“What a movie! What a movie!”
Raman leaned back on the sofa, still grinning at the television.
“It was creepy with jerk sauce. Never seen any movie like that recently. Nailed it.”
Zed laughed from the other end of the room.
“You call everything creepy.”
“No, no. This one was different.” Raman pointed at the television with the remote. “That final scene? The man standing behind the girl without her knowing? Brilliant.”
Aurora smiled faintly.
She had barely spoken throughout the movie.
Raman looked at her.
“You’ve been unusually quiet tonight.”
Aurora shrugged.
“Just tired.”
The room fell silent for a moment.
Then came a knock.
Three slow knocks.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Raman stopped smiling.
Zed looked at the clock.
11:07 PM.
“Who can it be so late?” Arora murmured.
Aurora corrected herself almost immediately.
“Who can it be so late?”
Nobody noticed the difference.
Raman walked toward the door.
A vague figure stood behind the narrow glass panel beside it. The porch light was weak, making the person’s outline look distorted.
Raman leaned closer.
“Who is it?”
A voice came from the other side.
“Come on, man. It’s me.”
Raman opened the door.
“Zed!”
Zed stood outside, hands in his jacket pockets.
“Holy! How can you be so early? You were supposed to be here around eleven.”
Zed stared at him.
“It is eleven.”
Raman looked at the clock again.
11:07.
He laughed.
“Right. Anyway, let’s head to the Go-Go Land.”
Aurora stood up.
She suddenly looked excited.
“Let’s go.”
Raman raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve been silent for two hours and now you’re the first one ready?”
Aurora smiled.
“I don’t want to be late.”
“For what?” Zed asked.
She didn’t answer.
Three blocks away stood an old, narrow house that nobody seemed to own.
Its paint had peeled away years ago. The windows were dark, even when the neighboring houses were brightly lit.
Nobody remembered exactly when people had started calling it Psycho Abode.
Children avoided it.
Adults pretended they didn’t believe the stories.
But nobody liked walking past it alone.
Zed slowed down as they approached.
“You know a man named Joshua Shore?”
Raman glanced at him.
“Joshua who?”
“Joshua Shore. People call him Joshee.”
Aurora suddenly turned toward Zed.
“What about him?”
Zed looked at her.
“Why are you interested?”
“I’ve heard of him.”
Raman laughed.
“From where?”
Aurora didn’t answer.
Zed continued.
“Joshee lives around here. Some say he owns the place. Some say he only stays there.”
“What does he look like?” Raman asked.
Zed’s expression changed.
“One look at him and you may feel that’s the end of your life.”
Raman chuckled.
“That’s dramatic.”
“I’m serious.”
Zed pointed toward the dark house.
“Most of the time Joshee wears sunglasses. Even at night.”
“Why?”
“Because of his eyes.”
Raman stopped laughing.
Zed lowered his voice.
“Whoever has seen his eyes says they’re unbearable. Not ugly. Not frightening in the normal sense.”
He paused.
“Evil.”
Aurora stared at the house.
“And how does anyone see his eyes if he always wears sunglasses?”
Zed smiled.
“That’s the strange part.”
He pointed toward a small bar beside the house.
“He drinks there.”
“And?”
“He doesn’t drink with his sunglasses on.”
Raman laughed again.
“So your solution is to get the evil-eyed man drunk?”
“Not drunk. Just buy him a drink.”
“That’s your brilliant plan?”
Zed shrugged.
“You may be able to look into his eyes.”
Aurora suddenly laughed.
It was a strange laugh.
Too loud.
Too long.
Raman stared at her.
“You okay?”
Aurora wiped her eyes.
“I’m fine.”
Then she started talking.
And she didn’t stop.
She talked about the movie.
Then about the weather.
Then about the street.
Then about a childhood memory none of them remembered her ever mentioning.
Then she began telling them about a dream she’d had the previous night.
Raman finally raised both hands.
“Okay, okay. Enough.”
Aurora kept speaking.
Zed smirked.
“You won’t get a discount even if you talk too much.”
Aurora laughed again.
But this time Raman noticed something.
Her eyes weren’t laughing.
The bar beside Psycho Abode was nearly empty.
They entered.
The bartender looked at them briefly, then went back to polishing a glass.
Nobody was talking.
There was only the faint hum of an old ceiling fan.
And the occasional sound of ice.
Kling.
A man sat alone at the bar.
His back was toward the entrance.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Brawny enough to make the stool beneath him look strangely small.
He wore a black shirt.
