Web of lies

Eyes in the Night

The faint whisper echoed in Rhea’s mind as she quickened her pace. The darkness around her seemed to thicken, swallowing the familiar streets she had once known so well. Every shadow felt alive, every rustle of the wind like a pair of unseen eyes tracking her. Her heart pounded in her chest, the panic rising with every step.

She hadn’t seen anyone, but she felt it—that eerie presence, always just beyond her sight. The quiet town she had once walked through with ease as a teenager now felt alien, hostile even, as if it was hiding something beneath its calm surface. The small pools of light from the streetlamps did little to dispel the sense of being watched. They only cast deeper shadows.

She reached the corner of the street where the small motel sat, the faded sign flickering dimly in the night. Rosewood Inn. It had never been the kind of place that stood out—small, shabby, and forgotten, just like most of the town. But tonight, it looked like a haven.

Rhea crossed the empty road and pushed through the squeaky glass door of the inn. Inside, the musty smell of old furniture hit her, mixed with the faint scent of cigarette smoke. The lobby was dimly lit, and behind the counter sat a man she didn’t recognize, reading a newspaper. He was older, with graying hair and a worn-out expression, but his eyes snapped to attention as soon as she entered.

“Help you with something?” His voice was rough, as if unused to conversation.

“I need a room for the night,” Rhea said, trying to sound steady despite the tremor in her voice.

The man nodded, slowly getting up from his chair. “Got plenty of rooms available. Not many visitors these days.” He pulled a book from behind the counter and slid it toward her. “Name?”

“Rhea,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t want to give her full name. Not tonight.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t press for more. As he flipped through the keys on the wall behind him, Rhea stole a glance outside through the grimy window. The street was still empty, but the feeling of being watched hadn’t gone away. It clung to her like the air itself.

“You alright?” the man asked, catching her distracted look.

“Yeah… just a long day,” she replied quickly, not wanting to explain. “How much for one night?”

“Forty dollars,” he said, placing the key on the counter. “Room 12, down the hall and to the right. Don’t mind the noise. This place creaks a lot, especially at night.”

Rhea handed him the cash, grabbed the key, and muttered a quiet thanks before heading down the hallway. The floorboards groaned under her feet as she made her way to the room, the dim lights casting long, eerie shadows that danced against the faded wallpaper. The inn was silent, unnervingly so, except for the occasional groan of the old pipes and the faint hum of the flickering lights.

She found Room 12 at the end of the hall and quickly unlocked the door, stepping inside and locking it behind her. The room was small and simple—just a bed with an old, worn comforter, a single nightstand, and a window overlooking the empty parking lot. It wasn’t much, but it would do for tonight.

Rhea threw her jacket on the bed and slumped down in the corner chair, trying to catch her breath. Her hands were still shaking, and she stared at them, willing herself to calm down. But the unease lingered.

She glanced toward the window. The blinds were drawn, but the dim glow of the streetlamp outside cast strange, shifting patterns on the floor. Every sound felt amplified—the dripping of the faucet in the bathroom, the hum of the air conditioner, even her own heartbeat seemed to echo in the silence.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she checked the time. It was only a little after 10 p.m., but it felt like the night had stretched on for hours. She debated texting Zoya again but decided against it. She didn’t want to sound paranoid. Tomorrow, she would meet Zoya at the café, and maybe she’d get some answers. Maybe Zoya knew what had changed in this town.

But for now, she was alone.

Trying to distract herself, Rhea walked to the window and carefully peeked through the blinds. The parking lot was deserted, bathed in the pale glow of the streetlamp. She scanned the area, her eyes searching the shadows, but everything seemed still. Peaceful, even.

Just as she was about to let go of the blinds, she saw it. A figure, standing across the street, half-hidden in the shadow of a large oak tree. Rhea’s heart stuttered in her chest.

The figure didn’t move. It just stood there, watching.

She couldn’t make out any details—the face was obscured by the darkness, and the streetlamp’s weak light barely illuminated the outline. But the way it stood, motionless and silent, made her skin crawl. She held her breath, waiting for it to move, but it didn’t.

For several agonizing minutes, Rhea stood frozen by the window, unable to tear her eyes away from the figure. Who was it? And why were they just standing there, watching her?

Suddenly, the figure shifted, stepping back further into the shadows until it disappeared completely. Rhea blinked, her pulse racing, her mind trying to catch up with what she had just seen. Was it real? Or had her mind been playing tricks on her?

She backed away from the window, her heart thudding in her chest. There was no mistaking it. Someone had been there, standing in the dark, watching her.

A soft knock at the door made her jump, her body jolting in fear. She stood still, barely breathing, her eyes locked on the door.

The knock came again, this time more insistent.

Her throat tightened. Who would be knocking on her door at this hour? She hadn’t told anyone where she was going, not even Zoya. Her mind raced with possibilities, none of them good.

For a moment, she considered staying silent, pretending she wasn’t there. But something told her that whoever was outside already knew. They had been watching her. They knew she was here.

Slowly, she crept toward the door, her heart pounding in her ears. She peered through the peephole, but the hallway was empty. There was no one there.

The knock came again, this time louder, sharper—right in front of her.

Rhea stumbled back, her blood running cold. She hadn’t seen anyone through the peephole. Yet the sound had come from directly outside her door.

She stood there, frozen in place, as the final knock echoed through the silent motel.

And then, the door handle turned.