Rouge

(You chose: Just Wait Until the Sun Goes Down)

Part 1: The Line Beneath

You’ve learned to read the town by its silence.

Before the doors open, before the sidewalks fill.

Before the version of this place that outsiders think they understand comes alive.

You enjoy the hustle and bustle.

Its unpredictability.

But right now it’s still yours.

The street is quiet.

Damp from the morning humidity that never really burns off this close to the water.

The buildings along the strip lean into each other.

The history resonates between alleyways.

Worn brick.

Windows filled with things that don’t belong to anyone anymore.

Your shop sits right in the middle of it.

Not the biggest. Not the flashiest.

But it draws some interesting people in.

Rows of shelves, glass cases, narrow aisles that force people to slow down whether they want to or not.

You wouldn’t call yourself an antique dealer.

But you’ve learned to recognize when something carries more than just time.

You’re outside, adjusting the small chalkboard sign near the door—

OPEN! Objects with a Story

—when you hear the familiar scrape of a chair leg from next door.

“Couple weeks,” he says.

You glance over.

Earl.

Same spot as always. Same chair.

Same slow way of speaking like he’s not in any rush to get to the end of a sentence.

“Tourists’ll start rollin’ in again. You ready for that?”

You give a small smile, brushing chalk dust off your hands.

“It’s always a whirlwind,” you say. “But yeah… as ready as I can be.”

Earl studies you for a second.

Then he nods, like he’s confirming something to himself.

“Your grandmother,” he says. “Ginny”

You know where this is headed.

He seems to forget he tells you this most mornings, but you like to hear it.

Keeps her alive.

“She’d be real proud of you, son. Real proud.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “You know it’s not really something I could walk away from.”

You glance back at your shop.

“I think it’s part of me. Or at least… it helped me find a part of myself. I didn’t really have anything else to tie me here, you know? Not like that.”

Earl doesn’t interrupt.

“Being raised by her…” you continue, softer now.

“She gave me something to build on. Something that felt like mine. Something I could actually be proud of.”

A pause.

“Plus, you’d miss me, Earl. Who is going to play chess with you when it’s slow?” you add.

Earl grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“There you go,” he says. “You just can’t accept I beat you every time so you keep coming back!”

You laugh and step inside.

There’s a small box on the counter you brought in earlier.

You open it again, pulling out the pocket watch you picked up just outside of town a few days ago.

It’s heavier than it looks.

Brass casing, worn smooth along the edges.

No inscription.

But something about it made you keep it.

You don’t overthink those decisions anymore.

You carry it toward the back display, stepping into one of the narrower aisles—

—and that’s when you hear it.

The bell above the front door.

A clean, unmistakable chime.

You glance up.

“Be right there,” you call out automatically.

No response.

You round the corner into the main room.

The front door is closed.

You quickly scan the aisles.

No one inside.

You stand there for a second.

Listening.

Nothing.

Just the low swirl of the fan overhead.

“Alright,” you mutter under your breath.

Probably just someone that changed their mind.

You finish placing the watch on display.

Adjust it. Step back.

You step behind the counter, reaching for the register—

—and when you look up—

she’s already there.

Standing on the other side.

You jolt. Not dramatically. Just enough to feel it in your chest.

“Jesus—” you catch yourself, straightening slightly. “Didn’t know someone actually came in.”

She doesn’t respond right away.

Just stands there.

Bald. Dark skin.

Smooth, unlined in a way that doesn’t quite match her age… whatever her age is.

Her eyes are fixed on you, not scanning the shop, not distracted.

Just… on you.

“You open?” she asks.

Her voice is calm. An accent you can’t immediately place.

“Yeah,” you say, recovering. “Yeah, I’m open.”

A small pause.

“You looking for anything specific?”

She tilts her head slightly.

“Just passing through,” she says.

Her eyes move then, but not around the shop.

They move over you.

You shift your weight subtly.

Her presence makes you feel a little uneasy.

“Lot of people do,” you say. “This time of year especially.”

She hums. Barely.

Then her gaze travels past you for a moment toward the aisles.

“You keep everything?” she asks.

