Original psychological horror short story written by me.
One of those moments when you couldn’t tell whether people were fleeing the darkness, or the darkness was fleeing them.
A lone man, wearing a long raincoat, moved between the intertwined trees—small steps, uneven breaths.
He was alone, yet he knew that even in this solitude, he was not truly alone.
In the crackling wrinkles of breaking autumn leaves beneath his heavy shoes, a shadow pressed down on his being.
In the gloom of the night, the sound of blood dripping through the rain soaked the leaves with water and red.
The man tried to stand upright.
He looked toward the light.
Distant lamps were signs of other people—of life.
He tried to move forward,
but it was as if his wounds could no longer endure his being alive.
With every step he took, more blood spilled onto the ground.
And that was when the man understood: a few steps were not enough to save his life.
He collapsed to the ground.
He didn’t scream.
He curled into himself slightly and waited for the killer.
The killer emerged from the darkness.
“I told you—you have no way out.”
—“But at least I tried.”
“Tried?” the killer scoffed. “That’s it? *Trying* is your pride now? A few hours ago, you had so many things to be proud of.”
The man’s breaths poured into the bowl of death like grains in an hourglass.
“A few hours ago,” the killer continued, “you thought your faith would save you. Now you say you tried. You wretches always justify yourselves.”
The man in the raincoat whispered,
“My faith couldn’t save me—nor could it save you.”
Enraged, the killer rushed at him, grabbed his collar, and began to scream—
until suddenly, the world fell silent.
A woman’s scream cut through the night and silenced the killer.
She ran toward the man in the raincoat, crying out.
The killer retreated into the darkness, watching her quietly.
The woman screamed for help, but her voice reached no one.
The killer stepped slightly out of the shadows—and froze.
That woman was his wife.
Sudden pain howled through his chest.
His wife had placed the raincoat man’s head on her lap, screaming in despair.
The killer looked at the man in the raincoat.
That man was himself.
He looked down at his hands.
The gun was in the raincoat man’s hand, his head resting on the woman’s lap.
And the woman screamed:
“In the end, doubt—your faith killed you.”
