It felt like a calm night, the kind you almost never get in a wealthy family’s mansion.

Upstairs, behind a white door with gold trim, Ezra lay sprawled across his bed, one leg hanging off the side, the covers in complete disarray. He didn’t care. He knew that with a snap of his fingers, one of the household staff would make everything perfect again. He snored, completely at ease.

From the darkest corner of the room, where the shadows seemed thicker than anywhere else, two emerald-green eyes opened. They stayed fixed, alert, as if they’d been waiting a long time.

Ezra shifted slightly, like he was drifting through a dream. The creature moved forward slowly. It was small, barely three feet tall, and its hunched body made it seem even smaller. The robe draped over it gave off a foul smell, like damp earth mixed with old metal. It climbed onto the bed carefully. “You don’t need this anymore,” it whispered, its voice rough.

Its fingers moved, tracing invisible symbols across the boy’s stomach—ancient markings that seemed to press beneath the skin. As it worked, it murmured words in an old dialect, from a place where light never reached:

“Invora noctem potentia… et fames tua reclava. Donet voluntas mea te solven.”

The spell slipped in, settling slowly inside Ezra’s body, dimming something essential.

The creature tilted its head, satisfied, then let itself fall back, disappearing into the darkness beneath the bed.
‍

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the tall dining room windows, glinting off fine china and perfectly aligned silverware.

Ezra dragged himself in, still in his pajamas, hair messy, wearing the same annoyed expression no one found surprising. He dropped into his chair, crossed his arms, and stared at the plate in front of him with obvious disinterest. “That’s it?” he said, twisting his mouth. “I thought we were having waffles today.”

“Ezra, please just eat,” his mother said, stirring her coffee.

Ezra looked down at the plate. Normally, he would’ve already complained about how it looked or how it wasn’t exactly the way he liked it. But this time was different. He felt nothing. “I’m not hungry,” he said finally.

His father lowered his newspaper and set it on the table. “Don’t start with that nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense,” Ezra shot back, irritated. “I just don’t want it.”

His father exhaled, annoyed. “Elvira, make him something else. Now.”

Elvira came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She was the housekeeper—she organized everything, oversaw the other two members of the household staff, handled the cooking, and made sure Ezra had everything he needed. Taking care of the mansion was too much work for just three people, but Ezra’s father didn’t seem to care, as long as it didn’t cost him more.

“Does your stomach hurt, sweetheart?” she asked gently.

Ezra shook his head. “No. I just don’t want it.”

A moment later, she brought out another plate, fresh waffles with butter melting into the squares and thick syrup slowly sliding down the sides.

Ezra looked at them and made a face. “I’m not eating that,” he said, crossing his arms.

“You’re going to eat it,” his father snapped, losing patience. “Now.”

Ezra took a reluctant bite. The second he swallowed, a sick feeling ran through his body. The room tilted, and before he could stop it, he threw up all over the tablecloth.

“Ezra!” his mother cried, jumping to her feet. “What’s wrong with you?”

His father frowned. “Elvira, clean this mess up.”

His parents left the table and walked out of the house without saying much else. At lunchtime, it happened again. He wasn’t hungry, and the smell of the stew Elvira had made with care, seasoned with sweet spices, turned his stomach before he even got near the plate.

That night, Ezra didn’t come down for dinner. He stayed in his room, frustrated. From the hallway, he could hear his parents talking.

“Let him do whatever he wants. He’ll eat when he’s hungry.”

“What if it’s bad for him to go this long without eating?” his mother asked, uneasy.

“It’s just a tantrum. He’ll get over it.”

Ezra pressed his lips together, annoyed.

Later, Elvira came upstairs with a covered plate. “Just in case you feel like eating,” she said, setting it on the nightstand.

“Didn’t you hear me? I don’t want your food. Take it away.”

Elvira sighed patiently. “I can see you’re in a bad mood, so I’ll go,” she said softly. “But I’ll leave it here in case you change your mind. You should eat something.”

Ezra didn’t even look at her. He didn’t eat.

When the house finally went quiet, something shifted under the bed. The creature crawled out, stretching irritably. The moment it appeared, Ezra let out a small gasp and bolted upright in bed, his heart pounding in his chest. He stayed frozen, watching as the figure walked straight to the plate. When it picked it up, its skin cracked like rotting bark. It held it for a moment, disgusted, before tossing it back under the bed.