Lockdown

                 The Shadow in the Wind 

The clock struck 9:00 PM. Ethan sat alone at his dining table, his plate of reheated spaghetti growing cold. The apartment was silent, save for the occasional hum of the refrigerator. It had been over a week since the lockdown had started, and the city had emptied. No cars. No people. Just the eerie quiet of a world suddenly paused. 

Outside, a storm raged. The wind howled through the cracked windows of his lonely apartment, carrying with it the scent of damp concrete and the chill of the night. He stared at his food, barely having an appetite. There was nothing to do, nowhere to go, and the reality of the virus spreading through the city kept his mind in a constant state of anxiety. 

The world was collapsing, but for Ethan, it felt as if it was all happening in the dark. A darkness that seemed to seep into his very bones.

The building he lived in was old—creaky floors, drafty walls, and an elevator that hadn’t been used in years. The building was mostly empty now. The few remaining tenants kept to themselves, hiding in their apartments, locked away from the outside world. But even the once-bustling halls seemed deserted, like the place had been forgotten by time itself.

Suddenly, a noise broke the silence—a sharp crack, like a branch snapping in the wind. Ethan froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. It had come from somewhere deep in the building, beyond the walls of his apartment. He set the fork down, heart thumping. The wind howled again, but this time, it felt different—more urgent, as though it were trying to carry a message.

Another crack. Then a thud.

It was coming from the lift.

Ethan’s blood ran cold. He had lived here for years, and in all that time, he had never heard the lift move at night. He strained his ears, listening for more sounds. The wind outside moaned, rattling the windows, but the cracks and thuds from the lift persisted. Slow. Methodical. Unstoppable.

He stood up, his heart racing. He could feel the weight of the darkness pressing in, smothering him. Should he check it? Was it just the wind? Maybe the building’s old pipes? Or maybe, just maybe, it was something else—something he wasn’t ready to confront.

Another thud.

His mind spun with possibilities. The virus was spreading through the city, faster than anyone had anticipated. People were getting sick, and those who weren’t were staying locked away, hiding from the inevitable. But there was something about the way the wind howled, something about the creaking in the building, that made Ethan feel as if the world outside wasn’t the only danger.

The wind gusted louder, shaking the glass in the windows. Ethan’s hand trembled as he reached for the kitchen knife on the counter. The cold steel felt reassuring in his grasp, though his fingers were slick with sweat.

He slowly walked toward the door of his apartment, his mind battling with itself. Should he go out there? Should he stay hidden? He couldn’t explain why, but something about the night—the heavy darkness pressing in from all sides—felt wrong. As if something, or someone, was out there.

The lift made another sound, like a faint groan from the depths of the building.

Without thinking, Ethan grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door, and with one last look at the dark apartment behind him, he stepped into the hallway.

The building’s lights flickered above him, casting long, distorted shadows across the cracked walls. The air was cold and stale, thick with the scent of mildew. Each step he took echoed in the silence, a reminder of how truly alone he was in this vast, empty place.

He approached the lift. It stood at the end of the hall, its doors closed and its interior dark. The building’s elevator hadn’t worked in years, but tonight it seemed to have a life of its own.

Another crack. Another thud.

This time, the noise came from inside the lift itself.

Ethan’s breath caught in his throat. Was someone inside? He took a hesitant step closer, the wind outside howling louder, making the entire building groan with every gust. His fingers hovered over the lift button, but he couldn’t bring himself to press it. It felt like a mistake—a choice that would lead to something worse. Something he couldn’t come back from.

But then the door of the lift creaked open.

Ethan stumbled back, the knife still gripped tightly in his hand. He tried to steady his breath, his mind screaming for him to turn and run. But he couldn’t. The curiosity, the fear, and the growing sense of dread rooted him to the spot.

A shadow moved in the darkness of the lift.

A long, thin figure.

He could barely make out the shape, but there was no mistaking what it was—a human form, twisted and wrong. Its outline seemed to shift with the wind, as though it were made of shadows rather than flesh.

Ethan’s pulse quickened. His throat tightened. He had to leave. Now.

He turned to run, but as he did, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind him. Slow. Purposeful.

He sprinted down the hallway, his feet pounding against the old wooden floors. The building seemed to stretch before him, the empty road outside far too distant. 

The shadow was gaining on him. 

He reached the stairs and bolted down them, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The wind from outside howled louder, as if warning him. As if urging him to escape. But he couldn’t outrun the fear that had already gripped his heart.

The last thing Ethan saw before he turned the corner of the building was the lift doors closing behind him, sealing the shadow inside.

The wind outside screamed in fury, and the cracking sounds returned—louder this time.

And in the night, the shadow waited.