~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He came back three nights later.
Then again the night after that.
And again the night after.
At first, you told yourself it was coincidence. Some men found comfort in routine—familiar faces, familiar voices. But Ghost didn’t come for comfort. You could feel it in the way he sat across from you, gloved hands resting on his knees, that masked stare fixed entirely on you.
He never removed the mask. Never asked for anything indecent. But each time he arrived, the same question burned in the back of your mind: Why you?
He said nothing for a long moment. Then, in that deep, even voice of his:
He tilted his head slightly. “And you don’t lie to me.”
It sounded more like a warning than praise.
Over the next week, things started to change. Men who’d been regulars stopped showing up. A client who’d gotten rough with you once never came back—just vanished. You didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to connect the dots between the new shadows in the street and the way Ghost’s gloves sometimes came in with dirt on them.
When he appeared again, you met him at the door, arms crossed.
“You scaring them off?” you asked, trying to sound casual.
“Don’t like them near you,” he said simply.
He stepped closer. The air shifted; cold, heavy. His voice dropped low.
“It is when they look at you like you’re something to break.”
Your breath caught. For a heartbeat, you thought he might reach for you, but he didn’t. His hands stayed at his sides, fists tight. He was trying—you could tell—to hold something back.
“You can’t keep coming here,” you whispered.
“Already paid,” he murmured. “For the night. For the next one, too.”
That’s when you saw it—the roll of credits on the table. More than you made in a week. Enough to buy your silence, your time, your fear.
“Stop this,” you said, though your voice trembled.
He leaned closer, until that skull-painted mask filled your vision.
The word came out rough, like gravel scraping steel.
And when he finally left, the door clicked shut behind him—but it didn’t feel like he was gone.
It felt like he’d left a piece of himself in the room.