“Not everything,” you reply. “Just what feels worth keeping.”

Another pause.

Then she smiles.

She must not do it often you think to yourself.

“You don’t know what’s worth keeping,” she says softly.

Something about the way she says it makes the hair on your arms stand up.

You force a small chuckle.

“Guess that’s part of the job,” you say. “Figuring that out.”

She steps closer.

Not enough to be invasive.

“She kept it from you,” she says. “That was her choice.”

A pause.
You’re just waiting to see how this plays out.

“You deal in old things… you know they don’t stay quiet forever.”

Your pulse picks up.

You’re getting frustrated.

“I’m sorry, what are you talking about?” you ask.

She doesn’t answer.

Just looks at you one last time.

Then… her eyes lock with yours.

“It’s already coming to collect.”

You blink—

—and she’s gone.

No bell.

No door.

Nothing.

Just empty space.

And for a second… you’re not sure she ever walked through the door at all.

***

(You chose: Go Outside. You step out into the street… just to make sure.)

Part 2 - Closer Than Before

You don’t remember deciding to move, but you find yourself making your way to the door.

The bell doesn’t ring when you step outside.

The street should be busy.

It was busy.

You remember that.

People moving in and out, doors opening, voices carrying down the strip.

But now there’s nothing.

No footsteps.

No voices.

No movement.

Just you.

You step forward slowly.

Not because you’re sure.

Because you’re not.

What’s going on here?

Where is everyone?

It’s a tumbleweed moment.

As you look to the right the wind picks up and a napkin flutters across the street.

You look to the left, and the sky in the distance is gray.

Still daytime, but the sky behind the buildings has split.

Half of it holding.

The other half dark and heavy, like a storm pushing in too fast.

You start to slowly walk towards it.

Not really sure why.

Following it without meaning to.

That’s when you see it.

The figure.

Not something you can explain away.

It’s there.

Standing at a distance that feels too far to make out details but not far enough to ignore.

Tall.

Slightly shifting in the wind.

The clouds appear to get slightly darker, lurking over the figure.

You hear her again… the timbre of her voice still sitting in your ear.

“It’s already coming to collect.”

You take another step forward, trying to get a better look.

The wind picks up.

You narrow your eyes.

The proportions aren’t right.

The stillness isn’t right.

You start to feel your hands shake a little.

A panic setting in.

You stop walking.

Just stand there, watching it.

You turn your head slightly.

You’re now standing in front of Earl’s shop.

You step toward the window and peer inside. He’s there in the back, bent over something on the counter, tinkering the way he always does. Completely normal.

You let out an audible sigh of relief.

You glance back toward the street.

The sky is clear.

No split.

No storm.

And the figure is gone.

You blink a couple times just to make sure.

You shake your head.

Alright.

You go back inside.

This time the bell rings.

The sound snaps something back into place.

You move through the shop a little quicker than before.

Not rushing.

Just not lingering.

You reach the front, flip the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, then pull the blinds one by one until the light disappears from the room.

You stand there in it.

Quiet and still.

Something doesn’t feel right.

Not the same as before.

You glance at the clock. 5:02 PM.

What?!

That’s not right.

You reach for your phone and call Earl. He picks up on the second ring.

“Boy, what are you doin’ callin’ me? I’m tryin’ to close up here.”

You barely get the words out.

“What do you mean, close up? We just opened a couple hours ago.”

There’s a pause.

“Boy,” Earl says slowly, “it’s been a long day. It’s five o’clock, and I’m not spendin’ another minute wastin’ time here.”

You feel your hand start to sweat against the phone.

You don’t answer right away.

“Earl,” you say, hesitating, “you ever see a bald woman and kind of witchy clothes come through the shop?”

Silence.

You push a little further.

“Or did my grandmother ever say anything about someone coming back? Or about anything in here?”

Nothing.

Then Earl’s voice comes back, different now.

More focused.

“What’s goin’ on? You feelin’ alright? It’s a little strange you’re callin’ me when I’m right next door.”

He sounds concerned now.

But you’ve known him a long time, and he also sounds like he is holding something back.

“You need me to come over there?”

You hesitate.

You look around the shop.

