23 Jul A Gift for the King

My name’s Elliot, and before I get into it, let me tell you—I’m not the kind of guy who scares easily. I take the same late-night walk through my neighborhood every night. It’s quiet, peaceful, and the perfect way to wind down after a long day at work. Sure, there are the usual city quirks—a random car alarm going off, the occasional stray cat darting across the sidewalk—but nothing to make me think twice about it. That changed last night.

The fog rolled in so fast it felt like it had been waiting for me. One second, the streets were clear, the streetlights casting their usual dim glow, and the next, everything was muffled. The buildings seemed to vanish, and the pavement ahead of me blurred into an indistinct gray. I couldn’t even see the stop sign at the next corner, just the fuzzy halo of light above it.

I figured it was just the weather playing tricks. It had been unseasonably warm for October, so I chalked it up to some weird temperature inversion or something. But then I saw him.

At first, it was just a shape, barely visible through the mist. A man, hunched over, was shambling down the sidewalk across the street from me. His movements were uneven, his gait jerky, like he was either drunk or injured. I should’ve kept walking. I should’ve ignored him and minded my own business.

Instead, I glanced over, and that’s when he stopped. It wasn’t gradual, like someone realizing they were lost or distracted. He froze, mid-step, his head snapping toward me so fast it looked unnatural. Even from across the street, I could feel his gaze. I didn’t want to look directly at him—my gut was screaming at me not to—but my curiosity got the better of me.

He was a mess. His clothes were tattered and filthy, hanging off him like they’d been stolen from a dumpster. His face was shadowed under the brim of a battered hat, but I could see enough. His skin was sallow, his cheeks hollow, and his eyes… God, his eyes. They were too wide, bloodshot, and filled with something I can only describe as desperation.

I kept walking, quickening my pace, but not enough to make it look like I was running. My fingers tightened around my keys in my pocket, the jagged edges of the metal poking into my palm. It was a small comfort, but better than nothing.

Behind me, I heard the shuffle of footsteps crossing the street.

“Crap,” I muttered under my breath. I wanted to run, but some stupid, primal instinct told me not to. Running would make me prey. Instead, I forced myself to keep my head up and walk with purpose.

“Do you have a gift for the King?”

The voice came from right behind me, raspy and low, like dry leaves scraping together. I stopped dead in my tracks.

“Excuse me?” I turned halfway, just enough to glance at him over my shoulder.

The man was standing too close. He reeked of sweat and something sour, like spoiled milk.

“The King,” he repeated. “Do you have a gift for the King?”

For a moment, I just stared at him. This had to be some kind of prank, right? Or maybe he was part of some weird cult.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man. I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

But he didn’t back off. If anything, he leaned closer, his smile vanishing. “Everyone must give a gift. It’s the law.”

The way he said it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Look, I don’t want any trouble,” I said, trying to sidestep him.

His hand shot out and grabbed my arm. It wasn’t a strong grip—his fingers were bony and cold—but it stopped me in my tracks. “Do you know what happens to those without a gift?” he hissed. His eyes darted nervously to the fog-shrouded street behind him. “You don’t want to find out. Trust me.”

I yanked my arm away, my heart pounding now. “I don’t know what your deal is, whoever you are, but I’m not interested.”

That should’ve been the end of it. But instead of getting angry or leaving, the man just stood there, staring at me like I’d just signed my own death warrant.

“My name is Edran, and I’m afraid you don’t understand,” he whispered. “He’s coming. The King is coming, and you’ll need a gift if you want to survive.”

I wasn’t sure what kept me from bolting right then and there. Maybe it was the way the man spoke, low and urgent, like he was trying to save me from something worse than him. Or maybe it was the look in his eyes, the kind of raw terror you can’t fake.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked, keeping my voice steady even though my pulse was hammering in my ears.

“The King,” he said again, his voice trembling. “He rules everything, everywhere. And he demands gifts from those who would live under his reign. It’s the only way to earn his favor.”

I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. A joke. A laugh. Anything that might explain why this scruffy, wild-eyed guy was talking about kings and gifts in the middle of a suburban street. But his face was deadly serious.

“You’re not making any sense,” I said, taking a cautious step back.

“I hail from elsewhere,” he said. His gaze darted around like he expected someone—or something—to leap out of the shadows. “You don’t have kings in this realm, do you? Not like ours.”

He had to be insane. Or high. But before I could brush him off, he kept talking, and there was something about the way he said it—rushed, like every second mattered—that made me pay attention.

“Where I come from, he’s not just a king. He’s the King. The ruler of all lands, the master of life and death. We live to serve and honor him, because if we don’t…” His voice cracked. “If we don’t, he takes everything and burns it to ash. He destroys anyone who opposes him.”

I swallowed hard. “Okay, sure. So why are you here, then?”

