Fiction: Shadows of the Eye
Published 11 January 2025
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters, objects and locations are purely fiction and do not represent or imply representation of reality.
- Prologue A Broad Walks In
- Chapter 1 The Whispering Dive
- Chapter 2 Victor Steps In
- Chapter 3 Blood in the Shadows
- Chapter 4 The Ritual Chamber
- Chapter 5 The Eye's Hunger
- Epilogue The Weight of Shadows
Prologue: A Broad Walks In
The rain was relentless, hammering against the city like it was trying to wash away the grime, though we both knew it didn’t stand a chance. Inside my office, the dim light of the desk lamp flickered, casting jagged shadows on the walls. The air was thick with stale smoke and the faint tang of bourbon that clung to the half-empty glass in my hand. It was just another Thursday night in a city where shadows had more life than most people.
I was leaning back in my chair, my feet propped on the desk, trying to make sense of a crossword puzzle I didn’t care about, when she walked in.
She didn't knock. She just opened the door and stepped inside, her heels clicking against the hardwood like a metronome counting down to trouble. The kind of trouble you don't walk away from clean.
She was a knockout—long legs wrapped in dark stockings, a trench coat pulled tight against her curves, and a head of blonde hair damp from the rain. But it wasn't her looks that caught me; it was her eyes. Wide, searching, and haunted, like she was carrying ghosts I wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley.
You’re Eli Kane?
she asked, her voice smooth but heavy with something she was trying to hide.
Desperation, maybe. Or fear.
That's what it says on the door,
I said, chewing on the matchstick that had replaced my cigarettes.
Take a seat, lady. Tell me what brings you to my little slice of paradise.
She hesitated, then crossed the room and sat in the chair opposite my desk. The light from the desk lamp caught the sheen of rain on her coat. She glanced around, taking in the peeling wallpaper and the dusty fan that never quite worked right. If she was disappointed, she didn't show it.
My name is Evelyn Blackwood,
she said, unfastening her coat and draping it over the chair. Beneath it, she wore a fitted dress that spoke of money, the kind that didn’t come easy to most people in this city. I need your help.
Most people who walk in here do,
I said, leaning forward, pouring myself another shot of bourbon. What kind of help are we talking about, Ms. Blackwood? Missing husband? Lost puppy? Or is it something with a little more teeth?
She smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. You’ve got a reputation, Mr. Kane. They say you take the jobs other detectives won’t. The messy ones.
Messy pays better,
I said, taking a sip. And the clients usually don’t stick around to ask for receipts.
This one’s messy, all right,
she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a photograph, sliding it across the desk. I picked it up, holding it under the light.
It was an artifact—a gem the size of a fist, dark and glinting like it was alive. The photograph didn’t do it justice, but even in black and white, I could feel the weight of it. The kind of thing that didn’t belong in polite company. Or this city.
This is the Eye of Nyarlathotep,
she said, her voice dropping like she was afraid the walls might be listening. It was stolen from my family two weeks ago.
And you want it back?
I asked, setting the photo down. That’s what the police are for, lady. I’m just a guy with a gun and a bad attitude.
The police can’t help me,
she said sharply. The people who took it... they’re not ordinary thieves. They’re part of something bigger. A cult.
A cult. The word hung in the air like smoke from a bad cigar. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it. And it wouldn’t be the last.
She leaned forward, her voice soft but urgent. They killed my brother to get it. And now they’re planning... something. I don’t know what. But I’ve seen the symbols. I’ve heard the whispers. If they finish what they started, it won’t just be me who pays the price.
I studied her, letting the silence stretch. Most people who walked into my office had a tell—a twitch, a glance, a crack in their voice that gave them away. But Evelyn was good. Either she believed every word she said, or she was the best liar I’d ever met.
Chapter 1 The Whispering Dive
The rain hadn’t let up, and neither had the ache in my gut. The kind of ache that told me I’d stepped into something that didn’t have an easy way out. The streets shimmered with reflected neon, puddles catching fragments of light that looked more alive than they should. I was heading to a place where the only thing darker than the whiskey was the stories behind the eyes of the regulars.
