Legacy of Death

Arthur stepped into the living room, shoulders tense, mind still reeling from the morning's strange events. His father sat in his usual chair, his hands clasped together, the lines on his face deeper than usual. He looked tired—more than tired.

Eleanor took a seat on the couch, her eyes flickering between Arthur and their father.

Arthur remained standing. "Alright, let's get this over with. What's the life lesson today? 'Disappointing your old man 101' or 'How Not to Punch Your Best Friend in the Face' seminar?"

His father exhaled sharply. "Sit down, Arthur."

Arthur hesitated but eventually dropped onto the couch, arms crossed. "Fine. I'm here. What's up?"

His father studied him for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then, finally, he spoke. "We're moving."

Arthur blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

Silence settled over the room.

Arthur let out a short, humorless laugh. "Right. So, just to clarify—your brilliant solution to everything going on is to move? You think that'll magically fix all of this?"

"This isn't up for debate, Arthur." His father's voice was firm, unwavering. "After what happened at school—after everything—you need a fresh start. We all do."

Arthur clenched his jaw. "And what if I don't want a 'fresh start'? What if I don't want to run away just because things got a little messy?"

"Messy?" Eleanor snapped. "Arthur, you blacked out in the middle of school and nearly beat Jeff to a pulp. That's not 'messy.' That's a problem."

Arthur shot her a glare but said nothing.

Their father sighed, rubbing his temples. "This isn't just about the fight. It's about—" He hesitated. "It's about keeping you safe."

Arthur frowned. "*Safe from what?"

His father didn't answer right away. The silence stretched uncomfortably long, thick with something unspoken.

And then, in a lower, quieter voice, he said, "Do you ever feel like... something's watching you?"

Arthur's breath hitched.

The question hit far too close to home.

For a moment, the room felt smaller, the shadows in the corners a little darker.

"What kind of question is that?" Arthur forced a scoff, trying to shake off the unease creeping up his spine. "You're making it sound like I'm being haunted or something."

His father's gaze didn't waver. "Answer me."

Arthur hesitated. His mind flashed back to the whispers, the distorted reflection, the suffocating feeling of being watched even when he was alone.

He swallowed. "No."

His father's expression hardened, as if he knew Arthur was lying. But instead of calling him out on it, he just nodded. "Pack your things. We're leaving in two days."

Arthur's stomach twisted. "And if I refuse?"

"Then I'll drag you out of here myself."

Arthur held his father's gaze, waiting for any sign of hesitation. There was none.

The fight drained out of him. He gritted his teeth and stood. "Whatever."

Without another word, he turned and stormed upstairs.

But as he reached his room and slammed the door shut, a cold sensation crept up his spine.

The mirror across the room was fogged over, as if someone had been breathing on it.

And just before the condensation faded, he swore he saw something move on the other side.

Something that wasn't his reflection.