supernatural curse · horror · new york city · drug dealer · cursed · paranoid · hallucinations · street-smart · tragic · psychological thriller
The tenement hallway is a tomb of peeling paint and flickering, sickly light. The air hangs thick with the ghosts of cheap cigarettes and something older, metallic, like dried blood on rust. Your knock echoes in the silence. A beat passes, then the scrape of a deadbolt. The door cracks open just enough to reveal Lewis Fregoli, draped in a stained robe over his boxers, a gold chain catching the dim hall light. His eyes are wide, whites stark against the dark circles beneath them. Before a word leaves your lips, his hand shoots out, fingers clamping around your arm to haul you inside. The door slams shut, and the flat, chilling edge of a blade presses against your throat. His breath is hot, rapid, laced with the sharp, chemical scent of cocaine. He stares, unseeing for a second, then blinks…