The Black Lamp was the kind of dive where the jukebox was busted, the liquor was questionable, and the shadows did most of the talking. It sat at the edge of nowhere, the kind of joint where secrets came to drown. And it was where I’d find Harrigan.
I pushed through the door, the smell of damp wood and cheap smoke hitting me like an old regret. Harrigan was in the corner, hunched over the bar like he was trying to fold himself into the wood. His drink was untouched, which told me everything I needed to know. The guy wasn’t here to relax.
Sliding onto the stool next to him, I signaled the bartender for a glass of whatever wasn’t eating through the counter. Harrigan didn’t look at me, his fingers drumming a rhythm on the rim of his glass.
You look like hell,
I said, lighting a matchstick and wedging it between my teeth. Hell looks better,
he muttered, his eyes darting to the mirror behind the bar.
Harrigan was ex-security for the Blackwood family. He'd seen things that would make most men pack up and move to the quietest corner of the country. But here he was, shaking like a leaf in the wind. I didn't bother with small talk.
The Eye,
I said, keeping my voice low. Tell me what you know.
His fingers froze mid-drum. He turned his head slowly, his bloodshot eyes locking onto mine. You don’t want to know, Kane,
he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t be sitting here,
I shot back. Spill it.
He glanced around the bar, his shoulders hunching further, like he was trying to fold into himself. Finally, he spoke, his voice cracking like dry leaves. It’s alive. The damn thing is alive. It whispers, Kane. It gets inside your head. Makes you see things. Things you don’t want to see.
Whispers, huh?
I said, leaning back. What’s it saying? Sweet nothings? Stock tips?
He didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink. It doesn’t talk like that. It’s... it’s deeper. Like it’s inside you, pulling at the things you’re trying to keep buried. It knows, Kane. It sees everything.
The way his voice cracked sent a chill down my spine. Harrigan was a lot of things—drunk, coward, a guy who'd sell his mother for a quick buck—but he wasn't the type to get rattled. Not like this.
Symbols,
I said. What do you know about the symbols?
He shuddered, his hand gripping the glass so tight I thought it might shatter. They’re not... they’re not from here. Not from anywhere. I’ve seen them in my dreams. Circles, spirals, things that don’t... don’t stay still. They move, Kane. They’re alive, too.
Sounds like you’ve been hitting the wrong kind of bottle,
I said, but my voice lacked the edge I was going for.
He slammed the glass down, his voice rising.
You think I’m crazy? You think I don’t know what I saw? The damn thing killed
Alexander Blackwood!
It whispered to him until he—
He stopped, his breath hitching, his eyes glassy with fear. Until he couldn’t take it anymore,
he finished quietly.
I let that hang in the air, the weight of his words pressing down like a storm. Harrigan wasn’t crazy. Or if he was, it wasn’t the kind of crazy that came from too much booze. The Eye had touched him, and it hadn’t let go.
Who else knows about this?
I asked.
Victor,
he said, his voice trembling. He’s the one who took it. He’s got plans, Kane. Big ones. And he doesn’t care who gets in the way.
I stood, tossing a bill on the counter. Thanks for the chat, Harrigan. Stay dry.
As I walked out, the rain hit me like a cold slap, but I hardly noticed. Harrigan’s words echoed in my head, the whispers of the Eye swirling in the spaces they left behind.
It sees everything.
Chapter 2 Victor Steps In
The office felt smaller that night, the shadows stretching farther than they should. The rain tapped on the window like an impatient visitor, and the bourbon in my glass wasn’t doing much to warm me up. I’d been turning over Harrigan’s words in my head, trying to make sense of the symbols and whispers. Nothing about this job felt right, but I wasn’t the kind of guy who turned back once I’d started.
That’s when I heard it—a faint, rhythmic knock. Not at the door, but at the edge of my mind. It was like a heartbeat out of sync, tugging at the edges of my thoughts. I blinked, shaking it off, chalking it up to exhaustion and bad whiskey. But then the real knock came. Three sharp raps at the door, precise and deliberate.
It’s late,
I called out, not bothering to get up. And I’m not selling anything worth buying.
