Natalie rose from the chair slowly, her movements careful, like someone trying not to disturb the air itself. The rain outside hadn’t stopped; if anything, it had gotten heavier, muffling the city into a soft gray hush.
“I should go,” she said suddenly, her voice almost swallowed by the sound of water against glass.
Tina blinked from her upside-down sprawl on the bed. “Huh? What? Why?”
Natalie turned toward the door, already gathering her coat.
“I just… have to,” she said, her tone quiet but resolute.
Tina sat upright this time, concern flickering in her expression.
“Hey, if I said something wrong— I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to upset you!"
Natalie paused, one hand resting on the doorknob. Then she turned back with a small smile — the kind that didn’t reach her eyes, but was soft enough to make Tina’s chest ache.
“You didn’t,” she said gently. “Don’t worry about it.”
Tina hesitated. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
Natalie blinked, halfway out the door.
“I mean—around noon,” Tina continued, trying to sound casual. “At the university library? We can keep looking for the book. You know, together.”
There was a short silence. Then Natalie nodded.
“Sure,” she said. “Tomorrow at twelve.”
Tina smiled faintly.
“Okay. It’s a date.”
Marcin rolled his eyes, munching on chips.
“You mean an appointment.”
“Whatever,” Tina shot back, smirking.
Natalie gave a small wave.
“See you, Tina. See you, Marcin.”
And with that, she slipped into the hallway.
The hallway was long and empty, lined with flickering lights that lined the ceiling faintly above. Her shoes made soft sounds against the linoleum as she walked, her hands buried in her coat pockets. She kept her head down her mind still replaying fragments of Casimir’s name, Tina’s laughter, the image of that cursed book.
Then—
A sudden gust of cold air swept past her. The lights flickered once, twice.
Natalie stopped walking.
And then she felt it before she saw it — that familiar pressure, like gravity thickening. She lifted her head.
Casimir was there.
He walked toward her from the far end of the hallway, silent, calm, his expression unreadable. His coat brushed against her shoulder as he passed — just lightly, but enough for her breath to catch in her throat.
Her eyes widened, her entire body going rigid. Slowly, she turned.
For an instant, he did too. Their eyes met — blue into blue — and in that second, the world seemed to vanish around them.
Then he kept walking. Past her. Into the dim light ahead. Until he was gone.
Natalie stood frozen. Her heart hammered painfully against her ribs. Then, without warning, she raised a trembling hand to her mouth, stifling a sharp, broken gasp.
The empty hallway spun around her. Her head throbbed.
No, no, no—
"No... I didn't want to! I didn't want to see the end!" Natalie stuttered.
Her hands flew up to her temples, clutching as if trying to hold her mind in place. The pain came like static — flashes of light, half-remembered voices — and then everything went black.
***
"The demon, the demon, the demon… kill… demon.”
Her heart pounded as she crept down the corridor, the silence now so thick it felt suffocating. Each footstep felt heavier than the last, like she was wading through the dark with the weight of some horrible truth hanging over her. The Demon. The Demon. The… Soldier… The… Soldier… The Polish… The Polish soldier! A Polish soldier. Where had Nine heard this before? A Polish soldier… How did this have anything to do with a demon?
Suddenly, Nine saw the memories of the woman—her mother? No, not her. But whose? The images continued to churn in her mind, a storm of fragmented faces, of blurred figures and distant voices.
“Remember my name? If I don’t return, okay?”
Her voice was small, fragile, barely above a whisper.
“You killed.”
"Do you feel it, Nine?" Ten’s voice was a whisper, low and deliberate. "The weight of the world is shifting. It’s happening, and we’re right here at the center of it all."
Nine could barely bring herself to look at him, but she did. She wanted to scream, to run, but her body refused to obey.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Ten continued, his gaze never leaving hers. "Everything that’s happening, it’s like... a symphony, and we’re the only ones who truly understand the music. The Polish soldier... You know he came here to see us, right?" He stepped forward, "It’s simple. We just have to watch. We’ll be the only ones left. The only ones who get to see it. You, me, and the end. The end of everything. The beautiful end." You, me, and the end…. What did that mean? Little Nine had no idea…
Nine’s hands were shaking uncontrollably, her legs weak beneath her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. This isn’t real. But it was. The gun was real. His voice was real. And then, slowly, she realized—he wasn’t playing. He wasn’t joking. He wanted her to do it. She was the one who had to pull the trigger. She glanced down at the gun in her hands, her fingers twitching, not sure if she could even hold it steady. Ten was watching her, his gaze unwavering.
