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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/HerScreams on 2024-10-05 13:53:28+00:00.


I arrived in Shanghai under a haze of jet lag and grief. The city’s chaotic energy did little to ease the numbness that had settled in my bones. I hadn’t returned to China since I was a child, and even then, it was a fleeting visit, a brief encounter with distant relatives I never thought I’d see again. Now, I was back to settle an estate that felt more like a burden than a gift.

The death of my uncle, a man I barely knew, had summoned me here. I had only vague memories of him from my childhood, blurry images of a quiet man standing at the edge of family gatherings. When I was contacted by the lawyer handling his estate, the news didn’t hit me with the shock one might expect. Instead, it felt like a summons, an obligation to a man whose life had been a mystery to me. Still, I accepted out of duty more than curiosity, and now found myself in the heart of a city that thrived on life, while I felt nothing but the weight of death.

After dealing with the legal formalities, I wandered through the neon-lit streets, the skyscrapers towering above me, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out like fingers in the night. The lawyer had been distant, dismissive even, handing me the keys to the old family property with little more than a formal nod. “It’s all in your hands now,” he had said, and the words echoed in my mind, heavy with implication. What did he mean by that?

I found myself by the river, watching the lights from the Bund reflect on the water. The city hummed with life around me, but it felt as though I was drifting, disconnected, a stranger in my own family’s history. That’s when I saw him.

He stood casually by the railing, his silhouette illuminated by the glow of the skyline. There was something about him that caught my attention immediately. Perhaps it was the way he stood, confident yet reserved, or the way his eyes flickered toward me before I had even realized I was staring. He didn’t belong to the crowd; that much was clear. He seemed… separate, like a fragment of the night itself.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

His voice was smooth, almost melodic, breaking through the ambient noise of the city. There was a warmth in his tone that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise, an unsettling, magnetic pull.

I hesitated for a moment before responding. “It is,” I said softly, unsure why I was suddenly nervous. His gaze was intense, almost too intense, but there was an undeniable charm in his smile. I found myself drawn to him, feeling a spark of something I hadn’t felt since I’d arrived, a connection in a place that had so far made me feel utterly alone.

"Lei… he introduced himself, holding out a hand. His grip was firm but cold, a subtle chill that lingered even after he released it.

We fell into an easy conversation as we walked along the riverside, the lights of the city shimmering on the surface of the water beside us. Lei was charismatic, attentive in a way that made me forget, if only for a moment, why I was even in Shanghai. He asked about me, about my life, but deflected when I asked about his. Mysterious, I thought. Maybe a little too mysterious, but I was intrigued. After all, what harm was there in a little distraction from the heaviness of death?

By the time we parted ways, exchanging numbers, I felt a strange sense of relief. For the first time since I’d arrived, I wasn’t alone. But as I made my way back to the sleek, modern apartment I was renting, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Lei had been watching me long before I had noticed him.

The following days passed in a blur of paperwork and phone calls. The estate had more complications than I expected, deeds, assets, and family relics I had never heard of. Each conversation with the lawyer brought new surprises, like my uncle’s ownership of an old house tucked away in one of Shanghai’s forgotten districts. The thought of going there alone made me uneasy, so I kept putting it off. Something about the way the lawyer had brushed off questions about the house felt wrong, as though he didn’t want to talk about it.

But in between the stress, there was Lei.

We had been seeing each other almost every day. Dinners, late-night walks, and quiet conversations in quiet cafes. It was easy to get lost in his charm, his ease of conversation, the way he seemed to understand everything without me having to explain. Still, I couldn’t help but feel there was something he wasn’t telling me, something just beneath the surface. He would smile, but sometimes the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

One night, after a particularly grueling day dealing with the estate, Lei invited me to his apartment. The invitation felt natural, a progression in what had quickly become a relationship .

His apartment was on the outskirts of the city, in a high-rise that seemed out of place among the old neighborhoods it towered over. The interior was modern, sleek, and spotless. Yet it felt sterile. There were no personal touches, no photos or signs of a life lived. Just perfect, polished surfaces.

“You must be exhausted,” Lei said, as he poured me a glass of wine. I nodded, trying to shake off the unease creeping up my spine. The warmth of the wine helped a little, but the coldness of the apartment clung to me.

As we sat together on his pristine couch, I couldn’t help but notice how still he was. Too still. His movements, usually smooth and graceful, now seemed rehearsed, like each gesture was part of an intricate performance. And then, for the briefest moment, I saw it.

A crack.

It was small, barely noticeable, but it ran along the edge of his jawline. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light, but when I blinked, it was gone, as if it had never been there. My breath hitched in my throat. I wanted to ask him, to say something, but the words died before they left my lips. I stared at my wine glass instead, forcing myself to relax, to ignore what I had just seen.

“Is something wrong?” Lei’s voice cut through my thoughts, soft but probing.

I shook my head quickly, plastering on a smile. “No, I’m just… tired.”

He watched me for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable, before nodding. “Of course. It’s been a long week for you.”

His hand touched mine, cold against my skin, and for a second, I could swear I felt that same crack beneath his fingers. A chill raced through me, but I said nothing.

The days that followed should have felt normal, but nothing did. My work with the estate became an afterthought, replaced by an obsession I couldn’t shake: Lei. Something about him gnawed at my mind, filling every quiet moment with unease. I kept replaying that night in his apartment, convincing myself that the crack I’d seen was just a trick of my exhausted mind.

But the more I tried to rationalize it, the worse the feeling became. It wasn’t just that. He was changing, or at least, my perception of him was. Small things, barely noticeable at first. His voice would sometimes sound too smooth, almost unnatural. His movements, always so graceful, seemed too deliberate, like they were mimicked rather than natural.

And the dreams… They started shortly after that night in his apartment.

In the first dream, I was standing at the foot of Lei’s bed. He was lying there, asleep, but something was wrong. His face was smooth and flawless as always, but then, slowly, the skin began to peel away. It didn’t bleed, and there was no pain, just layers of flesh slipping off, revealing something hideous underneath. A twisted, contorted face with hollow eyes that stared back at me. I tried to scream, but no sound came.

I woke in a cold sweat, my heart pounding, the sheets tangled around me. It was just a dream, I told myself, over and over again.

The next few days passed in a blur of paranoia. Every time I met with Lei, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching me too closely, studying me. And the crack I’d seen that night? It started appearing more often. Sometimes it was on his jaw, sometimes his hands. Each time it would disappear before I could get a second look, but I knew it wasn’t just my imagination.

One afternoon, I decided it was finally time to visit my uncle’s old house. The place had been left untouched for years, gathering dust and sinking into disrepair. The lawyer’s vague descriptions and dismissiveness had only fueled my curiosity. I had been avoiding it, reluctant to confront whatever history might be buried there, but the weight of uncertainty was starting to suffocate me.

The house stood at the end of a narrow street, hidden among overgrown trees and faded stone walls. It was a stark contrast to the sleek, modern apartment I had been staying in. Everything about this place felt old, forgotten, like it belonged to a different era altogether. I pushed open the creaking door, a rush of stale air hitting me as I stepped inside.

I spent hours going through piles of papers, yellowed books, and fading family mementos. My uncle’s life was scattered across the rooms, half-forgotten, and for a while, it felt like I was drowning in someone else’s memories. The deeper I dug, the more disoriented I became. Dusty photographs, letters written in fading ink, items that seemed to have no connection to me at all.

At the bottom of a worn leather box, buried beneath stacks of old papers, was an old photograph. The paper was fragile, worn around the edges, but it was the faces in the picture that sent a chill through me. I stared at the image, two men standing si…


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