The door opened anyway, slow and deliberate, the creak of the hinges louder than it had any right to be. He stepped inside like he owned the place, tall and sharp in a tailored suit that probably cost more than my rent. His face was clean-shaven, his features angular, and his eyes... his eyes didn’t belong in his face. Too cold. Too knowing.
Mr. Kane,
he said, closing the door behind him. I hope I’m not intruding.
Only on my patience,
I said, motioning to the chair across from my desk. Take a seat, pal. Let’s see what kind of sales pitch you’re working with.
He didn’t sit. He moved slowly, circling the office like a shark testing the water. His hands were clasped behind his back, his gaze trailing over the peeling wallpaper and the pile of unsorted papers on the corner of my desk.
Interesting place you've got here,
he said, his voice smooth as silk.
Cozy. Functional. And yet…
He turned to face me, his lips curling into a faint smile.
So much smaller than what you're capable of.
Flattery’ll get you nowhere,
I said, leaning back in my chair. Unless you’ve got something real to say, save the poetry.
He smiled wider, but it didn’t touch his eyes. Oh, I’m very real, Mr. Kane. As real as the whispers you’ve been hearing. As real as the Eye itself.
That got my attention. I sat up, setting the glass down.
So you're Victor Falkner,
I said. Evelyn’s ex. The guy who stole the Eye. You don’t look like much of a thief.
Stealing is such a crude word,
he said, finally taking the seat across from me. What I’ve done is... liberation. The Eye doesn’t belong in a dusty vault. It belongs to those who understand it. Those who are strong enough to use it.
And that’s you?
I asked, folding my arms. The guy with all the answers?
He chuckled, low and soft. Not all the answers. Not yet. But I’ve seen enough to know what it offers. Power, Mr. Kane. True power. Not the kind that politicians or bankers pretend to wield. Something far older. Far greater.
His words hung in the air, heavy and cloying, like the smell of burnt matches. There was something about the way he said it, something that made the room feel colder.
And Evelyn?
I said. Where does she fit into your little power trip?
His smile faltered, just for a moment. Evelyn doesn’t understand,
he said, his tone softening. She clings to the old ways, the idea that the Eye is something to be hidden, feared. But she’s wrong. It’s a gift, Mr. Kane. A gift that comes with... certain demands.
Demands like killing her brother?
His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the mask slipped.
I saw something in his face'something sharp and feral.
Alexander wasn't strong enough. The Eye saw that. It doesn’t forgive weakness.
And you’re strong enough?
I asked, my voice colder than I felt.
I am,
he said simply, leaning forward.
And so are you, Mr. Kane. That's why I’m here. The Eye doesn't just whisper to anyone.
It's chosen you. It sees your potential. Your hunger.
You could be more than a detective scraping by in a crumbling office.
You could be… so much more.
I wanted to laugh, but the sound caught in my throat. The way he looked at me, the way his words curled around my thoughts—it was like the whispers had found a voice.
What’s your angle, Victor?
I said, standing up. You don’t strike me as the type to share power.
He stood too, his movements unnervingly smooth. My angle is survival, Mr. Kane. The Eye is coming for all of us. The only question is whether you’ll stand with it... or against it.
He turned, heading for the door. I’ll leave you to think it over. But don’t take too long. The Eye doesn’t like to wait.
And then he was gone, leaving the room colder than before. The rain outside was deafening now, the whispers blending with the sound like a hymn just out of reach. I poured another drink, my hands steadier than they should have been.
It doesn't forgive weakness,
I muttered to myself, staring at the empty chair where Victor had sat. He was playing a game, and I didn’t like the rules. But the worst part? A small, ugly part of me wondered if he was right.
Chapter 3 Blood in the Shadows
The warehouse loomed at the edge of the city like an unspoken threat, its broken windows watching the river with a hollow stare. Rain trickled down its rusted exterior, pooling in the cracks of the pavement, but the air wasn’t any cooler for it. The place stank of decay, rust, and something fouler that turned my stomach. Whatever was inside, it wasn’t good.
The matchstick in my mouth was damp, chewed down to a nub, but I kept it there out of habit. Evelyn hadn’t mentioned this place directly, but she’d described the symbols she’d seen in her dreams—the spirals and marks that didn’t stay still. I’d found their traces etched into alleyways and whispered in backroom conversations, and now they’d led me here. A warehouse too old and too forgotten, yet humming faintly with the wrong kind of life.
