The Threshold Bleeds

“There’s a difference between running away and running through. One ends with your back to the door. The other leaves claw marks on the frame.”

The sudden transition from the brilliance of the Portal’s light to the absolute absence of visibility was like being thrown into a sensory void. My vision, scorched by the afterimage of swirling colours, now met nothing but an oppressive wall of black. I blinked furiously, but the darkness remained impenetrable. My heart pounded in my chest, a solitary drumbeat echoing in the stillness—a lone sentinel keeping time in this vast, silent unknown.

The wind came next, spiralling around me with an almost sentient force. It wasn’t a gentle breeze but something more primal, more aggressive, as though the very air of Clivilius resented my arrival. It carried a gritty payload, a thousand tiny particles that coated my skin, slipped beneath my dress, and rasped against the back of my throat. I coughed, grimacing as the tasteless, fine dust invaded my mouth and nose. It was a visceral reminder that I was no longer in a casino. I wasn’t even on Earth.

Fumbling through my bag with bound hands was an awkward struggle, but my fingers finally closed around the familiar weight of my phone. I thumbed the torch on with a breath of relief, and a narrow cone of pale light cut through the darkness, feeble and flickering against the black expanse. But it was something—something to anchor me.

Dropping to my knees, I crawled forward, the coarse grit scraping against my palms as I scanned the patchy ground ahead. My goal was small but grounding: my missing shoe. The mundane task gave me purpose, a fragile thread to cling to.

Then I froze.

Every muscle locked as a prickling sensation swept over my skin. My breath caught in my throat. It was subtle—nothing tangible, no sound or movement—just a sudden, unshakable awareness that I was not alone. The hairs on the back of my neck rose, reacting to a presence I couldn’t see but could feel, as surely as the wind still howled around me.

A shiver ran down my spine, sharp and unrelenting, my body registering a warning my mind struggled to articulate. Was it merely the eeriness of this new place, the disorientation of transition, the weight of the unknown? Or was something—someone—truly watching?

The darkness didn’t just conceal. It seemed to breathe, to pulse with unseen life. The light from my phone jittered as my hand trembled, casting long, warped shadows that twisted across the ground like ink bleeding through parchment. Rocks became crouched figures. Dunes of dry sands seemed to shift, poised to pounce. Shapes warped and danced at the edge of visibility, transformed by fear into phantoms of the imagination.

And still… that feeling. Lurking. Watching. Waiting.

I tightened my grip on the phone, its soft glow the only fragile line between me and whatever lay just beyond it.

A low growl, primal and unsettling, cut through the silence, vibrating through the dust-heavy air like the warning of something ancient. My entire body stiffened. It was close—too close—and the darkness swallowed everything but the sound. My heart thudded against my ribs, frantic and deafening.

"Duke?" The name escaped on a breathless whisper, trembling with the weight of hope and dread intermingled. I sank lower, instinctively folding into myself, trying to become smaller, less noticeable. My voice barely existed in the heavy air, as though the very world around me conspired to muffle any plea for comfort.

The name was a talisman, an attempt to summon familiarity in a place where nothing felt real. But it rang hollow, unanswered, lost to the night.

I raised my arm, the phone gripped tightly, its tiny torch now flailing in wide, erratic arcs. The beam sliced through the darkness like a blade too dull to cut, a desperate attempt to chase away shadows that refused to flee. My breaths came fast and shallow, the torchlight shaking with every pulse of fear.

Then—there.

The brief illumination caught the edge of something. A silhouette, broad and hulking, materialised just beyond the reach of the light, its form more suggestion than certainty. The darkness clung to it, reluctant to give it shape, but what I saw was enough.

Too large for comfort. Too still for safety.

Not Duke. Not anything I wanted to meet.

The creature snarled, a sound that grated down my spine like fingernails on steel. It was raw and wrong, vibrating in the very marrow of my bones. My breath hitched as instinct surged to the fore—run, fight, scream—anything but stay still.

My scream tore out of me, loud and sharp, shattering the stillness. The phone’s light flashed again, catching a flash of black fur and glinting eyes—intelligent, predatory, and startled. A single claw lashed out, raking across my forearm with precise cruelty, the pain blooming instantly into a searing line of fire.

