Ethan's heart tightened, and his thoughts tangled like a chaotic web. He struggled to suppress the rising panic within him, trying to keep his voice steady. "I... I had a nightmare."

Margaret's voice, though still gentle behind the thick door, sounded unnervingly strange to Ethan. "Don't worry, Ethan, it was just a dream. Go back to sleep. Tomorrow is an important day."

"I... I'll try to sleep. You should get some rest too," he managed to say, his voice trembling slightly.

As Margaret's footsteps receded down the hallway, the room plunged into silence once more. Ethan collapsed onto his bed, his body drenched in sweat. His eyes fell on his phone, and to his shock, the time had inexplicably reverted to the previous night—April 30th.

How is this possible?!

He pressed his hand to his chest, feeling the smooth, unblemished skin where there should have been a wound. Yet, the sharp, icy pain of the cold scythe piercing his flesh was still vivid in his mind, the tearing sensation tormenting him as if it had happened moments ago. But now, he was unscathed. He had definitely died.

Fear surged like a tidal wave, his thoughts ensnared by confusion and terror. He forced himself to calm down. The "parents" who had once treated him with such kindness were nothing more than monsters fattening him up, waiting for the perfect moment to devour him.

But what he couldn't fathom was why these events kept repeating. The first time, he had been caught completely off guard and killed. The second time, he had tried to escape but still met the same gruesome end at his "mother's" hands.

His breathing quickened, his chest feeling like it was being crushed under an immense weight. He knew he had no choice—he had to get out of this terrifying place immediately. It had been less than fourteen hours since his last death. If he hesitated any longer, another death was all that awaited him.

"I have to escape." The thought echoed like an alarm in his mind, urging him to action.

Margaret's footsteps faded into the distance, and the quiet of the house brought Ethan a brief moment of relief, though his nerves were still taut. He leapt from his bed, flung open his closet, his movements frantic but careful. He knew he couldn't take much with him—the lighter the better. His trembling hands grabbed a thick jacket, a Swiss army knife, and a few crumpled bills. He stared at the blade of the knife, recalling the horrifying memory—it had only cut through the creature's skin, leaving the carapace beneath unscathed. Yet, it was the only thing that gave him the slightest sense of security.

Taking a deep breath, he packed everything into his backpack with as little noise as possible. The bag felt heavy, but still manageable. He stood in the center of the room, his eyes scanning every object, wondering if there was anything else that might be useful. The ticking of the clock echoed in the silence, each second a reminder of the urgency.

He moved to the window and cautiously drew the curtain to the side. The town was shrouded in darkness, the streetlights barely piercing the night. His hands fidgeted at his sides, and he could only hear his own rapid heartbeat. The house was so silent, any noise felt like it would wake the monsters below. He needed to wait until they were sound asleep; escaping through the window would be the safest option.

Time crawled by, and Ethan glanced at his watch. The hands finally pointed to the right moment. He could wait no longer. He hoisted his backpack and slowly made his way to the window. Outside, the night was dense, the town eerily quiet. Holding his breath, he gingerly pushed the window open. The creak was deafening in the stillness, and he froze, every muscle tense, praying the noise hadn't drawn the monsters' attention.

He paused, straining to hear any sign of movement from below. When everything remained quiet, he let out a slow, controlled breath and leaned out the window.The cold night air cut across his face like a blade, the chill seeping into his bones. He gritted his teeth, gripping the window ledge tightly as he carefully swung his legs over, balancing precariously on the narrow sill. A sudden wave of vertigo made his heart lurch, his legs trembling slightly, but he couldn’t afford to hesitate.

He gripped the drainpipe with both hands and slowly slid down, the rough surface scraping his palms, leaving small cuts that stung in the cold air. Gritting his teeth, he focused on staying silent. His breath was shallow, his ears filled with the sound of blood rushing, as if his pounding heart was the only thing in the world.

Suddenly, a soft noise above shattered the silence.

Ethan froze, fingers digging into the pipe, cold sweat dripping down his back. He pressed himself against the wall, holding his breath, too terrified to move. Each second stretched endlessly, his fingers beginning to numb, his grip weakening.

Then, silence returned.

He sighed in relief and carefully resumed his descent, finally landing on the ground. His legs, weak from fear, almost gave out. He quickly ducked into the shadows of the trees, leaning against the rough bark, trying to steady his frantic breathing.

Peering through the sparse leaves, he glanced back at his window—still and dark. Assured of his safety, he lowered himself, moving cautiously along the house's shadowed edge. Every step was deliberate, avoiding any sound that might alert the monsters.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Once past the house, he melted into the town's darkness, his footsteps light but echoing faintly in the empty streets. He constantly glanced over his shoulder, his paranoia growing with each silent moment. The night air clung to him, cold and isolating.

He had to move faster—he couldn't afford to be caught.

As he vanished into the night, a light inside the house turned on.

"Where could Ethan be going so late?" Margaret stood at the door, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"He's growing up. They all have their little secrets," George replied casually, glancing at her with a shrug.

Margaret sighed softly. "I just hope he comes back soon. I wonder if staying up late will affect his taste."

Ethan sped down the deserted streets, his heart pounding in his ears. Everything around him seemed to be watching, the darkness itself feeling like it was closing in on him. He tried to pick up his pace, but his body felt sluggish, as if something was holding him back. His ears rang with the relentless thudding of his heart.