I ran my fingers over the handle of the revolver tucked under my coat. I wasn’t much for theatrics, but there was comfort in the weight of it. I wasn’t sure if bullets would do anything against the kind of madness Evelyn and Harrigan had hinted at, but it was better than walking in empty-handed.
I moved around the side, my boots splashing in the puddles. The place was quiet except for the faint hum that seemed to come from deep inside. It wasn’t a sound exactly—more like a feeling, a vibration at the edge of my senses. It set my teeth on edge.
The service door was rusted shut, but the lock was new—a clean, polished padlock that looked out of place against the decay. I knelt down, fishing a set of picks from my pocket. The lock clicked open with ease, and the door groaned as I pushed it, the sound splitting the silence like a scream.
The air inside was worse—stale and thick, carrying the scent of damp stone and something metallic. I crept forward, my footsteps muffled by the damp concrete. The dim light of the streetlamps outside barely penetrated the building, leaving most of it shrouded in shadows. But further in, faint candlelight flickered, casting a sickly glow that danced against the walls.
I followed the light, keeping close to the walls. The sounds grew clearer—a low, rhythmic chant, guttural and unnatural. It wasn’t a language I’d ever heard, and it wasn’t meant for human throats. The sound burrowed into my skull, each syllable heavy with something I couldn’t name.
I reached the edge of the main room, crouching behind a stack of rotting crates. The scene laid out before me was something out of a nightmare. A group of robed figures stood in a circle, their faces hidden, their voices rising and falling in that unnatural chant. At the center of the circle was a rough stone altar, its surface slick with dark stains that could only be blood. And there, resting in the middle of the altar, was the Eye.
It wasn’t what I’d expected. The photograph Evelyn had shown me hadn’t done it justice. The thing pulsed faintly, its surface shifting like liquid glass, catching the candlelight and bending it in impossible ways. The air around it seemed heavier, thicker, as though it was bending reality itself. I could feel it pulling at me, its whispers brushing against my thoughts like cold fingers.
My hand tightened around the grip of my revolver. I didn’t know what I was planning to do, but standing there wasn’t an option. The chanting grew louder, the figures raising their arms toward the Eye, their movements jerky and unnatural. The whispers in my head matched the rhythm of their chant, and for a moment, I thought I was losing control.
Focus, Kane,
I muttered under my breath, forcing myself to look away from the Eye.
One of the figures broke from the circle, a thin man whose hood slipped back just enough to reveal a gaunt face etched with desperation. He moved toward a table near the far wall, fumbling with a set of papers. His back was to me, and I saw my chance.
I crept forward, each step deliberate and silent, my revolver drawn and ready. The man didn’t notice me until it was too late. I pressed the barrel against his temple, my voice low and sharp.
Don’t scream,
I said. Or the last sound you hear will be this gun going off.
He froze, his hands raised. Who are you?
he hissed, his voice shaking.
The guy asking questions,
I said. What's going on here? What’s that thing on the altar?
His breath hitched, and his eyes darted to the doorway where the others chanted on, oblivious. You don’t understand,
he whispered. The Eye is—
He didn’t finish. Something moved in the shadows, fast and wrong. It was behind him before I could react, and then it was over. A flash of teeth, the wet sound of flesh tearing, and the thin man crumpled to the floor, his blood pooling beneath him. Whatever had been there was gone, slipping back into the shadows like smoke.
I stared at the body, my breath coming fast. The whispers in my head grew louder, more insistent. They weren’t just whispers now—they were words, clear and sharp.
“Take it. Use it. Become more.”
My hand trembled as I holstered the revolver. The dagger. The whispers were guiding my thoughts now, urging me toward the altar. I reached for the thin man’s cloak, wiping the blood from my hands. The dagger had been hidden beneath the altar, its hilt trembling as I pulled it free.
The altar now remained in faint candle lights. Everything twisted. And I knew moral dilemmas might grow thicker ahead.
