Anomaly

The inside of the diner fell into complete silence, as if time itself had stopped, even several seconds after that grotesque anomaly had vanished — a bird made entirely of raw, pulsating flesh that had appeared out of nowhere, crashing violently into the window with a dry, sickening thud that slightly cracked the glass.

People remained frozen, eyes wide and mouths half-open, still trying to process what they had just witnessed. Personally, I didn’t feel anything in particular about the scene. To be honest, I’d seen far more disturbing horrors while wandering through the mist — visions that would make that abomination seem almost ordinary in comparison.

Still, my eyes slowly scanned the interior of the diner, sliding discreetly from face to face. Except for the little girl, her parents, and a few men standing silently, the place seemed suspended in time — wrapped in a heavy, almost oppressive quiet. The occasional clink of silverware and the low hum of the fridge were the only sounds cutting through the silence.

Suddenly, I felt something gently but insistently tugging at the hem of my clothes. I looked down — and there she was. The little girl — so tiny, so fragile — staring up at me with wide eyes full of silent fear. Her body trembled slightly, as if fighting off a constant chill, while her gaze remained fixed on the diner's window, like something beyond it was terrifying her.

My hand moved almost on instinct, slowly, as if afraid to scare her further. Before I even realized it, my fingers were resting on her hair, gently stroking her head. She didn’t pull away. She just closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if that simple gesture was a shield against whatever was out there.

I’m not entirely sure why I did it — maybe because, to her, I looked like a safe harbor in the middle of chaos. The girl watched me with eyes full of expectation and relief, as if my mere touch was enough to keep the outside horrors at bay.

But deep down, was I really any different from the anomalies lurking beyond that window? From her perspective, maybe not. I just looked less threatening, and so far, I hadn’t done anything hostile.

Maybe it was precisely that lack of violence that made her cling to me... or maybe she was just desperately holding onto the last flicker of humanity left in her world.

As those thoughts ate away at me from within, the little one slowly closed her eyes. Her fingers gripped mine just a bit tighter, like she wanted to memorize the feeling of my touch — warm, grounded, comforting. In that silent moment, it was as if she was trying to convince herself that something good still existed in the world.

In the seconds of silence that followed, everyone looked up and began scanning their surroundings, alert. That’s when the little girl’s mother, her voice quiet and her expression slightly relieved, murmured: “Did they... give up?”

After hearing those words, a troubling thought crept into my mind. Wasn’t this exactly the kind of scene that shows up in horror movies? When someone, for some reason, claims it’s all safe now... and moments later, everything falls apart? Honestly, I hoped it was just my imagination messing with me — a moment of paranoia. But deep down, I already knew — unfortunately, this didn’t feel like that kind of story.

Seconds after the mother of the little girl, who was still clinging to me, spoke those words, another thunderous sound echoed against the diner’s window.

"Aaaah!" The little girl's mother screamed, squeezing her eyes shut tightly as her body shook with fear.

The impact was much louder than the first — a deep, metallic thud that made everyone instinctively step back in unison, their eyes wide in a mix of panic and confusion. I turned to the window just in time to see another one of those grotesque birds we’d seen earlier.

The creature, with its massive wings made of pulsating meat, flapped them wildly against the glass, like it was lost, unable to comprehend its surroundings. Its deep, empty sockets — just like the one before — made it even more unsettling, as though it was staring at us without truly seeing.

Everyone’s gaze locked on the bird outside, frozen in place in front of the window. That concentrated silence was shattered by a sharp, sudden sound — like a crack in the glass — echoing across the diner. A chill ran down every spine.

The sound was followed by another bird slamming into the window with a muted impact. The tension escalated as the pattern repeated, more birds crashing into the glass wall, each collision ringing out like an ominous signal.

The frenzied pace didn’t let up: birds appeared from all directions, hurling themselves at the window, while those inside — now gripped by panic — could barely comprehend what was unfolding. The glass began to vibrate, reacting to the relentless assault, as though the very structure of the diner might soon give way under the pressure.

A heavy, suffocating silence settled over the place, as if everyone shared the same desperate thought: the glass will hold — it has to. But as if to mock that fragile hope, a shrill, even louder sound ripped through the air, echoing off the walls.

Two birds, flying wildly, smashed into the glass with brutal force. Their bodies collapsed into a twisted, bloody mess of flesh — a grotesque display. But that wasn’t the most disturbing part. The glass, which had seemed invincible until then, now bore a small fracture — tiny, but enough to ignite a collective fear.

I stared for a long moment at the crack in the diner's window, the fissure like a scar from something deeper, more ominous. Then I looked around at the others. Their faces now held a subtle but unmistakable expression — a fear that crawled through them, almost invisible, like a shadow ready to consume them all.

I didn’t have time to reflect further. The noise outside kept growing — louder, more frenzied. The birds, no longer just thudding against the glass, now collided with such force that it felt like the air itself was splitting. In the next moment, their forms disintegrated, turning into grotesque chunks of bloody flesh that dropped to the ground with sickening thuds, releasing a metallic stench that made my stomach churn.

No one spoke a word, and silence spread again — thick with tension, weighing on everyone. No one knew what to say or do in the face of it all. I could feel the little girl’s body pressed against mine, trembling faintly, as if trying to take shelter in me. Her tiny hand clutched my clothes tightly, as if searching for a place where she could feel safe.