“Where can I go?” Panic tightened in his chest. Escaping the house hadn’t brought the relief he’d hoped for. His parents’ loving faces and the monstrous carapaces beneath haunted his thoughts, lingering like a nightmare he couldn’t shake. The house that had once felt like the safest place in the world now loomed in his mind as the most terrifying.

Suddenly, a faint sound behind him made him freeze. His heart stopped, a chill running down his spine. He slowed his pace, fear creeping in like a shadow. He told himself it was just the wind, but the dread had already taken root, growing with every second.

What should he do? Keep running, or turn around and check? He knew he couldn't outrun the monsters if they were chasing him.

Clenching his jaw, he stopped and reached into his pocket, fingers brushing the cold handle of the Swiss army knife. It offered little comfort, but it was all he had. He turned slowly, his eyes scanning the darkness. His breathing was shallow, ears straining to catch any sound. The street was pitch black, nothing in sight. He took a step back, calculating his next move.

Just then, a stray cat darted out from an alley, its eyes gleaming green in the darkness, scrutinizing him for a moment before vanishing as swiftly as it had appeared.

Ethan let out a shaky breath, his legs still trembling. He laughed softly, the sound hollow and nervous. "Scared by a cat..." he muttered to himself, though the fear lingered in his chest, refusing to dissipate. The town, which seemed so ordinary, now felt like a vast trap. If his parents were monsters, what could he believe in?

He shook his head and kept walking. He couldn't let fear paralyze him. Where could he go? He couldn't wander the streets for long. Once his parents realized he was gone, they'd come looking, and his chance of escape would vanish.

He checked the few bills in his pocket. They wouldn't get him far. Food, water, shelter—all these basic needs would soon become insurmountable obstacles. He stood on the empty street, feeling utterly lost and alone. He'd made it out of the house, but now what? His mind was a blur, one question echoing: where could he go? Who could he trust?

For a fleeting moment, he thought of the police or the town mayor—people one would usually turn to for help. But a shiver ran down his spine as he recalled the scene from his birthday. His parents, smiling and congratulating him, saying they loved him, all while they were preparing to kill him. Their calmness, their complete indifference to his disappearance, suggested that even if he vanished, no one would investigate or care, as if his death would mean nothing.

If his parents—these monsters—were so calm, what about those in control of the town? The police, the mayor? Were they in on it too? A cold fear gripped his heart. They ran the town, but if they were aligned with these creatures, where could he turn?

Friends? They would never believe him, and he couldn’t risk dragging them into the same danger. He couldn’t take that chance.

Despair washed over him, and he sank against the cold wall, feeling the weight of the world closing in. The monsters seemed to control everything in this town. He was trapped in an invisible cage, with no way out. He needed a safe place, even temporarily, to think. He forced himself to focus, searching his mind for anywhere he could go.

Ethan forced himself to calm down, searching for a place to catch his breath. He thought of the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. The place had been deserted for years, overgrown with weeds, and rarely visited. It wasn't the safest, but it would give him some temporary shelter.

The night was cold and silent, with only a faint breeze rustling through the empty streets. Most houses were dark, except for a few with dim lights flickering inside. Ethan stayed in the shadows, avoiding the streetlights, his footsteps the only sound echoing in the quiet.

As he passed a house, a voice shattered the silence. "Ethan?"

He froze. His heart skipped a beat as he looked up, spotting Mr. Smith, his history teacher, leaning out of a window. The moonlight softly illuminated Mr. Smith’s face, giving him a calm, almost reassuring appearance.

Ethan’s tense muscles eased a little. It was only Mr. Smith—one of the few adults who actually cared about his students. He felt less threatened. At least, compared to the others.

"Stay there. I'll come down," Mr. Smith’s voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

Ethan’s heart raced. Running now would only raise suspicion. If Mr. Smith told his "parents"—those monsters—he'd be exposed. Grinding his teeth, Ethan decided to play along, for now.

A few moments later, the front door creaked open. Mr. Smith stood in the doorway, a puzzled look on his face. "What are you doing out this late? Is everything alright?"

Ethan swallowed hard, trying to appear calm. "I was just... heading home." The lie felt clumsy, and his eyes darted nervously.

Mr. Smith’s gaze flicked to Ethan’s backpack. "But you’re coming from the direction of your house," he observed, his tone laced with quiet suspicion.

Ethan forced a shaky laugh. "Uh... yeah. Just went for a walk. Needed some fresh air—school’s been a lot lately."

Mr. Smith’s eyes lingered on the backpack for a moment longer, but he didn’t press further. "The town’s not safe at night. Come inside. We can talk."

Ethan hesitated at the door, his fingers tightening around the straps of his bag. As he glanced into the warm light of the house, his gaze fell on the bandage wrapped around Mr. Smith’s arm, a faint stain of blood seeping through. The sight of blood seeping through the bandage reassured Ethan. Earlier, when his mother's arm was cut, it only exposed the hard Black Carapace underneath—no blood. But Mr. Smith was bleeding. That meant he was human.

The sight of the blood calmed him slightly, convincing him that going inside might be the right choice. Taking a deep breath, Ethan stepped into Mr. Smith’s home.

As soon as the door closed behind him, a wave of warmth hit Ethan. He stood at the entrance, his eyes scanning the room. The walls were adorned with landscape paintings, and the shelves were packed with books. A faint vanilla scent lingered in the air. On the surface, it was an ordinary, cozy room.