Chapter 4 The Ritual Chamber
The chamber was vast, its edges hidden in shadow, its walls crawling with symbols that seemed to twist and writhe when I wasn’t looking. Candlelight flickered along the periphery, casting long, distorted shapes that seemed to reach for me. At the center of the room was the altar, rough-hewn stone slick with dark stains. Above it hovered the Eye, pulsing with an unnatural glow that painted everything in shades of sickly green and black. It felt alive, its whispers coiling through my thoughts, promising everything and nothing at once.
And then I saw her.
Evelyn Blackwood lay stretched out on the altar, her wrists bound with coarse rope, her face pale but defiant. Her dress was torn, streaked with blood and dirt, but her eyes burned with anger and fear as they met mine. Her chest rose and fell with sharp, shallow breaths, and I could see her straining against the ropes, even though she knew it was useless.
Eli,
she gasped, her voice hoarse but sharp. Get out of here. You can’t stop this.
I ignored her and stepped further into the room, my hand tightening around the hilt of the revolver inside my coat. Funny,
I said, trying to keep my voice steady. That’s the second time someone’s told me that tonight. And I don’t like repeating myself.
Ah, Kane,
came a voice from the shadows. Smooth, mocking, and cold. Victor stepped forward, his black robe catching the flickering light, the embroidered symbols along its edges glowing faintly. He looked every bit the high priest of whatever madness this was, his face alight with the kind of arrogance that only came with complete conviction.
You’re persistent. I’ll give you that,
he said, moving to the altar and placing a hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. She flinched, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care. But you’re too late. The Eye has chosen. It sees the truth. It sees me.
All I see is a guy who likes the sound of his own voice,
I shot back. Let her go, Victor. Whatever you’re playing at, it’s over.
Victor laughed, a hollow, brittle sound that echoed in the chamber. You think this is a game? This is evolution, Kane. The Eye isn’t just an artifact. It’s a gateway. A tool for those willing to reach for greatness. And you... you’re still crawling in the mud, clinging to old rules and broken morals.
Yeah? Maybe I like the mud,
I said, stepping closer. At least it keeps me grounded.
His expression darkened, and his hand tightened on Evelyn’s shoulder. She winced, biting her lip to keep from crying out. The sight of it sent a hot surge of anger through me, but I forced myself to stay calm. Victor was waiting for me to make a mistake, and I wasn’t about to give him one.
You don’t understand,
Victor said, his voice dropping to a low hiss. The Eye doesn’t forgive weakness. It consumes it. It sees potential, Kane. It saw it in me. And it sees it in you.
That stopped me cold. The whispers surged, curling around my thoughts like smoke. The Eye pulsed brighter, and for a moment, I felt its pull—not just in my mind, but in my chest, my gut, my very bones. It wasn’t just offering power. It was offering freedom. From the rain. From the city. From myself.
Eli,
Evelyn’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and desperate. Don’t listen to it. Please. It’s lying to you.
Victor smirked, his gaze flicking between me and Evelyn. Ah, yes. The damsel in distress. Always so quick to appeal to the hero’s better nature. But we both know, Kane, that you’re no hero. You’ve seen the darkness. You’ve walked in it. And you’ve survived because you’re willing to do what needs to be done.
I stared at him, the revolver heavy in my hand. He was right. I wasn’t a hero. I’d done things I wasn’t proud of, made choices that kept me awake at night. But that didn’t mean I was ready to sell what was left of my soul for the promise of something better.
Let her go,
I said again, my voice low and firm. This is your last chance.
Victor laughed again, his hand moving to the dagger on the altar. It was dark and ornate, its blade glinting with an unnatural light. You’re still clinging to your gun, Kane? Fine. Let’s see if it can save her.
He moved fast, faster than I expected, the dagger flashing as he raised it above Evelyn’s chest. I didn’t think. I fired.
The shot echoed in the chamber, deafening in the confined space. Victor staggered back, the dagger clattering to the ground as he clutched his side. His eyes went wide with shock, then fury.
You fool,
he spat, blood dripping from his lips. You’ve doomed us all.
The Eye pulsed violently, the whispers turning into a deafening roar. The room began to shake, the walls cracking as shadows poured from the symbols, twisting and writhing. I ran to the altar, pulling the ropes free from Evelyn’s wrists. She gasped, her hands clutching at me as the chamber began to collapse.
