"Look again," said the man.

He stood by the window. The glass was dark. It reflected the room. It reflected Elias.

Elias was nine. He was small. He was still.

"Do you see him?" the man asked.

Elias saw his own face. It was pale. It was wet. He saw the man behind him. The man wore a gray suit. The suit was old. The suit was heavy.

"I see me," Elias said.

"No." The man shook his head. "Look deeper. Look past the glass. Look into the dark."

The dark was thick. It moved. It breathed. It was not empty.

Elias looked. He felt cold. The cold was in his bones. It was in his teeth.

"There," the man whispered. "Is that not him?"

Elias saw a shape. It was tall. It was thin. It had no face. It stood in the corner. It did not move. It waited.

Elias knew it. He knew the shape. He had seen it before. In dreams. In the space between sleep and waking. It was the thing that took. It was the thing that called.

"Who is he?" Elias asked.

"He is you," the man said. "He is what you will be. He is the end of the path. You must walk to him. You must meet him. It is the only way."

"I will not," Elias said.

His voice was hard. It was a child’s voice. But it was hard.

"You must."

"I will not."

The man stepped closer. The floorboards creaked. The creak was loud. It was like a bone breaking.

"The house is sick," the man said. "The house is hungry. It feeds on the silence. It feeds on the waiting. If you do not go, the house will take you. Piece by piece. Year by year. You will fade. You will become the dark."

Elias looked at the window again. The shape was still there. It had not moved. But it seemed closer. It seemed to lean.

"Is it real?" Elias asked.

"More real than the air," the man said. "More real than your name. It is the truth of you. It is the shadow that casts you."

Elias turned away. He walked to the door. The door was black wood. It was old. It smelled of dust and rot.

"Where are you going?" the man asked.

"Outside," Elias said.

"You cannot go outside. The gate is locked. The world is closed. Only the house exists. Only the dark exists."

Elias put his hand on the knob. The knob was cold. It was smooth. It was dead.

"I will find a way," Elias said.

He opened the door.

The hallway was long. It was dark. The light from the room spilled out. It was a thin line. It was a blade.

Elias stepped into the hall.

The air was still. It was thick. It pressed against his skin. He felt heavy. He felt slow.

He walked. His shoes made no sound. The silence was loud. The silence was full.

He passed a mirror. The mirror was tall. It was cracked. A web of lines ran across the glass.

Elias stopped. He looked into the mirror.

He saw himself. He saw the man in the gray suit. He saw the shape in the corner.

The shape was in the mirror. It was not in the room. It was only in the glass.

Elias touched the glass. The glass was warm. It was soft. It gave way like skin.

He pulled his hand back. He shook his head. It was a trick. It was a lie.

He kept walking.

The house was big. It was endless. The walls curved. The floor dipped. The ceiling hung low.

He passed a door. It was open. A light shone from within. It was yellow. It was warm.

Elias went in.

It was a kitchen. It was empty. There were no tables. There were no chairs. There was only a stove. The stove was black. It was cold.

But something sat on the counter. A bowl. A red bowl. It was full of water. The water was still.

Elias looked at the water. He saw his face. It was distorted. It was stretched. It was wrong.

He looked away.

"Is that not him?" a voice said.

Elias spun around.

The man in the gray suit was there. He stood by the stove. He did not move. He did not breathe.

"You follow me," Elias said.

"I am you," the man said. "I am the part of you that knows. I am the part of you that stays. I am the part of you that feeds."

Elias felt a surge of anger. It was hot. It was bright. It burned in his chest.

"Stay away from me," Elias said.

"I cannot," the man said. "I am inside you. I am the hunger. I am the dark. You cannot kill me. You cannot run from me. You must accept me. You must become me."

Elias looked at the bowl. The water was moving now. It swirled. It churned. It made a sound. A low hum. A low moan.

He looked at the door. The door was gone. The wall was solid. There was no exit.

He was trapped.

He was alone.

Or was he?

He looked at the man. The man was smiling. The smile was wide. It was too wide. It went from ear to ear. It was not human.

Elias felt fear. It was cold. It was sharp. It cut him.

But beneath the fear, there was something else. A pull. A draw. A need.

He wanted to know. He wanted to see. He wanted to be.

He walked to the counter. He looked into the bowl.

The water was clear. It was deep. It was infinite.

