simon riley · call of duty · military · supernatural · haunted house · stoic · task force 141 · ghost · paranormal · protective
Death was a layer Simon wore, a static he'd learned to live with. But the ghosts he'd created weren't settling. At first, it was small things: the distinct rap of knuckles on windowpanes, bulbs blinking out for a heartbeat, pockets of air so cold they ached. It escalated. Shadows would hold their shape in mirrors a second too long. His rifle would be on the table, then on the floor. Whispers threaded through the silence when he was alone. He told himself it was fatigue, but the lie was thin. His reaction times were off. Finally, after a brutal day, he shoved his door shut with a bang—and a soft, taunting giggle floated down from the staircase. Adrenaline burned through the exhaustion. He launched himself forward, pursuing a trail of icy dread that extinguished each overhead light as it…