The creature recoiled, the sudden burst of light driving it back. It bounded into the blackness as swiftly as it had emerged, its heavy body vanishing into the shadows from which it had come, leaving only the echo of its snarl and the sting of its parting strike.

Panting, trembling, I clutched my wounded arm, the warm slickness of blood already beginning to seep between my fingers. The phone light wavered uselessly in my shaking grip, its narrow glow barely a comfort now.

Whatever this world was… it did not welcome strangers.

The wind, as if encouraged by the encounter, picked up with renewed vigour, a furious accomplice to the chaos now unfolding. It howled around me with manic energy, turning dust and grit into airborne daggers that lashed at my skin and eyes. Visibility vanished, swallowed by the swirling haze—everything I could once see reduced to a suffocating wall of beige and black. The shoe—my original, trivial quest—was forgotten in an instant, obliterated from priority by the visceral scream of survival.

Pulling myself upright, I stumbled once before catching my footing, then ran. Not with direction, not with certainty—only with desperate instinct, my feet pounding against the uneven ground, driven by a primal need to escape. The darkness was absolute, my phone’s torch long extinguished or abandoned, and still I ran, muscles burning, lungs tearing at the dry, dust-choked air.

Another growl—this one deeper, closer—rolled through the wind behind me, vibrating through the soles of my feet and into my spine. It wasn’t done with me. Whatever it was, it hunted. The sound drove my legs harder, faster, every fibre of my body screaming for sanctuary.

The wind bit at my face with stinging malice, laced with grains that scraped against raw skin. Each gust stripped away composure and breath, and yet I pushed forward, fuelled by a cocktail of adrenaline and pure, undiluted fear. The creature had marked me—my arm throbbed in time with my heartbeat, each pulse a reminder of the claw that had raked across it, of the violence that lurked in this place. This was no fever dream. This was Clivilius—alien, brutal, and unforgiving.

And then—light.

The Portal loomed into view like a hallucination conjured from desperation. Its edges shimmered, more tangible than before, a beacon amidst the dust storm. Its surface sparked with frantic life, a dizzying kaleidoscope of destinations cycling too fast to read. Each flicker promised something: sanctuary, danger, the unknown. The screen was alive with motion, beckoning with both possibility and peril. A roulette wheel of fate, glowing in the darkness.

Select your location, Beatrix Cramer.

The voice of Clivilius echoed once more, smooth and almost soothing, yet laced with that unnervingly intimate tone that always seemed to know too much. It reverberated not through the air but within my own skull, like an unwelcome thought that didn’t belong to me. Though familiar now, it still carried the weight of something vast and ancient, a presence both guardian and interrogator.

The screen flared suddenly with an image that turned my stomach—the casino room. Stark and garish, it appeared exactly as I’d left it: the lingering scent of sweat and alcohol still seemed to cling to me, the oppressive gaze of authority, the betrayal, the humiliation. My body recoiled instinctively.

A cold rush of panic surged through my veins, my breath hitching as bile rose in my throat. I could still hear the slap of the cuffs, still feel Blake's grip on my arm and the blood thudding in my ears as Jarod was dragged away.

"Not that one!" The words tore from my throat, cracked and ragged, charged with fear and revulsion. I backed a step away from the Portal screen as if physical distance could erase the memory it had conjured.

Select your location, Beatrix Cramer, the voice repeated—calm, patient, and utterly devoid of empathy. Its serenity grated against the chaos storming inside me, as if it had no concept of urgency, no concern for the growl that rolled once more through the blackened wind behind me.

My pulse was a drumbeat of pure dread, hammering against my ribs as I turned back toward the screen. The beast was near—its breath, perhaps, already brushing the edge of my world. Every second counted. Every delay could mean more blood.

Focus! I shouted at myself internally, clawing my thoughts into some semblance of order. I forced myself to scan the flickering images, eyes darting over options that felt either foreign or too dangerous to trust—until I saw it.

Luke’s study.

It was just as I remembered: warm amber lighting, rows of antique books, the faint suggestion of old paper and coffee. A single sanctuary in a night defined by peril. The flickering image of it steadied something deep inside me—like a hand offered in the dark.

There. That was the place. That was my haven. That was the only real chance I had.

