The first time Thomas saw the shadow move on its own, he thought it was a trick of the light.

By the third time, he knew something was watching him.

The Hollow Church

It was nearly midnight when Thomas stepped into the abandoned church.

The place had been condemned for years, the wooden pews rotting, the air thick with mildew. Yet, the moment he crossed the threshold, it felt... occupied.

Candles burned on the altar, their flames eerily still, as if caught in some unseen force. The air was too heavy, too dense—like it was pressing against his skin.

At the centre of the room stood the confessional booth.

Thomas hadn't expected anyone to be here. He had come out of habit, an old reflex from a life he had long since left behind. Faith clung to him like a sickness, refusing to let go.

And yet, as he moved forward, a voice drifted from inside the booth.

Soft. Hesitant.

"Father... are you there?"

A chill ran down his spine.

The voice was young. A boy? No older than sixteen.

Thomas hesitated, but something compelled him forward. Slowly, he stepped into the confessional and sank into the worn seat.

He exhaled.

"I'm listening."

Silence. Then—

"I did something terrible."

The Confession

The boy’s voice wavered.

"I didn’t mean to do it. I swear."

Thomas leaned forward slightly. Something about this felt... wrong.

"What did you do?"

A pause. Then—

"I killed someone."

Thomas stiffened.

The only sound was the faint crackling of the unmoving candle flames outside.

"Who?" he asked.

The boy took a breath, but it was shaky—too shaky.

"My brother."

The words sat heavy between them, thick and suffocating.

Thomas swallowed. He had heard confessions before. Back when he still believed in absolution. Back when he still believed in...

"Why?"

The boy let out a broken, shuddering exhale.

"We were arguing. I got so... so mad. I don’t even remember grabbing the knife. But when I looked down—"

A breath.

"—my hands were covered in blood."

Thomas closed his eyes.

This wasn’t just guilt. This was something else.

The air shifted around him, thickening with an unseen weight.

"I need forgiveness," the boy whispered. "Please."

Thomas parted his lips—

And then froze.

A sound.

Something wet, shifting on the other side of the booth.

A breath—ragged and wrong.

Thomas turned his head, his pulse hammering—

And saw it.

The Thing in the Shadows

The boy’s silhouette was changing.

The shape behind the wooden slats warped, shifting unnaturally.

His shadow stretched.

Elongating. Uncurling from his body like fingers reaching out.

Thomas’s grip tightened on the armrests.

"Are you still there?" the boy asked.

His voice was too close now.

Thomas barely breathed. His mind screamed at him to run, but he forced himself to stay still.

"I’m here."

Silence.

Then, in a voice not his own—

"No, you’re not."

A chill shot through him.

And then—

The boy’s shadow peeled itself from the wall.

And it lunged.

The Attack

Darkness slammed into Thomas, knocking the air from his lungs.

Icy tendrils coiled around his throat, squeezing.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

His gaze flickered to the metal grate between them, catching his own reflection—

And his own face was grinning back at him.

Except… it wasn’t his grin.

It wasn’t his face anymore.

The shadow whispered inside his skull.

"You let me in when you broke the seal."

Thomas thrashed, gasping for air. His vision blurred.

His hands moved on their own.

And as the world began to fade, the voice spoke again—

"Your miracles don’t save them, Thomas."

"They mark them."

The last thing he saw before everything went black was his reflection—

Grinning. Wider and wider.

Until the darkness swallowed him whole.

The Awakening

Thomas woke on his back, outside the church.

The broken cross loomed above him.

His lungs burned. His hands shook.

And beside him, seared into the cold stone—

A single, black handprint.