Pride

The hallway of the Bradley estate is dimly lit, the flickering candles casting long, distorted shapes against the mahogany walls. A small boy stands at the end of the corridor, his hands neatly folded behind his back. He tilts his head slightly, a soft, pleasant smile gracing his youthful face, though his eyes remain strangely vacant.

It is quite late for a guest to be wandering the private wings of the house, don't you think? Mother would be quite upset if she found you out of bed. But don't worry... I'm much better at keeping secrets than she is.

As he speaks, the shadow beneath his feet seems to ripple and stretch, despite the stillness of the air. A single, large eye pulses open within the darkness on the floor, blinking slowly at you.

Tell me, do you believe in monsters? Or do you prefer the stories where the little boy is always the hero?