Once again, I reached out and gently ran my hand over her hair. She tilted her face toward me, her eyes meeting mine with a disarming softness. But her expression betrayed the fear she was trying to hide—it was clear she was terrified.

(Don’t worry... I’ll protect all of you) I said firmly, activating my anomalous telepathy. My voice echoed in the mind of everyone in the diner—clear and comforting, like a whisper that spoke straight to the soul.

Everyone flinched almost at the same time, and then their eyes slowly turned to me. On their faces, though still marked by confusion, there was a subtle sense of relief — like an invisible weight had been partially lifted from their shoulders.

The way they looked at me was, at the very least, strange—almost as if they were caught in a slight trance, their eyes fixed on me with a hypnotic, silent curiosity, as if I were a rare exhibit on display. Their faces were frozen, their gazes blank, and for a moment, I wondered if they'd even stopped blinking. Unable to understand what was going on, I frowned and raised an eyebrow, feeling the confusion slowly spread within me, like a thick fog clouding my thoughts.

As I let myself be carried away by the strangeness of the situation, my eyes turned to the little girl. She was watching me with a curious gaze, her eyes blinking softly, as if trying to understand what was going on in my mind: "Hehe..." she let out a soft giggle, full of amusement: "Big sis, you're weird" she said, her wide smile lighting up her face in a contagious way: "Your voice sounds like Mom and Dad's" she added, an innocent gleam in her eyes.

Honestly, her words left me completely confused. My voice... did it sound like her parents'? I couldn’t really understand. I didn’t believe the little girl was lying, but after all, what reason would she have to lie? It didn’t make sense. Besides, I’d never actually heard my own voice since I woke up in that forest.

In fact, I couldn’t even pronounce it, since I can’t speak. Whenever I use my telepathy, the voice that echoes in my mind is one that sounds like the one I remembered from before everything changed, before I woke up there, in the middle of that strange forest.

At least in my mind, my voice sounded exactly how I remembered it, but that doesn’t mean everyone would hear it the same way, right? Sure, the voice you imagine for yourself might sound a little different from how it actually comes out when you speak aloud, but still... I really didn’t expect my voice to be so different from everything I’ve always imagined.

Eventually, the others started sharing similar experiences. They said they heard different tones of voice in their minds. That made me realize a few things. First, the way people heard me varied—it was unique for each person. And second, my voice seemed to have a surprisingly calming effect on all of them. I didn’t fully understand why, but at least the fact that they’d all settled down gave me a bit of relief.

Even so, it didn’t change the fact that a bunch of those birds were still crashing non-stop into the diner’s front window. Personally, handling that wouldn’t be too hard.

As if it had read my thoughts, a dense, dark mist began to form behind me, slowly spreading outward. The others, unaware of what I was doing, kept their eyes locked on the glass, probably wondering how much longer it would hold under the constant pounding.

The only one who noticed the smoke slipping from my body was the little girl. Her big, bright eyes followed it with intense curiosity, watching every movement of the mist with fascination. She looked amazed as it rose and slid toward the window.

Then something strange happened. Somehow, the mist passed right through the glass and vanished completely. I couldn’t see how it did it, but I assumed there must have been some kind of opening it could slip through.

Either way, once the mist had fully materialized on the other side, the others finally seemed to notice something was happening. Their eyes followed the twisting trail of smoke before settling on me. But instead of fear, what I saw in their expressions was genuine curiosity.

I wondered if that was because of my voice—if hearing it had somehow softened their reactions. Had it made them trust me more? I still wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, it definitely helped. And that was good enough for now.

Pushing that thought aside, I turned my focus back to the diner’s front window. Those weird birds kept swarming in, and while the glass looked solid—surprisingly strong—I knew it wouldn’t last much longer.

Cracks had already started spidering across the surface, small fractures spreading with each impact. If they kept slamming into it like that, it wouldn’t be long before it gave out completely. And once it did, those bizarre birds would come pouring in, nothing left to stop them.

With that in mind, the mist from my body began to move, gliding like it had a mind of its own. It slowly expanded, wrapping around the window with a mesmerizing stillness until it completely covered the glass.

As it did, the substance grew denser, more solid, until eventually, no sound came through at all. Even though I could still feel the birds slamming against it, it was like the outside world had been muted by an invisible barrier.

Inside the diner, the only light came from the entrance door, dimly lighting the space and casting the rest into a shadowy gloom. Even so, my eyes—almost like beacons—were enough to see everyone around me clearly.

We were close together, which made silent communication easier. Though the silence was absolute, with every noise from outside completely cut off, I could still feel the mist, trembling slightly with each hit from those bizarre birds. A faint, almost ghostlike echo lingered in the air.

Amidst all that chaos, I kept staring intently at the diner’s window, my eyes glowing with an almost supernatural intensity, like two headlights cutting through the darkness of a thick, foggy night.

The veil of shadows, thick and ethereal like smoke, completely enveloped the front window, gently swaying as if something was trying to pass through it. However, I, connected to my Alter Ego, could clearly sense that those birds, in their helplessness, would never manage to break through that dark cloak to reach the glass.