The shelves.

The aisles.

The space where she stood.

“No,” you say. “No, it’s alright.”

You swallow.

“We can just talk tomorrow.”

Another pause.

“You sure?” Earl asks.

***

(It was a tie. You chose: Ask Earl to come over to your shop / Lock up and stay inside the shop)

Part 3: When the Sun Goes Down

You don’t answer him right away. 

You’re still looking at the shop. 

At the space where she stood. 

At the door. 

At everything that now feels different.

“Yeah,” you say finally. “Yeah, Earl… can you come over?”

There’s a pause on the other end. 

Then a sigh. 

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll lock up and be right there. Don’t go anywhere.”

The line clicks.

You don’t move much while you wait.

You just stand there, listening, like the shop might say something if you give it enough time. 

A minute passes. 

Maybe more. 

Hard to tell.

Then the bell rings.

You can’t help but flinch. 

Earl steps in, already shrugging off his jacket. 

“Alright,” he says. “What’s got you so worked up you’re callin’ me from ten feet away?” 

He tries to smile, but can’t quite fully get there.

You don’t waste time. 

“Someone came in.”

Earl chuckles, nods, because that’s normal. “Yeah, that happens in a shop.”

“No,” you say. “I didn’t hear the bell.”

He shifts to curiosity. 

“Alright,” he says. “Start from the top.”

You take a breath and try to piece it together in a way that makes sense. 

“She was bald. Dark skin. Wore something loose. Not from around here. Island accent. Kind of… I don’t know… witchy.”

Earl lets out a small huff like he’s humoring you. “Witchy,” he repeats.

“Yeah.”

“Look here… plenty of woman around this town I’d say give off those witchy vibes. She say anything?”

You hesitate, then nod. “She said something about it coming to collect.”

Earl doesn’t respond right away. 

So you keep going. 

“And then she was gone. No door. No bell. Nothing. Vanished.”

Silence.

You glance at him. He’s not smiling anymore.

“And then,” you add, “I went outside.”

Earl’s eyes widen. “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know,” you snap. “I just did. I needed to know if she was real.”

You swallow. “There was something out there.”

Now he’s really looking at you. “What do you mean something?”

“A figure,” you say. “The streets looked empty. A tall thin figure. Standing at the end of the street. And the sky… it wasn’t right. It split. Like a storm was coming in from nowhere.”

Earl exhales slowly and runs a hand over his mouth. “You’re sure you didn’t hit your head or somethin’ today?”

You just stare at him. “That’s not funny.”

Another pause. 

Longer this time.

“Alright,” Earl says quietly. “Just tell me again. About the woman.”

You repeat it, slower this time, more detail. 

Every piece you can remember. 

The way she looked at you. 

The way she stood. 

The way her voice sounded.

Earl listens this time. 

Really listens.

And when you finish, he doesn’t joke. 

He just nods once. Real slow.

“I heard stories,” he says.

Your voice cracks. “What kind of stories?”

He doesn’t answer right away. 

Looks around the shop instead, like he’s checking to make sure something isn’t listening.

“Your grandmother,” he says finally, “she didn’t tell you everything.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, I’m getting that.”

Earl ignores it. “There were things tied to this place. To this town. Long before you or me.”

He shifts his weight, uncomfortable now. “People used to say there were those who could walk one way in the day and another way at night.”

You feel the hair raise on the back of your neck. 

“Not just stories either,” he adds. “Your grandmother… she knew people. Knew things she didn’t talk about.”

You shake your head. “No. She would’ve told me.”

Earl looks at you. Almost annoyed. “No,” he says. “She wouldn’t.”

Silence settles between you.

Then he glances toward the door. 

The light outside is starting to fade.

“Listen to me,” Earl says, more serious now. “If what you’re sayin’ is even close to right, you don’t stay here tonight.”

You don’t answer.

He steps closer. “Those things… if they are what I think they are… they don’t come out in the day.”

Your throat goes dry.

“They come out when the sun goes down,” he says.

You think about the figure. 

The distance. 

The way it didn’t move.

“And when they come,” he adds, “they don’t wander. They collect.”

The word hits harder this time.

