What Sleeps – Extrait 6
presses in, thick and damp, like the rain that night. Like his voice, whispering— “I can’t… I can’t do this.” The window is just a window. The rain is just rain. The silence is just silence. But the cold knot in my chest doesn’t care. It tightens, twisting, pressing. And I think of him. I think of that look on his face, the way he broke, the way he tried to hide it. Was he running too? Was he trying to escape a silence that wouldn’t let go? Was he… hiding? I hear it again. The faint, rhythmic creak. The hallway? Or just the wind? I don’t know. I don’t want to know. I step back, my shoulder brushing the wall, the cold seeping through my shirt. The window is just a window. But it feels like something else. Like something watching. I grab my phone, my fingers numb against the screen. The messages from Ina are still there, still unanswered. But I don’t text her. I don’t call. I stand there, breathing, waiting for the cold to fade, for the quiet to let go. But it doesn’t. The cold doesn’t fade. It presses in, thick and heavy, wrapping around me like a damp sheet. I can’t shake it. Can’t breathe it away. My eyes keep drifting to the window, to the faint scratches etched across the glass, thin and jagged, like something tried to claw its way in. But I need air. I need to move. I grab my coat, my keys, leaving the kitchen light on because the darkness feels too close, too heavy. The door clicks behind me, and I’m in the hallway, the cold concrete beneath my feet, the faint hum of the old light buzzing like a whisper. But the silence is here too, stretching between the walls, pressing against the dim, narrow corridor. My footsteps echo, too loud, too sharp. I glance down the hall, towards the stairs, the pale light pooling at the base. No one there. Just shadows, stretching and shivering beneath the flicker of the bulb. But there’s something else. A sound—soft, faint. A whisper of movement, like fabric brushing against the wall. I freeze, my breath caught in my chest. And then I see her. The old woman from the fifth floor. Or maybe it’s her. I’ve seen her before, in passing, a shadow wrapped in thick, grey shawls, her hair a thin silver cloud. But now she’s standing by the stairwell, just at the edge of the light, her back to me. She’s not moving. Not really. Just… swaying. Her shoulders rise and fall, a slow, shivering rhythm, like she’s breathing too fast. “Hello?” My voice is too loud, sharp against the quiet. She doesn’t turn. Doesn’t answer. I take a step closer, the cold sinking into my bones. “Madame? Are you—” She stops. Her shoulders stiffen, the swaying ceases. A slow, creeping dread curls around me. And then she turns. Her face is a pale mask, hollow eyes dark and wet, her mouth a thin, cracked line. But it’s her hands that catch me—thin, clawed, pale against the darkness. And her fingers… her fingers are streaked with something dark, something that glistens in the pale light. “Are you alright?” I whisper, my voice too small. Her eyes meet mine, sharp and distant, like a bird’s, like something that sees but doesn’t know what it’s seeing. Her lips part, a faint, rasping breath escaping, and then she takes a step toward me. I step back, the cold seeping through me, the walls pressing in. “Madame… Do you need help?” Her fingers twitch, her mouth moving, but no words come out. Just a faint, dry whisper, a sound like leaves crumbling underfoot. And then she reaches out. Her fingers stretch towards me, slow, trembling, stained dark. I don’t move, can’t move. I feel the cold pressing against my skin, feel the ache in my chest tightening. Her hand hovers, inches from my face, her fingers clawed, desperate. And then— A door slams. Loud. Sharp. The echo ripples through the hallway, a crack of thunder in the silence. The old woman’s head jerks up, her eyes widening, and then she turns,
⬅️ Extrait prĂ©cĂ©dent | Extrait suivant ➡️
đź”– Labels : What Sleeps, What Sleeps – Extrait 6