And sunglasses.
At night.
Raman whispered.
“That him?”
Zed nodded.
“Joshee.”
Aurora stopped walking.
She stared at him.
She couldn’t see his face.
But something about him held her attention.
Then she noticed his hand.
His fingers curled around the whiskey glass.
They were long.
Too long.
His fingernails were black at the tips.
Not painted.
Not dirty.
They looked like talons.
Aurora swallowed.
Then she walked toward him.
“Aurora,” Raman whispered.
She didn’t hear him.
She sat on the stool beside Joshee.
The man didn’t move.
He continued gently rotating the glass between his fingers.
Aurora stared at him.
She felt something in the air.
Not fear.
Something warmer.
Something that made her heartbeat quicken.
She wanted to see his face.
She wanted him to turn toward her.
More than that, she wanted to touch him.
The thought frightened her.
She didn’t know why.
Joshee slowly lifted his glass.
Kling.
Aurora whispered,
“Hello.”
The man didn’t answer.
She leaned closer.
His sunglasses reflected the dim yellow lights of the bar.
For one brief second, Aurora saw her own reflection in them.
But the reflection wasn’t smiling.
It was screaming.
Aurora jerked backward.
Joshee turned his head slightly.
“Hey, Aur.”
Zed’s voice came from the table behind her.
“Come down here.”
Aurora stood immediately.
She returned to the table.
Raman looked at her.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You look pale.”
“I said nothing.”
Joshee remained perfectly still.
Then the bartender placed another glass in front of him.
He whispered something.
Joshee nodded.
The bartender walked away.
Aurora watched the man’s sunglasses.
She had the uncomfortable feeling that he was watching her too.
They left the bar around midnight.
Nobody mentioned Joshee.
Nobody mentioned the strange feeling inside the bar.
Nobody mentioned Aurora’s sudden silence.
They went home.
They slept.
And all three dreamed the same dream.
There was a girl standing in a dark room.
She was crying.
Someone was behind her.
A man.
One hand held a whiskey glass.
The other held a knife.
Slow footsteps approached.
Kling.
The girl screamed.
The man stopped.
Then slowly turned his head.
The sunglasses were gone.
The dream ended before they could see his eyes.
But somewhere behind the bar, a bartender whispered one word.
“Psycho.”
Raman woke up screaming.
Across town, Zed woke at exactly the same moment.
And Aurora sat upright in her bed.
All three stared into the darkness.
None of them knew the others had seen the same thing.
Until morning.
Raman called Zed.
“Did you dream about a girl?”
Silence.
Zed whispered,
“You saw it too?”
Aurora called five minutes later.
She didn’t ask what happened.
She simply said,
“He took off his glasses.”
Raman’s stomach tightened.
“What?”
Aurora breathed into the phone.
“I saw his eyes.”
The line went dead.
Three days passed.
Nobody saw Raman.
Nobody saw Zed.
Nobody saw Aurora.
Their phones remained switched off.
A neighbor named Mr. Cas became concerned.
He rang Raman’s doorbell several times.
No answer.
He called the police.
The door was unlocked.
The police entered.
The house was empty.
No signs of struggle.
No broken windows.
No blood.
Nothing.
Except a newspaper lying neatly in the center of the table.
The headline read:
THREE PEOPLE VANISH LIKE THIN AIR
Underneath it was a photograph of Raman, Zed and Aurora.
The article said they had last been seen entering the bar beside Psycho Abode.
Beside the newspaper sat a half-finished whiskey glass.
One of the officers picked it up.
“Someone was drinking this.”
Another officer examined the room.
“Three people disappear and leave behind one glass?”
The first officer looked toward the hallway.
“Maybe there were four.”
He put the glass down.
Kling.
Nobody spoke.
Then Mr. Cas noticed something.
There was writing on the back of the newspaper.
Three names.
Raman.
Zed.
Aurora.
And beneath them, written in fresh black ink:
NEXT?
Mr. Cas stepped backward.
The lights went out.
In the darkness came the faint sound of footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
Approaching from the hallway.
Then the sound of ice moving inside a glass.
Kling.
A man’s voice whispered from somewhere inside the house.
“Who wants a drink?”
And from the darkness came three voices together.
“Me.”
The police found no one.
Not even Mr. Cas.
The newspaper remained on the table.
The whiskey glass was gone.
But on the floor beside the table were four sets of footprints.
Three pairs led toward the hallway.
The fourth pair came from the hallway.
And stopped directly behind the front door.
The door was still locked from the inside.
