Chapter 1: The Thing on the Rooftop

Jolted awake by rain, I stumbled barefoot to the window—only to find the world lit up by a huge, brilliant moon.

My feet hit the chilly hardwood, sheets tangled around my ankles. Water tapped the glass, sharp and insistent, making me blink in the pale light. Outside, the world was silver-bright and still—even the neighbor’s faded American flag hung limp on their porch. For a moment, it felt like everything was suspended, the world holding its breath with me.

Such a clear night—where was the rain coming from?

My thoughts raced for an explanation. Maybe a summer shower passing through? But the sky was cloudless, stars bright and close as pinpricks.

But just now, something had definitely knocked on the glass.

It was too precise for a branch, too pointed. The sound echoed through my chest, cold and sharp.

I leaned closer to look.

The city was quiet—just the distant wail of a siren and the hum from a streetlamp. There, on the rooftop across from ours, bathed in moonlight, a massive black shadow waved at me.

Its movements were slow and exaggerated, almost taunting, like a cartoon silhouette come to life against the clutter of HVAC units and satellite dishes. My skin crawled. It loomed, impossibly big—no human could move like that.

Still dazed, I suddenly felt a hand clamp over my mouth from behind.

My mind screamed, but my body froze. Mom’s hand was ice-cold, shaking. I caught the scent of her lavender lotion, her trembling fingers pressing hard against my skin. My heart pounded so loud I thought she’d feel it through her palm.

"Don’t say a word. It’ll hear us."

1.

My mom kept her hand locked over my mouth, inching us backward, step by step, away from the window.

We retreated, my socks sliding on the cheap rug, her grip never loosening. I caught a final glimpse of the waving shadow, its shape swelling and shrinking beneath the moon—impossibly big, bigger than anyone could be.

Only when we were safely across the room did she let go.

She rushed to the bed, shaking my dad, desperate and urgent.

The mattress groaned as she shook him, her voice high and raw, panic leaking through every word. "Wake up, wake up! That thing has found us."

My dad jolted up, still half-asleep, her words slicing through his grogginess. He scanned the room, hair sticking up, eyes wild. "What did you say?"

Mom’s voice dropped to a trembling whisper, eyes darting toward the window as if the shadow might burst in any second.

Clutching her faded hoodie, she barely managed, "It’s here... That thing has found us."

In the moonlight, I saw my dad’s face drain of color.

He sucked in a shaky breath. For a moment, the only sound was that relentless tapping on the glass—or whatever it was.

"Where? Did you see it?"

He crouched, voice taut, bracing for something to crash through the wall.

"I saw it. Right on the rooftop across the street."

Dad leapt from the bed, lunging for the window.

The window slammed shut with a thud, lock clicking into place. Dad yanked the sagging curtains closed, his fingers trembling on the fabric.

When I looked again, the thing was gone.

It was as if the city had swallowed it, leaving only moonlight shimmering across the slick roof tiles.

"After all these years, after moving so many times, it can still find us."

Dad knotted the curtains tight, double-checking the latch. His knuckles were white, the air in the room thick with dread.

We sat in darkness, the lights still off.

"Dad, Mom, what is that thing?"

She clamped her hand over my mouth again. My heart hammered so loud I worried the thing outside could hear it.

"Don’t say a word. It’ll hear us."

Dad pounded the bed, looking at me with a mix of anxiety and fear.

His voice was low, the kind reserved for tornado drills or late-night breakdowns on Nebraska highways. "He’s getting older. His presence is stronger now. It’s easier for it to find us than before."

Mom’s fists clenched, her eyes burning with hatred and sorrow.

Tears pooled, but she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Her voice was ragged, thick with loss. "It already took one of our children. What more does it want from us? When will it let us go?"