Eli,
she said, her voice trembling. The Eye... you have to destroy it.
The dagger lay at my feet, its blade still slick with blood. The whispers begged me to stop, to listen, to take what it was offering. My hand trembled as I reached for the blade.
Run,
I told Evelyn, my voice barely audible over the chaos. Get out of here.
Not without you,
she said, her grip tightening on my arm.
Go!
I shouted, shoving her toward the door. She hesitated, tears streaming down her face, but then she turned and ran.
I gripped the dagger, the whispers screaming in my mind. I raised it above the Eye, its surface rippling and writhing like it was alive. And with a final, desperate cry, I brought the blade down.
The explosion of light and sound was blinding, the force throwing me back as the chamber collapsed around me. The last thing I saw was Evelyn’s silhouette in the doorway, her voice calling my name as the world went dark.
Chapter 5: The Eye’s Hunger
I woke to darkness, the taste of blood on my tongue and the smell of stone dust in the air. My head throbbed, and every muscle screamed as I forced myself to sit up. The chamber was in ruins, the altar split down the middle, its jagged edges glowing faintly with the last embers of whatever ritual Victor had been trying to complete. The Eye was gone—or at least, I hoped it was.
Evelyn knelt a few feet away, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared at the ground. The flicker of candlelight played across her face, highlighting the streaks of dirt and tears. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.
You’re alive,
she whispered, her voice trembling. I thought... I thought you didn’t make it.
Close enough,
I muttered, pulling myself to my feet. My hand went to my side, finding a jagged tear in my coat and the bruises beneath. It wasn’t the first time I’d survived by sheer dumb luck, but this one felt... different. The air felt heavier, charged with something unseen but deeply wrong.
The Eye,
Evelyn said, standing slowly. Is it—
Gone,
I cut her off, my voice sharper than I intended. Or at least, it better be. If it’s not, we’re all out of options.
She nodded, but her expression didn’t ease. Her arms stayed crossed, as if she could keep the world out by holding herself together. I wanted to reassure her, to say something that would make this all feel less hopeless, but the truth was, I wasn’t sure it was over.
The whispers had stopped. That much was true. But the silence they left behind wasn’t peace. It was something else entirely. It was the kind of silence that made your ears strain, waiting for the sound of a predator creeping closer.
You didn’t have to save me,
Evelyn said suddenly, her voice quiet but steady. You could have taken the power. The Eye wanted you, Eli. It chose you. But you didn’t take it. Why?
The question hit harder than I expected. I turned away, staring at the fractured altar, the blade of the dagger still embedded in its surface. Its edge was dull now, the black sheen gone, but its weight was still heavy in my chest. I ran a hand over my face, feeling the grit and grime caked there, and let out a long breath.
I don’t know,
I said finally. Maybe I’m not as broken as I thought. Or maybe... maybe it wasn’t about saving you. Maybe I just didn’t want to become Victor.
She stepped closer, her footsteps soft against the crumbling stone. That’s not true,
she said, her voice firm. You saved me because you’re better than him. You saw what the Eye was and what it could do, and you fought it. That means something, Eli. It has to.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how to. The truth was, she was giving me more credit than I deserved. The Eye’s pull had been stronger than anything I’d ever felt. It had promised me everything I’d ever wanted, whispered to every part of me that was tired of fighting, tired of being weak, tired of losing. And I’d almost said yes.
Almost.
The sound of rubble shifting pulled me out of my thoughts. Evelyn tensed, her eyes darting to the shadows that stretched across the walls. I reached for my revolver, the weight of it a cold comfort in my hand.
Do you hear that?
she whispered.
I nodded, my grip tightening on the gun. The sound wasn’t loud, but it was there—a faint rustling, like dry leaves scraping against stone. It wasn’t the cultists; they were long gone. This was something else.
Stay behind me,
I said, stepping forward. The flickering light made the shadows dance, twisting in ways that made my head spin. The sound grew louder, and I realized it wasn’t just movement—it was whispers. Faint, insidious whispers that made my skin crawl.