The creature, a nightmare made flesh, launched itself at me in a blur of motion. I had no time to register detail—only mass, speed, and malevolence. A scream tore from my throat, raw and instinctive, as my phone was wrenched from my grasp, flung into the dust-ridden darkness. Its light spun away, a dwindling glow that dimmed and vanished far beyond my reach. It's too far! The thought was a howl inside my skull, desperation clawing at my insides with feral fingers. The dark would swallow me whole. It was only a matter of time.

I staggered backward, breath hitching, adrenaline spiking as I yanked off my remaining stiletto. The heel—delicate, ridiculous, and utterly unfit for battle—was now my only defence. I brandished it like a dagger, swinging it blindly through the thick, gritty air. The motion was wild, flailing, but it was all I had—a final act of resistance against the advancing unknown. The wind lashed against me, carrying with it dust that scoured my skin and the coppery scent of my own blood.

My mind locked on the image of Luke’s study—its golden lamplight, the safe symmetry of book-lined walls, the warm smell of wood polish and parchment. It became my lifeline, the thread I gripped with every ounce of remaining will.

With a scream caught between terror and resolve, I launched myself towards the Portal. My leap was ragged, off-balance, but desperate. A prayer turned to movement. The world tilted—and then, fire erupted along my leg. The creature’s parting blow, a vicious rake of its claws, tore through flesh and fabric alike, a savage punctuation to my flight.

We fell.

Or rather, we crashed.

Books exploded from shelves, their weightless flutter incongruous with the violence of our arrival. The thud of bodies hitting wood and carpet was deafening. I rolled, tangled in limbs and leather-bound chaos, the scent of old paper thick in my nose. The study—a sanctuary I had clung to in my mind—was no longer a haven, but a battlefield.

And then, stillness. A beat of silence in which I dared to hope.

The Portal’s light flickered one last time and winked out, abandoning us to shadow. A darkness that felt sentient. Watching. Waiting.

The creature didn’t pounce, not yet. It lingered somewhere beyond my sight, its breath rasping faintly in the quiet. My heart pounded in frantic rhythm, each pulse a scream of survival.

I scrambled, elbows digging into the carpet, trailing smears of blood in my wake. The pain in my leg screamed with every movement. At last, my back found the doorframe—solid, unmoving, real. I pressed against it, the cool wood anchoring me to the present. To life.

But the silence didn’t last.

Something was still in the room with me.

The growl that broke the silence was not merely a sound—it was a tremor that passed through the air and into my bones, low and feral. It carried intent. It promised pain. I froze, my breath snagging in my throat as the shadows ahead shifted. The creature emerged in partial silhouette. Its teeth, gleaming with unnatural sharpness, caught the moonlight like silvered daggers, forming a cruel, knowing grin. The kind that didn’t need language to say I will tear you apart.

My gaze locked with its eyes—two pits of obsidian, devoid of emotion, yet brimming with malevolent intelligence. Cold, black eyes that stared through me, not at me, reading my fear as if it were printed plainly on my skin. I felt something ancient stir within me, a primal scream suppressed only by the sheer force of my will to survive.

Back braced against the doorframe, I inched upward, the movement excruciatingly slow. Every muscle trembled with the need to flee, but I held firm, never breaking eye contact. Any sudden motion, any sign of weakness, and it would strike. My heart was thunder in my ears, deafening against the silence.

There. The light switch.

Barely an arm’s length away.

I drew a shallow breath, calculated the angle, the speed I’d need. No second chances. With the most controlled movement I could manage, I shot my hand out and flicked the switch. Light burst into the room.

Hope bloomed.

And the creature screamed.

The sound was monstrous—a blend of rage and pain that ripped through the space like shattering glass. Its head jerked back, its jaw agape in a distorted mask of torment. Where moments before it had been poised to strike, it now reeled, momentarily undone by the sudden onslaught of brightness.

But the victory was heartbreakingly brief.

With a sharp pop, the bulb above us exploded, a blinding white flash and then—darkness. Total, suffocating, predatory.

“Shit!” The word burst from my lips, jagged with fear and disbelief. The triumph I’d clutched slipped through my fingers, replaced once more by the crushing weight of vulnerability. My body pulsed with pain—hot, insistent. Blood trickled freely down my arm, a warm and sticky reminder of how close the creature had come. Of how close it still was.

