Blink
Friday nights in the city carried their own kind of energy—streets lit by the pale glow of streetlamps, the air tinged with the distant hum of traffic, and clusters of people laughing as they moved between bars, restaurants, and night markets. But for James, the thought of squeezing into the gridlocked main roads after work was unbearable. His friend Liam had invited him over for a movie marathon, and the last thing he wanted was to sit in traffic, slowly cooking in the fumes of a hundred idling cars.
The bicycle was the obvious choice. It would take him through the back roads, cut his travel time in half, and best of all—no horn-blaring or bumper-to-bumper frustration. He wheeled the bike out of his small apartment building and started pedaling into the cool night. The sky had darkened to a deep navy, and somewhere far off, the low growl of an approaching storm rolled across the horizon.
About fifteen minutes into the ride, James reached the edge of an abandoned park—once a family-friendly place with a playground, a small fountain, and walking trails, now overgrown and left to rot after years of neglect. He had been through here before; the cracked pathways and moss-covered benches offered the fastest shortcut.
The park was silent except for the rhythmic grind of his bike chain and the occasional squeak of his brakes as he slowed for sharp turns. Dead leaves crunched under his tires. Shadows pooled beneath skeletal trees, their branches tangled like knotted fingers reaching for the sky.
Halfway through, James heard it—a sharp, distinct whistle from behind him. He slowed slightly, glancing over his shoulder, but saw only the winding trail fading into darkness. The sound had been clear, deliberate, the kind of whistle meant to call someone’s attention.
Probably some teenagers messing around, he thought. He tightened his grip on the handlebars, deciding to ignore it. The wind picked up, rattling the brittle branches overhead, and James pushed harder on the pedals until the exit of the park came into view.
By the time he reached the street, the night felt warmer—safer. People were gathered in small groups, chatting outside shops and food stalls. James let out a slow breath, more relieved than he realized. Curiosity, however, made him glance back toward the park entrance.Under the sickly yellow glow of the single flickering lamp post, a man stood perfectly still. He wore a dark suit, crisp and clean, like he’d stepped out of a formal dinner. His posture was rigid, hands at his sides, head tilted slightly as if studying James from a distance. His face was obscured in shadow, but James could feel the weight of that stare. A shiver ran down his spine.
Creeps come in all shapes and sizes, he told himself. Probably some eccentric or a drunk guy wandering around. Still, there was something about the man’s presence like something’s wrong. That made James look away quickly. He shook his head and pedaled off toward Liam’s house.
When he arrived, the front yard was dim except for the porch light, casting a cone of gold onto the steps. James hopped off his bike, leaning it against the wall. He could hear the shower running inside—Liam must have been getting ready. James sat on the porch steps, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone. That’s when he heard it again. The whistle. This time, it was closer—too close. His head snapped up.
Standing just beyond the locked front gate was the suited man from the park. Same posture, same stillness, as if he’d been waiting there the entire time.
“Look,”
James called out, trying to mask his unease with irritation,
“whatever joke you’re playing, carry it somewhere else.”
The man didn’t respond. He just stood there, head slightly cocked, as though listening for something. James turned toward the door and yelled over the running shower,
“Liam! Hurry up, man!”
When he looked back, the suited man was inside the yard.
James froze, his mind tripping over itself. The gate was still locked. There was no sound of it opening, no sign of how the man had entered. The stranger stood closer now, his features still swallowed in shadow, but James thought he caught the faint outline of a smile—or maybe it was a trick of the light. Keeping his eyes on him, James began backing toward the door. He knew, instinctively, that turning away was a bad idea. But then he blinked. The man was closer. Another blink—closer still.
Each time James’s eyes shut, even for the briefest moment, the man seemed to cross several feet of space without a sound. Panic surged. James’s breath quickened, the skin at the back of his neck prickling.
“Liam!”
He shouted again, voice cracking. The suited man’s head tilted further, his lips moving slightly, though no sound emerged. A flash of lightning lit the yard for half a second, and in that flicker of light, James swore he saw the man’s eyes—two pits of solid black, reflecting nothing. He blinked.The man was inches away. James stumbled back against the door, pounding on it with both fists.
“Open up! Now!”
The door swung open, and Liam, wrapped in a towel and dripping water onto the floor, stared at him in confusion.
“What the hell’s going on?”
James turned instantly to point—
But the man was already at the gate again, mid-leap, vaulting over it with unnatural grace before disappearing into the shadows beyond the street. The two friends stood in stunned silence.
“You’re pale as a ghost,”
Liam said finally, pulling James inside.
“Who was that?”
“I don’t know,”
James muttered. His heart was still pounding, each beat echoing in his ears. They locked the doors and called the police, who arrived within twenty minutes. Officers searched the neighborhood, even the abandoned park, but found nothing. No footprints in the yard. No sign of forced entry at the gate. No one matching James’s description. The only evidence was a short clip from Liam’s security camera.
It showed James sitting on the porch steps. Then, out of the darkness beyond the gate, the suited man stepped into view, stopping exactly where James had first seen him. The recording glitched for a fraction of a second then suddenly, he was standing just inside the yard. Another glitch, and he was inches from James’s back, though James himself hadn’t yet reacted in the footage.
The final frame before the feed cut to static showed the suited man turning his head toward the camera. Even in the grainy black-and-white image, his eyes were unmistakable—perfect, empty black. The police had no answers. When they left, Liam tried to lighten the mood, chalking it up to;
“some creepy dude messing with people.”
But James couldn’t shake the way those eyes had locked onto him. Later that night, after Liam had gone to bed, James sat on the couch with a blanket, the TV playing quietly. Every now and then, he thought he heard faint footsteps outside, but whenever he looked, the yard was empty. At 2:47 a.m., he heard it again.The whistle.
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