Kaelan sat because what else was he supposed to do? The chair creaked beneath him like something arthritic and long-neglected, the legs uneven.
The room smelled of fabric and dust. The layered curtains held a dampness that clung to the walls, and the air was thick with the stale rot of forgotten things. Kaelan's eyes kept drifting to the bones, and to the painted stones lined up like quiet judges.
His fingers gripped the edge of his hazmat suit, trying not to look like he wanted to bolt. He told himself he was still in control. That he was indulging the delusion of an unstable man in order to gain access to something scientifically valuable.
“No,” Kaelan said immediately after being informed he had to remain all night. Rising to his feet, the crooked chair groaned and toppled behind him. “No, absolutely not.”
“You’re… Listen, thank you for your help, I appreciate the hospitality, really, but I’ve got the samples I need and I need to get back to my vehicle before dark and, well, it’s already almost..”
He stopped. It was already dark. Still, better to risk nightfall than stay in this… this nest with a man who whispered to rocks and blamed strangers for waking insane monsters.
Kaelan opened the door and descended the stairwell without waiting to hear any protest. The first breath of air outside the apartment felt cleaner. Sharper. The sour tension of the room fell away.
And then it happened. At the base of the stairs, just beyond the warped frame of the outer doorway, something was waiting.
It was not a person nor an animal. It filled the entryway with its shape: vague and wrong with too many folds and no symmetry. Limbs that bent, then unbent. Eyes, or things like them, glimmering like wet beetles on a pile of soft, breathing leather.
Kaelan stopped mid-step. The creature turned its head to look at him. Or some part of what Kaelan took for a head did.
He turned and ran back inside. But somehow, the creature was already there. Waiting for him. A wall of glistening pressure, blocking the path.
Kaelan pivoted, heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted to escape first.
He ran again: side hallway, another stairwell, maybe a back door. His shoes slipped on something sticky he didn’t want to identify. The building tilted around him as his hip hit the floor.
And still… it followed.
He reached a corridor boxed in by two collapsed beams, a dead-end.
And there it was.
The Shayka flowed toward him, gliding on limbs that didn’t step so much as rearrange the air. Its body was black, yes, but not like shadow nor like mold. Like smoke swirled with oil.
Kaelan stumbled backward until his spine hit the wall.
He whimpered, hands flying up in a feeble attempt to protect his face. A sob clawed up from his throat. “No, no, please don’t.. please.” Through the mask of his radiation suit, fogged up from heavy breathing, he could barely discern what happened next.
Its limbs unfolded. Slowly. One reached toward him, delicately, with a fluidity that defied bone and muscle. It touched his shoulder, and he shuddered, waiting for the horrible end to come.
And then it began to pull.
Kaelan felt the fabric of his hazmat suit stretch, then tear. Not with violence, but with hunger. Like the suit itself was being inhaled.
A soft tearing sound, not like cloth, but like paper shredding.
The suit began to peel away in strips, disappearing into the darkness. It didn’t touch skin. Didn’t pierce flesh. It only devoured the suit: inch by inch, thread by thread, from shoulders to knees, until only ragged flaps clung to his shivering frame.
He was left in urine-soaked thermal underlayers, clutching the remnants, too stunned to scream.
Shayka’s body pulsed once, as if satisfied.
And then, without drama or sound, it turned and vanished into the shadows.
Gone.
Just… gone.
Kaelan was frozen, breath coming in shallow bursts, chest fluttering. His knees gave out. He collapsed onto his side in the dirt, shaking on the floor.
It took him nearly five minutes to force himself up. His legs didn’t want to obey. His body was a puppet with cut strings. He stumbled through the dark, scraping his hands on rusted railings, bruising his shin on a concrete step.
When he finally reached the fourth floor again, he didn’t knock.
He just opened the door and stood there, half-dressed, face pale, hair slick with sweat.
The room smelled of fabric and dust. The layered curtains held a dampness that clung to the walls, and the air was thick with the stale rot of forgotten things. Kaelan's eyes kept drifting to the bones, and to the painted stones lined up like quiet judges.
His fingers gripped the edge of his hazmat suit, trying not to look like he wanted to bolt. He told himself he was still in control. That he was indulging the delusion of an unstable man in order to gain access to something scientifically valuable.
“No,” Kaelan said immediately after being informed he had to remain all night. Rising to his feet, the crooked chair groaned and toppled behind him. “No, absolutely not.”
“You’re… Listen, thank you for your help, I appreciate the hospitality, really, but I’ve got the samples I need and I need to get back to my vehicle before dark and, well, it’s already almost..”
He stopped. It was already dark. Still, better to risk nightfall than stay in this… this nest with a man who whispered to rocks and blamed strangers for waking insane monsters.
Kaelan opened the door and descended the stairwell without waiting to hear any protest. The first breath of air outside the apartment felt cleaner. Sharper. The sour tension of the room fell away.
And then it happened. At the base of the stairs, just beyond the warped frame of the outer doorway, something was waiting.
It was not a person nor an animal. It filled the entryway with its shape: vague and wrong with too many folds and no symmetry. Limbs that bent, then unbent. Eyes, or things like them, glimmering like wet beetles on a pile of soft, breathing leather.
Kaelan stopped mid-step. The creature turned its head to look at him. Or some part of what Kaelan took for a head did.
He turned and ran back inside. But somehow, the creature was already there. Waiting for him. A wall of glistening pressure, blocking the path.
Kaelan pivoted, heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted to escape first.
He ran again: side hallway, another stairwell, maybe a back door. His shoes slipped on something sticky he didn’t want to identify. The building tilted around him as his hip hit the floor.
And still… it followed.
He reached a corridor boxed in by two collapsed beams, a dead-end.
And there it was.
The Shayka flowed toward him, gliding on limbs that didn’t step so much as rearrange the air. Its body was black, yes, but not like shadow nor like mold. Like smoke swirled with oil.
Kaelan stumbled backward until his spine hit the wall.
He whimpered, hands flying up in a feeble attempt to protect his face. A sob clawed up from his throat. “No, no, please don’t.. please.” Through the mask of his radiation suit, fogged up from heavy breathing, he could barely discern what happened next.
Its limbs unfolded. Slowly. One reached toward him, delicately, with a fluidity that defied bone and muscle. It touched his shoulder, and he shuddered, waiting for the horrible end to come.
And then it began to pull.
Kaelan felt the fabric of his hazmat suit stretch, then tear. Not with violence, but with hunger. Like the suit itself was being inhaled.
A soft tearing sound, not like cloth, but like paper shredding.
The suit began to peel away in strips, disappearing into the darkness. It didn’t touch skin. Didn’t pierce flesh. It only devoured the suit: inch by inch, thread by thread, from shoulders to knees, until only ragged flaps clung to his shivering frame.
He was left in urine-soaked thermal underlayers, clutching the remnants, too stunned to scream.
Shayka’s body pulsed once, as if satisfied.
And then, without drama or sound, it turned and vanished into the shadows.
Gone.
Just… gone.
Kaelan was frozen, breath coming in shallow bursts, chest fluttering. His knees gave out. He collapsed onto his side in the dirt, shaking on the floor.
It took him nearly five minutes to force himself up. His legs didn’t want to obey. His body was a puppet with cut strings. He stumbled through the dark, scraping his hands on rusted railings, bruising his shin on a concrete step.
When he finally reached the fourth floor again, he didn’t knock.
He just opened the door and stood there, half-dressed, face pale, hair slick with sweat.
![[Image: Kaelan-Signature-1.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/04/Kaelan-Signature-1.png)