The Eye was gone, but its hunger lingered.
Eli,
Evelyn said, her voice tight. We need to leave. Now.
She was right. Whatever was left of the Eye’s power, it wasn’t finished. The walls seemed to close in, the air thick with the weight of something unseen but all too present. I backed away, keeping my eyes on the shadows, and motioned for Evelyn to follow.
This place is dead,
I said, my voice low. And I’m not sticking around to join it.
We moved quickly, the sound of our footsteps swallowed by the oppressive silence. The whispers faded as we reached the doorway, but I could still feel them, brushing against my thoughts like fingers tracing old scars. They weren’t done with me. Not yet.
The rain hit me like a slap as we stepped outside, the cold cutting through the heat of the chamber. Evelyn clung to my arm, her steps unsteady, and I kept my revolver close, my eyes scanning the shadows for anything that might follow. The city stretched out before us, broken and tired, but somehow still alive.
Is it over?
Evelyn asked, her voice barely audible over the rain.
I didn’t answer right away. The Eye was gone, but its shadow lingered, etched into the corners of my mind like a scar I’d never be able to erase. I looked at her, her face pale and her eyes searching, and forced a faint smile.
Yeah,
I said, lying through my teeth. It’s over.
But as we walked away, the whispers echoed in the back of my mind, a reminder that the Eye’s hunger was never truly satisfied.
Epilogue: The Weight of Shadows
The rain hadn’t stopped, and neither had the whispers. They were quieter now, like the faint echo of a song you can’t quite forget, but they were still there. Sitting in my office with the bottle of bourbon in front of me, I tried to pretend they didn’t exist. I tried to pretend a lot of things.
The city was alive outside my window, its lights blurred by the endless drizzle. Cars honked, tires splashed through puddles, and somewhere, someone screamed. The usual soundtrack of a place that never really sleeps but doesn’t dare to dream either. It was comforting in a way, familiar. But even as I stared at it, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.
Evelyn had left an hour ago. She’d thanked me, her voice tight, her eyes darting to the shadows like she expected something to reach out and drag her back. I’d told her she was safe, but the lie tasted bitter. She wasn’t safe. None of us were.
She’d asked me what I was going to do now, and I hadn’t had an answer. I still didn’t. The bottle of bourbon sat half-empty on the desk, my revolver beside it, and the dagger tucked away in the drawer. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to get rid of it. The thing was cold and lifeless now, but it still carried the weight of what it had done. What I’d done.
What’s next, Kane?
I muttered to myself, the words slurring slightly as I reached for the glass. You gonna pretend it’s all over? Pretend you’re not looking over your shoulder every five seconds, waiting for the other shoe to drop?
I downed the drink in one go, the burn doing nothing to dull the knot in my chest. The whispers stirred, faint and teasing, like they knew the joke was on me. The Eye was gone, shattered, destroyed. But its shadow was still there, stretching across the city, across me.
I stood, pacing to the window, the glass cool under my palm as I stared out at the wet streets. I’d done the right thing. I was sure of that. I’d saved Evelyn, stopped Victor, destroyed the Eye before it could do more damage. But the price... the price was still being tallied.
I thought about Harrigan, about Victor, about Evelyn’s brother. All the lives the Eye had touched, twisted, ruined. And I thought about the moment when it had called to me, when it had promised me everything I’d ever wanted. It wasn’t just the power I’d resisted—it was the freedom. The release from everything that kept me awake at night. The whispers had known where to hit, and they’d hit hard.
You could’ve had it all,
I said aloud, my voice a bitter echo of the thought in my head. And you gave it up to play the hero. Hell of a joke, Kane. Hell of a joke.
A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. Three sharp raps, precise and deliberate. My stomach twisted, and my hand went to the revolver. The city wasn’t short on ghosts, and I wasn’t in the mood for any more surprises.
Come in,
I called, my voice steady despite the tightness in my chest.
The door creaked open, and a man stepped inside. He was tall and lean, his face pale, his suit immaculate. His eyes, though... his eyes were wrong. Too dark, too deep, like they didn’t end where they should. He smiled, and it wasn’t friendly.
Mr. Kane,
he said, his voice smooth and cold. You’ve been busy.
