rain hit the pavement with a steady rhythm, drumming against the quiet suburban street. It was late, past midnight, when Marie walked home after a long shift at the diner. The air was thick, the storm relentless. She was used to walking alone at night, but tonight the streets felt… different. A little too silent.
She pulled her jacket tighter and kept her head down, trying to ignore the odd sensation of being watched. The only light came from the occasional flicker of a streetlamp, casting eerie shadows on the pavement.
As she passed the corner of Elm and Fifth, she saw it—a black umbrella, left open and standing upright in the middle of the sidewalk. No one around. Just the umbrella, the handle buried deep into the concrete like it had grown there.
She stopped, her heart skipping a beat. People didn’t leave their umbrellas out in storms like this. It didn’t make sense. She looked around for the owner, but the street was deserted. The wind howled, but the umbrella stood still, unmoving.
Her feet felt rooted to the spot. Something about it didn’t seem right. The black fabric was too dark, too unnatural, absorbing the streetlights like a void. She couldn’t shake the feeling that it was waiting for her.
The wind gusted again, and she couldn’t resist. She stepped closer, her hand reaching for the umbrella’s handle, her skin tingling with unease.
The moment she touched it, the air around her grew still. The rain, which had been pounding down just moments before, stopped completely. The streetlamps flickered out, plunging the entire block into darkness.
She yanked her hand back. The umbrella remained, but the ground beneath her feet felt… wrong. Heavy. As if the air itself had thickened. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Something was shifting, moving in the shadows.
Then, the whispers started.
At first, they were soft, indistinct, like murmurs from the corners of her mind. But as she backed away, they grew clearer—hushed voices, pleading, desperate, angry. Each whisper seemed to come from the direction of the umbrella, pulling her in.
She turned to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. It was as if the darkness around her had clamped down on her, holding her in place.
A figure appeared in the darkened street—a man, tall and thin, his face obscured by the blackness. He moved slowly toward her, and his voice sliced through the air, cold and brittle.
"You shouldn’t have touched it."
Created by Erica Latasha