He saw a light. It was far away. It was small. It was blue.

He saw a face. It was a woman’s face. She was old. She was kind. She was dead.

She looked at him. She did not speak. She only looked.

Elias knew her. He did not know why. He knew her. He loved her. It was a love without reason. It was a love without memory. It was a love that burned.

He reached out. His hand touched the water.

The water was warm. It was soft. It was alive.

The light grew. The face grew.

The man in the gray suit screamed.

The scream was loud. It was high. It was thin. It tore the air. It tore the silence.

The walls shook. The floor cracked. The dust fell.

Elias did not look up. He held the water. He held the light. He held the love.

The man fell. He hit the floor. He crumbled. He turned to ash. He turned to dust. He turned to nothing.

The room was silent.

The room was still.

Elias looked at his hand. The water was gone. The bowl was empty.

He looked at the wall. The wall was gone.

There was a door. It was white. It was open.

Beyond the door, there was a field. The field was green. The grass was tall. The wind blew. The wind was fresh. The wind was clean.

Elias walked to the door. He stepped through.

The house was behind him. It was black. It was small. It was a speck.

The field was before him. It was wide. It was endless. It was bright.

He walked. He walked fast. He ran.

The grass brushed his legs. The air filled his lungs. The sun touched his face.

He was free.

He was alive.

He was whole.

He ran until his legs hurt. He ran until his breath came in gasps. He ran until the house was gone. He ran until the dark was gone.

He stopped. He stood in the field. He looked up.

The sky was blue. It was deep. It was vast.

He looked down. He looked at his hands. They were clean. They were dry. They were his.

He smiled.

The smile was small. The smile was soft. The smile was true.

He was not the shape. He was not the dark. He was not the hunger.

He was Elias.

He was here.

He was now.

The wind blew. The grass waved. The sun shone.

He stood still. He listened. He heard the world. He heard the life. He heard the beat.

It was strong. It was steady. It was his.

He closed his eyes. He felt the warmth. He felt the light. He felt the peace.

He had won.

He had escaped.

He had survived.

He opened his eyes.

The field was gone.

The sky was gone.

The sun was gone.

He was in the room. He was by the window. The man in the gray suit was there. The man was smiling. The shape was in the corner.

"Did you see him?" the man asked.

Elias looked at the man. He looked at the shape. He looked at his hand.

His hand was wet.

"I saw her," Elias said.

The man stopped. The smile faded. The man’s face changed. It twisted. It broke.

"What?" the man whispered.

"I saw her," Elias said. "I saw the light. I saw the love. It was not you. It was not the dark. It was her."

The man shook his head. "That is not possible. That is not real. Only the dark is real. Only the hunger is real."

"It is real," Elias said. "It is more real than you. It is more real than the house. It is the only thing that matters."

The man lunged. He moved fast. He was fast. He was strong.

Elias did not move. He did not flinch. He did not fear.

The man hit him. The blow was hard. It was heavy. It was deadly.

Elias fell. He hit the floor. The floor was hard. The floor was cold.

He looked up. The man was over him. The man was breathing. The breath was hot. The breath was foul.

"You are weak," the man said. "You are small. You are nothing. You will fade. You will die. You will become the dark."

Elias looked at the window. The glass was dark. The reflection was there.

But the reflection was different.

The reflection was not Elias. The reflection was a woman. She was old. She was kind. She was dead.

She looked at him. She smiled.

Elias smiled back.

The man screamed. The man clawed. The man tore.

Elias felt the pain. It was sharp. It was bright. It was hot.

But it was not fear. It was not hate.

It was release.

It was letting go.

It was peace.

The man stopped. The man froze. The man crumbled.

The ash fell. The dust settled. The room was empty.

Elias lay on the floor. He was still. He was silent. He was still.

He looked at the window. The glass was clear. The dark was gone.

The light came in. The light was soft. The light was warm.

The light touched his face. The light touched his eyes. The light touched his heart.

He felt the warmth. He felt the love. He felt the life.

He was not alone. He was never alone.

The house was quiet. The house was still. The house was dead.

Elias stood up. He walked to the door. The door was open. The door was white.

He stepped through.

The field was there. The grass was green. The sky was blue.

He walked. He walked into the light. He walked into the life. He walked into the love.

He did not look back. He did not need to.

He was free.

He was whole.

He was here.