Collect.

He grabs his jacket. “Lock this place up. Go home. I mean it. I know a guy we can talk to in the morning.”

You nod because it’s easier than arguing.

He hesitates at the door and looks back at you. “You promise me?”

You hold his gaze. “Yeah,” you say. “I’ll close up here.”

The bell rings as he leaves.

The shop goes quiet again.

You stand there for a long time.

Then slowly, you walk to the door, turn the lock… and instead of leaving, you flip the lights off.

The room drops into darkness, but not completely. 

Light from the street outside spills in through the windows, cutting across the floor in long, uneven strips. 

Puddles of amber glow stretch through the aisles, catching glass, metal, edges of things that now look unfamiliar.

You sit in the chair by the door.

Just for a moment.

Thinking about what Earl said.

You don’t believe it. 

Not really.

It starts to feel ridiculous the longer you sit with it.

You run through it again in your head. 

The woman. The figure. The sky.

It doesn’t make sense.

It couldn’t make sense.

You let out a breath and lean forward, elbows on your knees.

Maybe you just need to go home. 

Sleep. 

Come back tomorrow. 

Look into it. 

Do some research.

You nod to yourself.

“Yeah…” you mutter. “Yeah, that’s all this is.”

You slap your hands against your knees.

Smack.

Like you’re commanding yourself to move.

You stand.

And immediately fall back into the chair.

Something is standing in front of you.

You didn’t hear the bell.

The door didn’t open.

She’s just there.

The woman.

Closer than before.

A lump forms in your throat.

“What—”

You can’t even finish it.

She doesn’t speak.

She just stares at you.

Slowly, she raises her hand.

One finger extends.

You don’t move.

You can’t.

She presses it gently to your forehead.

Everything explodes.

Memories flood in all at once. 

You and Nan in the kitchen, laughing, flour everywhere as you try to roll pasta.

Younger Nan chasing you through the park, both of you out of breath.

Standing beside her at your parents’ funeral, her hand gripping yours tighter than anything you’ve ever felt.

Nan outside your school, yelling at a boy twice your size for putting his hands on you.

It’s too much. It hurts to watch. To feel.

Like your head can’t hold all of it at once.

And then it slows.

One memory.

Pulled forward.

You’re five.

Sitting in the corner of the shop, playing with a vintage train set.

The door opens.

The bell rings.

She walks in.

The same woman.

You see it clearly now.

She’s talking to Nan.

Your grandmother looks… different.

Tense.

Angry.

She tells the woman to get out.

Her voice sharp. Furious.

The woman doesn’t leave right away.

She looks at you.

Then back at Nan.

Muttering something under her breath you still can’t make out.

Nan turns.

Looks straight at you.

And everything goes black.

Snap.

You’re back.

Sitting in the chair.

The shop around you.

The woman still standing there.

Sweat dripping down your face.

Your chest heaving.

“What… what just happened?”

She doesn’t answer right away.

She just watches you. 

Then slowly, she takes a step back. 

Her eyes never leave yours. 

And for the first time a faint smile touches her face. 

“Maybe now,” she says quietly,

“you’ll believe me.”

***

(You chose: Demand answers.)

Part 4: Marked

“What did you show me?”

She studies you for a moment. 

Calm. Unmoving. 

Like she’s deciding how much you’re ready to hear.

“I didn’t show you anything,” she says quietly. 

“All I did was unlock a memory that was already there.”

You clench your fists. 

Holding yourself back. 

“No.” You shake your head. “No, that doesn’t make sense. My grandmother would’ve warned me.”

“She tried… in her own way.” 

Her words feel bathed in manipulation. 

The woman glances toward the windows. 

The last of the daylight is bleeding out across the floor.

“She gave you a life that wasn’t supposed to be yours.”

Memories of Nan flood your mind. 

“What does that mean?”

Her eyes settle back onto you.

“It means she found a way to keep you hidden.”

“From what?”

A pause.

“From yourself. You should start feeling it now.”

Something under your ribs twists. 

Sharp.

You grip the arms of the chair.

“That THING outside…” you say slowly. “That wasn’t real.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. 