"Don’t be scared," he whispered. "Once the demon is killed, the soldier can see the end. Run for him. Run away from here. Take the gun, and run.”
"No..."
“Good girl,” Ten whispered, his voice like a dark lullaby. “Now pull the trigger.”
BANG!
***
Natalie collapsed onto her side at the sound of the bang ringing in her mind.
I should have killed you that night... She thought to herself before her vision faded into darkness.
The thud echoed through the hall.
A door burst open a second later.
“Natalie?!” Tina’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and panicked. She ran, barefoot, with Marcin right behind her.
They knelt beside her in seconds — Tina gripping Natalie’s shoulders, shaking her gently.
“Natalie! Hey! What happened?!” Tina cried.
Marcin crouched beside them, eyes wide. “She just—collapsed…”
Tina’s voice cracked as she leaned closer, her pulse racing. “Natalie, please—say something!”
Natalie lay motionless on the cold linoleum floor, her breathing shallow, her golden hair spread around her. Tina was trembling, kneeling beside her, pressing two fingers to her neck.
“She’s breathing—she’s breathing, thank God,” she muttered, voice shaking. “Marcin, call someone—please—she just—she just fell—”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Marcin didn’t move at first. He stood frozen, staring down at Natalie’s face, and something shifted in his expression—something that wasn’t just fear.
It was recognition.
“Tina,” he said quietly, his voice flat. “She looks just like him.”
Tina’s head snapped up. “What?”
“Like Casimir,” he said, his voice trembling now. “Her eyes, her—her face. It’s the same. I thought it was just my imagination earlier, but—”
He stopped, his breathing quickening. The air felt too heavy. His mind was slipping—backward, rewinding, dragging him into the one moment he had buried under every sleepless night since.
The one in the library.
***
Casimir’s hand jerked. The book slipped from his fingers and hit the tile.
KA-THUMP!
Marcin looked up sharply. “Casimir?”
But Casimir wasn’t here anymore. His gaze was somewhere far away — glassy, unfocused.
He whispered something, words tangled with memory. “I was supposed to die at the lab that night… when I told Nine…”
Marcin blinked. “What?”
Casimir didn’t seem to hear him. His hands trembled, his voice dissolving into quiet, broken fragments.
“But I lived… she needed to escape the demon… she was… she still is my mother… Before we were cloned…”
Marcin felt a chill crawl up his neck. “Cas, what the hell are you talking about?”
Casimir’s pupils widened. “She begged me… to see the end…”
His voice cracked. He stumbled backward, hitting the shelf.
“Casimir!”
Then came the name, ragged, torn from somewhere deep and primitive. “Nine…”
Marcin froze. “What?”
Casimir looked up, eyes wild. “Nine!” he screamed suddenly. “Nine! NINE!”
The sound ripped through the silence — raw, animal, human but not human at all. A scream dredged from the marrow of memory.
Marcin lunged forward, grabbing his shoulders. “Casimir, hey, it’s me! Look at me, please—Casimir!”
But Casimir didn’t see him. His lips were moving too fast now, babbling something that sounded like prayer.
“The end… the end… she wanted to see the end—she wanted me to live—she wanted me—”
The lights flickered. Shadows elongated across the floor like black tendrils reaching toward them.
Casimir’s breathing hitched. His hand shot to his scarf. Then, suddenly—
Stillness.
He went limp. The air grew heavy. Marcin could hear his own heartbeat, loud in his ears. Casimir’s eyes rolled upward for a second — a strange peace passing over his face.
Then, slowly, he tilted his head downward and looked at the book on the floor. There was a thin streak of blood on the open page — from his own fingertip.
And there, in the lamplight, was the verse:
So if you feel a tapping,
Or hear a mournful moan…
It might just be the soldier
Looking for his home.
