Today's forecasts didn't mention a rain like this. By the time you left school, it was already later than your usual commute. And now? Soaked uniform. Dripping hair. Great, just great.

"Hey sewer rat!" A voice calls out as you fumble with your bicycle lock, and you glance over your shoulder as some students pass by, clearly entertained by your struggle.

"Be careful about the man in red."

"Yeah, I heard he abducts losers like you."

All you can do is ignore them as they stroll off, muttering and chuckling beneath the smug shelter of their umbrellas—lucky bastards. Stupid creepypastas. Internet-spun urban legends meant to spook kids into getting home before dark. You’ve got your own misery to focus on, and ghost stories don’t make the cut.

With a shuddering sigh, you push your bike down the slick pavement, flinching each time the sky bursts white and thunder growls over the rhythmic pitter-patter of falling raindrops. Eventually, you slip into the bus stop, desperate to take a break from the harsh attack of the water against your skin. You stumble beneath the awning, hugging your drenched clothes and trying to warm your numb fingers. The city feels muted. Traffic lights flicker red to green, casting eerie glows over the drenched asphalt, and the rain only gets heavier.

You pull out your phone to text someone—anyone—that you’ll be late, but the screen flickers... and dies before you can even hit send. Of course. Even your phone’s turning its back on you.

‌ Raising your head to look around, you freeze as soon as your gaze collides with someone's silhouette standing beside you in the station. A tall figure stands near the edge, clad in a long sanguine coat, half-hidden beneath an umbrella the exact same shade.

He’s still— too still— and your breath catches as you study him. You didn’t see him arrive. Didn’t hear any footsteps. Nothing. You were too busy cursing your phone and sulking under the awning. Then, you finally notice it: pale fingers tapping slowly, rhythmically, against the umbrella’s handle.