The subway station hummed with the restless energy of late-night commuters. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting pale halos over the crowd. Amelia sank onto a bench, sighing as she pulled an old, tattered novel from her bag. She had been reading it off and on for months, the kind of book that always seemed to disappear under the weight of responsibility. She barely got through the first paragraph before the train screeched to a halt in front of her. The doors slid open with a metallic hiss. Then, chaos.
A young man exploded out of the train, wild-eyed and desperate. He shoved past an elderly man, sending him stumbling into a woman in heels, who crashed into a businessman carrying a briefcase. Like a line of dominoes, people toppled over each other, tripping, falling—spilling onto the cold subway platform.
Amelia shot up as the last and most devastating blow landed—the young man, the cause of all the commotion, was knocked off balance in the mess and lost his footing. He fell, hard. And then the weight of those he had shoved pressed down upon him. There was a sharp crack, a pained gasp—then nothing.
For a breathless moment, the entire station froze. Then the cries began. Amelia dropped her book and ran to the pile of tangled bodies.
“Somebody call an ambulance!” she barked, already kneeling beside the motionless man.
A few others came to assist, helping people up, checking for injuries. A subway cop stepped off the train, scanning the wreckage with sharp, assessing eyes. “Move aside,” the officer ordered, pushing past the bystanders. But when his gaze fell on the young man sprawled on the ground, something changed. His jaw tightened, and instead of reaching for a radio, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
Amelia frowned. “What are you doing?”
The cop didn’t answer. He knelt beside the injured man, gripping his wrist with practiced force. The young man’s eyes fluttered open, pain and confusion etched into his face.
“Ezra Cain, you’re under arrest—”
“Are you serious right now?” Amelia snapped, pushing the officer’s hand away. “This kid is injured! He needs medical attention, not a jail cell!”
The officer looked annoyed but relented as she quickly assessed Ezra’s condition. His leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, swelling fast. A mild head wound bled sluggishly at his temple.
Ezra let out a weak chuckle. “You fight for criminals, too?”
“I’m fighting for a human being in pain,” Amelia corrected, calling for a stretcher.
As the paramedics lifted him into the ambulance—an officer still hovering nearby—Ezra reached into his pocket. With shaking fingers, he pressed something into Amelia’s palm.
“For your trouble,” he murmured.
She looked down. A necklace. An old, strange-looking charm, dark metal shaped like a snarling beast with hollow eyes. It was heavier than it should have been. Before she could ask about it, the doors shut, and the ambulance pulled away. Amelia rolled the necklace between her fingers, studying its odd engravings. She exhaled, slinging it over her neck, then walked back to the bench, retrieving her forgotten novel. Her train arrived moments later. She didn’t notice the way her breath hitched as she stepped inside. Didn’t feel the shift in the air. Didn’t hear the slow, deliberate rasp of something unseen settling onto her shoulders.
It started that night. A heaviness. At first, Amelia thought she was just exhausted. The long shifts. The stress. The adrenaline crash after the subway incident. But when she lay down in bed, something felt… wrong. As though she wasn’t alone. The darkness in her apartment seemed deeper than usual, the shadows pooling in the corners stretching unnaturally. When she finally closed her eyes, she dreamt of things she couldn’t name. Of hollow, sunken eyes. Of bone-thin fingers curling around her throat. She woke drenched in sweat, gasping for breath.
The next morning, her limbs felt heavier. Walking to work took effort, like she was wading through waist-deep water. The pallor of her skin was almost sickly. Her co-workers commented on it, but she waved them off. A cold. A bug. Something minor. But the weight didn’t go away. It only grew.
Days passed. Then weeks. Amelia deteriorated. Her appetite dwindled. Her body ached. It wasn’t just exhaustion anymore; it was something else, something far worse. Like she was carrying something unbearable, something suffocating. Every time she looked in a mirror, her reflection seemed dimmer. Sunken. And yet, she never once thought to take the necklace off. It felt fused to her. Like removing it would be peeling off her own skin.
One night, she sat on her bed, lightheaded and weak, staring at her hands. They trembled. Her body felt like it was crumbling under an invisible weight. And then—a breath that was not hers. She looked up. And saw it. A demon perched on her shoulders.
Its body was emaciated yet strong, its skin dark as a starless sky, its spine curved unnaturally as if it had spent centuries hunched in waiting. Its fingers were long, tipped with blackened claws that dug ever so lightly into her flesh. But its eyes—its eyes were the worst part. Glowing. Deep-set and endless. They watched her. And for the first time in weeks, Amelia understood.
This was no sickness. No simple fatigue. This was a curse. The necklace—Ezra’s “gift”—had never been meant for her. It had been meant for him. The weight of greed, the price of unchecked selfishness, the punishment meant for a man who had spent his life taking—had been passed to the wrong person. And the demon did not care. It would feast all the same.
Amelia let out a shaky breath. The glowing eyes did not blink. And the weight pressed down.
Harder. Heavier. Until she could barely breathe.