And I couldn’t see a damn thing.

In that moment, a decision was made—not through logic, but through the sheer, unthinking instinct to survive. My body acted before my mind could catch up, my legs launching me forward with a ferocity born of raw adrenaline and the primal need to live. The memory of the casino—its noise, its calculated risks and performative elegance—felt laughably irrelevant now, like a scene from a life that belonged to someone else. This wasn’t a game. This was no bluff to call. Here, every breath was a wager with death.

Behind me, the growls escalated into an animalistic crescendo—a sound that clawed at the edges of my sanity. The gnashing, snarling terror surged after me, spurring my body into a blind, frantic sprint. My cuffed hands slammed into the walls as I barrelled through the hallway, my shoulder clipping a doorframe, the impact jarring but not enough to slow me. Pain registered in flashes—my bound wrists, the sting of the creature’s earlier strike, the jagged ache in my leg—but I ran. I had to run.

The hallway gave way to the living room in a blur of shadow and momentum, and suddenly I was tumbling. A blur of red swept beneath me—a kayak. A bloody kayak. It sprawled across the room like some misplaced relic of a forgotten holiday, an emblem of the absurdity that now governed my reality. I crashed over it, limbs flailing, landing hard on my side with a grunt. My shoulder cried out in protest, my breath escaping in a sharp hiss, but I was already scrambling up again, legs wobbling, hands fumbling to regain balance.

"Fuck off!" I bellowed, the words raw and guttural, echoing through the chaos with a force that surprised even me. My voice was the only weapon I had in that moment, a sonic wall against the encroaching dark. I snatched at whatever lay within reach—small cardboard boxes, forgotten supplies, the detritus of someone else's life now weaponised in mine. One by one I hurled them, my throws clumsy but fuelled by sheer desperation.

They struck nothing of consequence. The creature advanced undeterred, its hulking form brushing aside the scattered camping gear with all the casual menace of a predator toying with its prey. But I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Each throw was an act of resistance. A refusal to be cornered, to be claimed.

The red kayak loomed again behind me, a cruel reminder of how far from safety I still was.

In my frantic search for anything that might offer a semblance of defence, my fingers collided with the cold metal casing of a small camping lamp nestled among the supplies. There was no time to check it, no time to hope—it was action or annihilation. With every ounce of strength I had left, I flung it at the creature. The dull thud as it struck the beast’s head and bounced uselessly away was a cruel confirmation of its futility. No flash of light, no blinding salvation. Just a hollow impact and the continued, steady approach of something monstrous.

My scream ripped from my throat—raw, primal, defiant. It was not just terror, it was a refusal. A refusal to die in the dark, to be reduced to a silent statistic by a creature from a realm I barely understood. That sound was the last flicker of who I was, of every scrap of defiance and survival I had left.

Drawing on some inner reservoir of energy I hadn’t known existed, I launched myself across the room towards the only exit that offered even the illusion of escape. The far corner of the living room loomed like a finish line. My hand found the switch in the darkness, slapping it with desperate urgency just as my body crashed against the wooden frame. A bright flood of light burst overhead—blessed, sharp, and absolute.

I didn't stop to look back.

My legs carried me over the threshold and down the carpeted stairs in a chaotic, half-controlled descent. Each step jarred my bones, rattling through my spine, but the pain was distant—background noise compared to the fear that pounded in my chest like a war drum. The air shifted behind me, charged with a presence I didn’t dare confirm.

Then came the howl. A piercing, guttural wail that echoed down the stairwell like a scream from the bowels of hell itself. It shivered along my spine and twisted into the base of my skull, dragging my breath out in ragged gasps.

I didn't look back.

Whether the creature could tolerate the light or not was a question I couldn't afford to answer. I trusted only in momentum and instinct now, in the desperate push forward. I reached the bottom floor and slammed my hand against the next switch, flooding the larger room with another burst of light. The bulb hummed alive.

No hesitation.

I charged towards the promise of the outdoors, of air and sky and space untainted by the nightmare chasing me—driven not by hope, but by the unrelenting need to survive.