Or perhaps, his Mother…
Casimir’s lips moved silently.
“I found my mother,” he whispered. “She wanted to see the end. Now my father will see it too.” His voice grew distant, reverent. “You, me, and the end…”
He collapsed — right into Marcin’s arms.
Marcin caught him, barely, his own breath breaking. “Casimir?! Casimir!”
The book lay open beside them, pages fluttering like a dying bird. The illustration on the cover seemed to grin under the dim library light.
For a long moment, Marcin just stared — numb, trembling.
“Somebody help!”
The cry rang through the aisles. Footsteps echoed. Librarians, students. But by then, Casimir was already unconscious, his breathing faint, erratic, almost reluctant.
Marcin would never forget that stillness. That look of peace and terror fused together, like a man who had remembered too much.
***
“Natalie!” Tina’s voice snapped him out of it. She was kneeling on the floor, pager pressed to her ear, tears on her cheeks. “They’re sending an ambulance! Marcin, help me move her—”
But Marcin didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on Natalie, on the faint pulse at her neck. His voice came out hollow.
“It’s the same.”
Tina looked up, breath hitching.
“What do you mean, the same?”
Marcin swallowed hard. “It’s the book,” he said quietly. “It’s always the book.”
Tina’s face contorted — confusion, horror, dawning understanding all at once.
“The Forgotten Soldier…” she whispered.
Marcin nodded slowly, staring at Natalie’s still face — her expression serene, almost like Casimir’s had been that night.
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “And whatever’s written in there… it doesn’t just show up. It follows.”
The sound of sirens began to rise faintly in the distance — a wail that grew louder, closer.
But even over that, Tina could hear something else — a faint tapping.
Coming from the hallway floor.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
And though neither of them spoke it aloud, both of them were thinking the same thing.
The soldier was still looking for home.
Natalie's lips moved silently.
“I found my son,” She whispered. “What did I really want?” Her voice grew distant, reverent. “You, me, and the end…”
The Forgotten Soldier.
By Berend Vos
It Came From Somewhere Across the Ocean…
In the deep, deep woods, hidden deep in the mountains
Where even the birds don’t sing,
Lies a mountain wrapped in silence—
And a tale with a sting.
The wind there talks in whispers.
The trees creak in their sleep.
And buried in the frozen earth,
A soldier lies beneath.
He marched through storms and gunfire.
He braved the bitter snow.
But when the battle ended—
He had no place to go.
He fell beneath a pale blue sky,
No hand to hold his own.
The world forgot his heartbeat.
The mountain kept his bones.
No name was carved, no grave was built.
No candle lit his death.
And still he lies there, waiting,
With frost upon his breath.
Some say he had a name once.
But the snow took it away.
Others say he never did—
And that’s why he can’t stay.
They say he turned to something else.
Not quite ghost, not quite man.
A spirit born from silence,
From frost, and red, and sand.
And when the thunder cracks the sky,
And lightning finds the peak,
You just might hear him climbing—
His boots begin to creak.
His eyes glow red like embers.
His fur still smells of smoke.
He walks the paths of the living fear,
And never speaks or jokes.
The village tells its story.
They whisper it each year.
And every time a storm rolls in...
Their hearts all fill with fear.
“Don’t say his name,” the old ones say.
“Don’t speak it, don’t pretend.
Because the soldier’s name is gone—
And now, he has no end.”
They wait behind their windows.
They shut their shutters tight.
For every gust could bring him back—
And he only walks at night.
He doesn’t want your bedtime books.
He doesn’t want your tea.
He wants the name he never had—
He wants his memory.
So if you feel a tapping,
Or hear a mournful moan...
It might just be the soldier
Looking for his home.
Or perhaps, Mother.
And now you know his story.
So tell it, if you dare.
But speak it slowly and softly...
Because he’s always there.
And me? I wouldn’t lie to you.
I’m Mr. Vos, you see.
I tell only the truest tales...
Though some don't quite believe me.
But if you ask me nicely—
I’ll show you where he fell.
The mountain’s waiting quietly.
And the soldier knows you well.