“You know it was.”

You shake your head harder this time. “I saw something. That doesn’t mean—”

“I don’t think you’re understanding me here.”

The woman steps closer.

“Your grandmother knew what you were born with,” she says. “She spent her whole life trying to bury it. As if you could escape the mark…”

Your pulse starts pounding in your ears.

“No.”

“She kept you away from us.”

The word slips out before you can stop it.

“Us?”

Your fingers tighten against the chair.

Another step closer.

“You’re remembering.”

Something in your chest pulls tight.

A deep heat blooms beneath your sternum.

Your hand moves there instinctively.

“What did you do to me?!”

A faint smile touches her face.

“Oh nothing. I just woke you up.”

A couple of old clocks chime. 

The last sliver of daylight dribbles away from the horizon. 

The pressure in your head spikes.

You suck in a breath through clenched teeth.

Something moves through your spine like a live wire.

Your jaw locks. 

Hard enough to hurt.

You attempt to stand and stagger sideways, catching yourself on the edge of a table. 

Glass rattles violently beneath your grip.

“No…”

The word barely comes out accompanied by a half snarl.

The world leaches into black and white.

The light from the street catches an old mirror hanging near the register.

And for a second

you see yourself.

Not fully.

Not clearly.

But enough.

Dark. Reflective. Animal.

You jerk back from the mirror.

Your hands shake harder now.

Your fingers flex strangely, joints tightening like they’re remembering a shape your body forgot.

A low sound escapes your throat.

Not human.

The woman watches carefully. 

Not afraid.

Not surprised.

Amused. 

Waiting.

“You feel it now,” she says softly.

You can barely breathe.

“Feel what?”

Her gaze sharpens.

“What you are.”

Your heart slams against your ribs so hard it hurts.

You double over slightly, gripping your side.

Every nerve in your body feels awake. 

Raw.

“Make it stop,” you choke out.

She doesn’t move.

“You don’t want it to stop.”

You look up at her, horrified.

But somewhere underneath that fear

something else is moving.

Something familiar.

Your vision shifts again.

The shop disappears for half a second.

You see movement through trees. 

Wet earth under your feet. 

Moonlight cutting across black water.

You feel hunger.

Not yours.

Ancient.

You stumble backward, breathing hard.

The woman is still standing there. 

Watching you like she’s waited your entire life for this moment.

“You can run from it,” she says quietly.

A pause.

“But eventually…”

Her eyes drift toward the darkened windows.

“…it will find its way out.”

***

Part 5: Blood Debt

(You chose: Give in to the feeling. Start the transformation.)

The pressure inside your body becomes unbearable.

Not pain.

Not exactly.

Something worse.

Recognition.

You stop fighting it.

Your hands slowly unclench from the edge of the table. Your breathing steadies, but not because you feel calm. 

Because something inside you has.

The woman watches carefully.

Almost reverently.

A clock somewhere in the shop ticks louder than before.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

“You feel it now,” she says softly.

Your vision bleeds through worlds again. 

You hold on just a little longer. 

“What am I?” you ask.

The words barely sound like your own anymore.

The woman tilts her head slightly, looking at you superciliously.

“A debt,” she says.

You’re hunched over.

Not sure if you can fight it longer. 

The sweat from your forehead starts to burn your eyes.

“No.”

“Your grandmother protected the boy,” she says softly. “But she could never protect the man you were meant to become.”

Fire surges beneath your skin.

Bones feel as though they are about to break.

“She thought love could bury blood. She thought she could hide you long enough for it to pass you by.”

Another clock chimes.

Then another.

All around the shop now.

Old clocks.

Broken clocks.

Stopped clocks.

Every single one ticking again.

“But blood remembers,” she says quietly.

The pressure inside your chest twists violently.

You stagger backward.

“What did my grandmother do?”

The woman studies you for a moment.

“She made a bargain.”

You feel the void in the pit of your stomach.

“She was supposed to surrender you to your own kind when the mark revealed itself. But she ran. Took you. Buried your name. Buried your bloodline.”

Something in her words starts to make your body respond. 

Fight it. 

“No…”

“She bought you years,” the woman says. “But the debt was always waiting.”

