Shadows Between Us

Iraq Desert

1999

The wind howled through the barren desert, carrying grains of sand that lashed against the tents of the excavation site. In the heart of ancient Mesopotamia, the team of archaeologists worked tirelessly under the dim glow of portable lights. The dig site was deep, almost unnervingly so, and at its center stood Victor Harlow-a man of unyielding determination.

Victor's hands trembled as he held the necklace unearthed just moments ago. Its golden chain was cold against his fingers, but the pendant-a shard of glass embedded in an ornate frame-radiated an eerie warmth. He squinted, peering into the reflective surface. There was something alive in the shimmer, something ancient and malevolent.

"Victor," one of his colleagues called from behind, his voice taut with unease.

"We shouldn't be here after dark. The locals warned us"

"I don't care what the locals said," Victor snapped, his eyes still locked on the pendant.

"This... this is it. This is the artifact we've been chasing."

But as Victor continued to stare, the shimmer within the glass intensified. The image of a man began to form-a figure cloaked in shadow, her eyes glowing with a venomous light. She sees you.

A sudden gust of wind ripped through the camp, snuffing out the lights and plunging the site into darkness. The air grew heavy, thick with an unexplainable dread. From the horizon, a sandstorm rose like a living entity, spiraling toward them with unnatural speed.

"Victor!" The shout of one of his colleagues was drowned by the roar of the storm. Tents were torn apart and equipment scattered like leaves. The ground beneath their feet trembled as though the earth itself wanted to swallow them whole.

A woman's voice cut through the storm-a voice that seemed to rise from the sands and wind, screaming with otherworldly fury:

"Give me the necklace!"

Victor clutched the necklace, his heart pounding. He barely had time to react before the storm engulfed the site, blinding him with sand. His team's screams were lost in the cacophony, and the ground cracked open, swallowing the dig site into darkness.

Somehow, Victor clawed his way out of the collapsing pit, the necklace still clutched in his fist. Gasping for breath, he stumbled toward his Jeep, the weight of the artifact feeling like a curse in his hand.

Victor fled Iraq that night, By the time he returned to the U.S., he had no idea what ancient force he had brought home with him.

---

The world had gone quiet around Victor Harlow, but not in a comforting way. It was the kind of silence that crawled under your skin, a suffocating absence of sound that made you question whether you were truly alone. For the past few months, Victor had tried to return to a semblance of normal life. He went back to work at the university, kissed his wife, Eleanor, goodbye each morning, and helped their seven-year-old son, Drake, with his math homework in the evenings. But there was no escaping the cold shadow that had wrapped itself around his life.

It had all started the day he handed the necklace over to the museum. He had been so sure it was just another artifact, just another piece of history to be studied and displayed. But now he knew better. That cursed thing had followed him home-not the necklace itself, but the ancient demon tied to it.

Her name was Savrina. He didn't know how he knew it; she never introduced herself. She didn't need to. She simply appeared, her silhouette dark and towering, her eyes glowing with an unearthly intensity. At first, he thought he was losing his mind, that the stress of the expedition had finally broken him. But the longer she lingered, the clearer her words became.

"Give me the necklace," she whispered, her voice soft and venomous, like silk laced with poison.

Victor refused, of course. How could he explain to anyone that he was being haunted by a demon demanding a relic he no longer possessed? But Savrina was patient, too patient. She didn't just haunt him; she dismantled him piece by piece.

At work, she ensured his lectures were a mess of forgotten lines and missed slides. His colleagues began to whisper behind his back, their gazes filled with pity and suspicion. At home, she turned his dreams into nightmares, the kind that left him waking up drenched in sweat, his screams waking Eleanor and Drake in the next room.

And then, when the whispers and nightmares weren't enough, Savrina escalated.

Victor's health deteriorated. His hands trembled, his eyes hollowed, and his once sharp mind became a foggy mess. Eleanor begged him to see a doctor, but what could he say? That a four-thousand-year-old demon was ruining his life? He'd sound insane.

Eventually, it didn't matter what he said. The university dismissed him, citing erratic behavior. Their savings dwindled. The house they'd worked so hard to build felt like a prison.

It was in that suffocating darkness that Victor made his decision. He couldn't explain it to Eleanor, but he knew Savrina wouldn't stop until she had the necklace. So, one stormy night, while the city slept, Victor broke into the museum.

---

The heist had been a disaster. Victor's hands shook so violently he almost dropped the necklace as he pried it from its display case. Alarms blared, but he didn't care. By the time security arrived, he was long gone, the necklace hidden in the pocket of his coat as he sped away into the night.

When he returned home, Eleanor's face was pale with fear. She said nothing as he packed their bags, her wide, tear-filled eyes watching his every move. Drake clung to her leg, asking question after question, but Victor had no answers for his son.

"Get in the car," was all he managed to say.

---

The forest road was dark and desolate, the kind of place where the stars couldn't pierce through the thick canopy of trees. Snowflakes fell lazily, their delicate beauty lost on Victor as he gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands. Eleanor sat beside him, silent and tense, while Drake dozed in the backseat, his small body bundled in blankets.

Victor's gaze darted to the rearview mirror. For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of movement-a shadow, maybe, or just his imagination. His pulse quickened.

"It's following us," he muttered.

"What is?" Eleanor asked, her voice barely audible.

But Victor couldn't answer. Up ahead, on the road, a figure appeared. At first, it looked like a trick of the headlights-a woman in a flowing black dress, her hair billowing like smoke. But as they drew closer, Victor recognized her.

Savrina.

He slammed the brakes, but it was too late. The car skidded, the tires failing to grip the icy road. Time seemed to slow as the vehicle careened off the edge of a small embankment. It flipped once, twice, before landing upside down in a snowy ditch.

---

When Victor opened his eyes, everything was still. Snowflakes drifted through the shattered windows, melting on his bloodied face. He tried to move, but pain lanced through his body, pinning him in place.

"Eleanor," he croaked, his voice barely more than a whisper. He turned his head, his heart shattering at the sight of her lifeless body slumped against the passenger seat.

In the back, Drake was unconscious, his tiny frame unnaturally still.

Victor's hand clenched around the necklace. It was still there, its weight a cruel reminder of everything he had lost.

And then, he saw the boots. Black, polished leather, crunching softly against the snow as a figure approached. Victor's vision blurred, but he could just make out the man's silhouette-tall, broad-shouldered, his face obscured by shadows.

The man knelt beside the wreckage, his gloved hands reaching through the broken glass. He didn't hesitate, didn't speak. He simply pried the necklace from Victor's hand.

"No..." Victor whispered, but the word barely escaped his lips before darkness consumed him.

The last thing he heard was the sound of the man's footsteps fading into the night.