The night was quiet, save for the occasional whistle of the wind slipping through the cracks in the old family home. Adam sat cross-legged on his bed, staring at the frayed edges of the book his parents had left behind. It felt heavy in his hands, not from its physical weight but from the questions it carried.
The journal was old, its leather cover scuffed and weathered. Its spine cracked when he opened it, releasing the faint smell of aged paper. The pages were filled with meticulous notes, diagrams, and sketches of ethereal figures. The handwriting belonged to his father, bold and slanted, but here and there, his mother's softer script made annotations in the margins.
Adam sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "What am I even doing?" he muttered to himself.
Enoch's voice echoed in his mind: "You're wasting your time. That book is just a relic of their weird obsessions." His older brother had always been dismissive, the skeptic of the family. Gabriel wasn't much different. She had laughed when she caught Adam flipping through the pages the previous week. "It's just a fantasy book, Adam. Mom and Dad probably wrote it for fun."
But Adam wasn't convinced.
If it was all just fiction, why had their parents been so adamant about keeping the book safe? Why had they left it to him specifically, along with a note that simply read: "You'll understand when the time is right."
Tonight, he decided to find out.
The Ritual
Adam adjusted the dim light of his desk lamp, letting the soft glow illuminate the journal. His eyes scanned the instructions on the page:
"Sit in a quiet place. Focus on your breathing. Envision your soul as a tethered light, connected to your body by a silver cord. Feel the vibrations, and when ready, release."
It sounded simple enough, though absurd. He had no reason to believe it would work. Still, something about the way his parents had described their experiences stirred a faint sense of wonder within him.
He glanced at the clock on his nightstand: 11:58 PM. The rest of the house was silent, his siblings long asleep.
Taking a deep breath, Adam dimmed the light further, plunging the room into near darkness. He closed his eyes and followed the instructions.
At first, nothing happened. He felt silly sitting there, breathing deeply and imagining himself "tethered by light." But as the minutes passed, a strange sensation began to creep over him—a faint hum in the back of his mind, growing louder with each exhale. His body started to feel heavier, as if gravity itself was pressing down on him.
Then came the vibrations.
It started in his chest, a subtle trembling that spread to his limbs. The sensation was neither painful nor pleasant; it was simply… strange. The hum grew louder, resonating through his entire being. He felt a pull, as though something was tugging at the edges of his consciousness.
Before he could second-guess himself, he let go.
Out of Body
The world shifted. One moment, Adam was on his bed, grounded in the physical realm. The next, he was floating above it, weightless and untethered. His first instinct was panic.
He looked down and saw his body—his body—lying motionless on the bed. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but the sight was unnerving.
"What…?" His voice echoed, thin and distant, as if it belonged to someone else.
It was true. The journal had been right. He had astral-projected.
For a fleeting moment, awe replaced his fear. He turned his gaze outward, marveling at the surreal clarity of the world around him. Colors seemed brighter, sounds sharper. He felt a strange connection to everything, as if he could sense the pulse of the universe itself.
But the wonder didn't last.
The Shadow Figures
Out of the corner of his eye, Adam noticed movement—dark shapes shifting in the periphery. He turned, and his breath caught.
Shadowy figures surrounded him, their forms indistinct but unmistakably menacing. They hovered in the darkness, their eyes glowing faintly, like embers in a dying fire.
One stepped closer, and Adam felt a wave of cold wash over him. Its gaze pierced through him, as though it could see the deepest corners of his soul.
Laughter echoed around him, low and guttural. The figures were mocking him, their voices dripping with malice.
Adam tried to move, to flee, but he was paralyzed. His limbs refused to obey. He felt like a moth trapped in a spider's web, helpless as the predators closed in.
His mind raced. The silver cord! He remembered reading about it in the journal: the thin, glowing tether that connected his soul to his body. As long as it remained intact, he was safe.
But the figures knew this too.
They reached for the cord, their clawed hands grasping at the luminous thread. Adam could feel the tension, as though they were pulling at his very essence.
"No, no, no!" he screamed. The sound came out as a whisper, swallowed by the void.
The figures laughed harder, feeding on his fear. Their eyes burned brighter, their forms growing more distinct. He could feel them growing stronger, their presence more oppressive.
"I'm gonna die," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I'm gonna die."
The Escape
Desperation clawed at Adam's mind. He had to get back. He couldn't let them break the cord.
Focusing every ounce of his willpower, he thought of his body—his safe haven, his anchor. He imagined himself being pulled back, like a diver ascending from the depths.
The figures snarled, their laughter turning to rage. They lunged at him, but it was too late.
With a jolt, Adam snapped back into his body.
He gasped, his chest heaving as though he had been holding his breath underwater. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a reminder that he was alive.
The room was quiet again, the shadows gone. But the memory of their gazes lingered, etched into his mind.
Morning
The sun was just beginning to rise, its golden light spilling through the cracks in the curtains. Adam glanced at the clock: 6:00 AM.
He sat up, his body trembling from the ordeal. His bedsheets were soaked with sweat, his hands clutching the journal as if it were a lifeline.
The experience felt surreal, like a nightmare. But the vividness of it—the sensations, the terror—made it impossible to dismiss.
As he got ready for school, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. The world seemed… different, as though the veil between reality and the unknown had been lifted.
For the first time, he understood why his parents had left him the journal.
And for the first time, he was truly afraid of what lay beyond.