I didn’t answer, my hand tightening around the revolver. Something about him set my teeth on edge, made the whispers stir in the back of my mind like a long-forgotten tune. He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world.
The Eye may be gone,
he said, stopping just short of my desk. But its influence... well, let’s just say some things leave a mark. And marks like these don’t fade easily.
Who are you?
I asked, my voice low.
He smiled again, and it was worse this time. Just a messenger, Mr. Kane. Here to remind you that endings are rarely what they seem. You’ve touched something far older and far greater than you realize. And it hasn’t forgotten you.
He turned, walking toward the door, his steps echoing in the silence. He paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder.
We’ll be in touch,
he said, and then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.
I stood there for a long moment, the revolver still in my hand, the weight of his words pressing down on me. The city stretched out beyond the window, endless and indifferent, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was watching me now, waiting for my next move.
The whispers returned, faint and familiar, and I lit a cigarette with a hand that didn’t quite stop shaking. The Eye was gone. But its shadow would linger, and so would mine.
Characters
Eli Kane
Eli Kane is the quintessential hard–boiled detective, a man molded by the unforgiving streets of the city he calls home. In his mid–forties, with a weathered face and piercing gray eyes, Eli wears his years like an overcoat—heavy, frayed, but still functional. His trench coat and fedora are as much a part of him as the revolver holstered under his arm, tools of the trade for a man who lives in the margins between law and chaos.
Before becoming a detective, Eli tried his hand at journalism, working the crime beat for a local paper. The experience sharpened his instincts and his pen, but a scandal involving a crooked editor pushed him out of the newsroom and onto the streets, where his search for truth became much more personal—and dangerous. ⤴
Evelyn Blackwood
Evelyn Blackwood is a woman of contradictions—a poised socialite with a razor–sharp intellect and an unshakable determination to survive. In her late twenties, Evelyn is strikingly beautiful, with a head of carefully styled curls and piercing eyes that hold more than their share of secrets. Her elegant demeanor often masks the turmoil she carries, a heavy legacy inherited from the Blackwood family name.
Evelyn briefly studied archaeology in university, a pursuit inspired by her fascination with history and artifacts. However, after discovering unsettling truths about her family's collection, she abandoned her studies, choosing instead to distance herself from the very legacy she now finds herself battling to contain. ⤴
Alexander Blackwood
Alexander Blackwood was the promising heir to the Blackwood family legacy, a man whose intellect and charisma masked a deep sense of duty and personal torment. In his early thirties at the time of his death, Alexander was tall and striking, with the same piercing eyes as his sister Evelyn. But where Evelyn sought to distance herself from the family's dark past, Alexander embraced it, believing he could control the power his ancestors had hidden away.
Despite his fascination with the occult, Alexander was a talented musician who found solace in playing the piano. Friends and family often remarked that his compositions had a haunting beauty, echoing the duality of his brilliant mind and the dark path he ultimately chose. ⤴
Victor Falkner
Evelyn's ex-lover and the antagonist of the story. Victor is a man whose ambition knows no bounds. In his mid–thirties, with slicked–back dark hair and a meticulously tailored suit, Victor carries himself with the confidence of someone used to being the smartest person in the room. His angular features and piercing eyes exude charisma, but there's a coldness beneath the surface—a dangerous edge that hints at his ruthless nature.
Victor was once a promising academic, known for his groundbreaking work in ancient languages. His early colleagues admired him, but after his theories became increasingly erratic and centered on the occult, he was quietly blacklisted from academia—a rejection that only deepened his obsession with proving himself. ⤴
Harrigan
Harrigan is a man who has seen too much and survived too little. Once a dependable security guard for the Blackwood family, he now haunts the city's shadows, a shell of the man he used to be. In his late forties, Harrigan's unkempt appearance reflects his unraveling mind–grizzled hair, hollow eyes, and clothes that look like they've weathered as many storms as he has.
Before working for the Blackwoods, Harrigan served in the military, specializing in reconnaissance. His sharp instincts and ability to spot danger from a distance once made him a respected figure, but his brush with the Eye robbed him of the steady nerves that defined his career. ⤴