Your hands shake harder now.

“And now?”

The woman glances toward the darkened windows.

“Now the night has come to collect.”

Something inside your body snaps.

Not bone.

Not muscle.

Something deeper.

Your spine arches violently.

A sound tears from your throat… low, guttural, animal.

You collapse to one knee, gasping.

The floorboards beneath your hands creak sharply.

Your fingernails drag across the wood.

You watch the claws emerge from your fingertips.

A sound that makes your skin crawl.

“No!”

The woman doesn’t move.

Doesn’t help you.

Doesn’t fear you.

“You can feel them now,” she says.

Your vision fractures.

The shop disappears.

And suddenly you’re somewhere else.

Moonlight.

Wet earth.

The smell of rain and blood.

Figures move through the darkness around you.

Not human.

Not fully animal.

Shapes shifting between forms as they run through the trees.

A man with no head carrying something heavy across his shoulders.

A horse standing upright for half a second before collapsing back into flesh.

Eyes glowing through swamp water.

Ancient faces.

Ancient hunger.

You feel all of them.

Not memories.

Inheritance.

The flood of visions slams into you so hard you scream.

Your body convulses.

Glass explodes somewhere behind you.

Shelves crash to the floor.

The woman’s voice cuts through everything.

“Lagahoo.”

The word vibrates through your skull.

Your jaw cracks sharply to one side.

You howl.

This time there’s nothing human left in the sound.

Your reflection catches briefly in the old mirror near the register.

Not a wolf.

Not a man.

Something caught between.

Something unfinished.

Your eyes burn gold against the darkness.

You stumble toward the door.

Half crawling.

Half dragging yourself.

The woman steps aside without resistance.

Like she always knew this moment would come.

You hit the door hard enough to throw it open.

The bell above it screams violently.

Everything is amplified. 

Warm night air comes over you.

The town is almost empty now.

Streetlights flickering.

A wave of euphoria curs through the chaos. 

And somewhere in the distance…

something answers your howl.

You run.

The world becomes instinct.

Motion.

Hunger.

Fragments.

You don’t remember how long you’re out there.

Only flashes.

Clawing through swamp water.

Breathing hard beneath moonlight.

Shapes moving beside you in the dark.

The feeling of something ancient stretching awake inside your skin.

This is you. 

It’s always been you.

You are a prisoner.

And simultaneously…

You are free.

Then…

nothing.

Silence.

Darkness.

Your eyes snap open.

You’re in bed.

Morning light spills softly across the room.

Your chest rises sharply as you sit upright.

Sweat covers your body.

You look around frantically.

Your house.

Normal.

Quiet.

No blood.

No destruction.

No creature.

Just morning.

You stare at your shaking hands.

Human.

You let out a breath.

“A dream,” you whisper.

But even saying it doesn’t feel believable.

You force yourself out of bed anyway.

Only three thoughts come to mind…

Coffee.

Shower.

Clothes.

Normal motions.

Normal morning.

You keep trying not to think about the woman.

About the shop.

About the word lagahoo echoing through your skull.

By the time you step onto the street outside your apartment, the world already feels more grounded.

People moving.

Cars passing.

Daylight.

You wave to friendly pedestrians as they pass. 

Your smile grows.

A new day.

You make your way down toward the shop.

Earl is outside his storefront sweeping the sidewalk like always.

He glances up.

“Well look who survived the night,” he calls out.

You force a laugh.

“Barely slept.”

Earl smirks.

“Told you not to stay there.”

You don’t answer.

You just nod and move toward your shop.

The morning sun reflects warmly across the old glass windows.

Everything looks normal again.

That almost makes it worse.

You pull your keys from your pocket.

Slide one into the lock.

Then hesitate.

Your hand freezes.

The memory of the woman floods back for half a second.

Your chest tightens.

Slowly…

you look up.

Into the reflection of the shop glass.

And staring back at you.

It isn’t your face.

Or is it?

It’s the creature.

Dark eyes.

An animal jaw stretched wrong beneath human skin.

Watching you from beneath your own skin.

It IS your face. 

This is you.

End of Story 13.