The man’s shoulders slumped, and he looked down at his feet like he didn’t want to answer. Finally, he said, “I was part of his court. One of his mages. I believed in him and followed his commands, even when they were cruel. But then he started… changing.”

“Changing how?”

“The dark arts,” he whispered, his voice so quiet I had to lean in to hear him. “He found… things. Old things, buried deep in the soil. They gave him power, but at a terrible cost. Made him crueler, greedier. He began demanding more than we could give—our crops, our livestock, even our children.”

A chill ran down my spine. This was starting to sound less like the ramblings of a crazy guy and more like the plot of some ancient horror story.

“So you ran,” I said, piecing it together.

He nodded. “I found a way to escape. A ritual. It wasn’t meant to bring me here. But it did.”

I folded my arms, trying to keep my voice steady. “Okay, so you’re here now. If this King guy is stuck in your world, what are you so afraid of?”

The man’s head snapped up, and the look in his eyes made my stomach drop. “You don’t understand,” he said. “He’s not stuck. He’s coming. He always finds us. And when he does, he’ll bring his soldiers, his hounds, and his fury.”

“Hold on,” I said, holding up a hand. “You’re telling me this… King, or whatever, can cross into other worlds? How? Why?”

“Because I left.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Because I defied him. He won’t stop until he finds me. And if he has to burn this world to the ground to do it, he will. He is wrath incarnate.”

I wanted to call him crazy. I wanted to laugh in his face and walk away. But then the streetlights flickered again, and I felt a deep, bone-shaking cold that didn’t belong to the October night.

“Do you feel that?” he asked, his voice breaking. “That’s him. He’s close.”

I stood frozen, the cold creeping into my chest. Every instinct screamed at me to walk away, to get the hell out of there, but my feet wouldn’t move. Maybe it was the look in Edran’s eyes, or maybe it was the faint sound that drifted through the fog—low and guttural, like the growl of a dog that hasn’t eaten in weeks.

“What the hell is that?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the thudding of my own heart.

Edran turned, his eyes scanning the fog. “The hounds,” he said, his voice trembling. “They herald his arrival.”

I didn’t want to ask what came next.

As if on cue, the nearest streetlight flickered and went out, plunging the corner into darkness. Another growl sounded, closer this time, followed by the unmistakable click of claws on pavement. My breath hitched, and I instinctively tightened my grip on the keys in my pocket.

“This can’t be real,” I muttered, shaking my head. “You’re insane. You have to be.”

“I wish I were,” Edran said, his tone sharp, “but wishing won’t save us. Keep walking. Quickly.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I started moving, my strides long and purposeful, but not quite a sprint. Edran followed, clutching a glowing red orb to his chest like it was the only thing keeping him alive. I had no idea how I hadn’t noticed it before.

“What’s with the ball?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “What does it do?”

“It’s a gift,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “For the King. If we don’t have one when he arrives, we’re as good as dead.”

The absurdity of the situation hit me all at once. Here I was, walking down my own street, running from invisible hounds with a madman clutching a luminous orb, and all because of some imaginary king. It had to be a prank. Or a nightmare.

But the growls kept coming. They echoed off the buildings now, circling us, always just out of sight. I glanced behind me and saw faint shapes shifting in the fog—low to the ground, with gleaming eyes that seemed to pierce straight through me.

“Faster!” Edran hissed.

“Maybe you should just give them the damn ball!” I snapped, my fear boiling over into frustration.

“It doesn’t work like that!” he shot back. “The King must accept it willingly. And he won’t take it from me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I betrayed him!” Edran’s voice cracked, and he stumbled, nearly dropping the orb. “I defied him. This gift is no longer for my survival, but for yours.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

Before he could answer, the ground beneath us rumbled, and a sharp crack split the air. I turned to see a fissure forming in the pavement, jagged and glowing faintly with an unnatural red light. From the fissure came a sound I can only describe as unearthly—hooves pounding, metal scraping, and a faint, keening wail that made my stomach churn.

“They’re here,” Edran rasped.

The fissure widened, and from it stepped the King’s soldiers.

I don’t know what I expected—maybe men in medieval armor or something out of a fantasy movie—but these things weren’t human. They wore armor, sure, but it was jagged and blackened like it had been pulled from a fire. Their faces were obscured by helmets that seemed to twist and shift, and their movements were unnervingly fluid, like they weren’t entirely bound by the rules of our world.

Behind them, the hounds emerged—massive, spectral beasts with glowing eyes and snapping jaws.

My legs turned to jelly. “This can’t be happening. I’ve got to be dreaming.”

Edran grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong. “Oh, it’s real, I’m afraid,” he said, “and it’s not over. Keep moving. We can’t stop, not now.”

I wanted to argue or scream, to do anything other than keep walking toward the chaos, but I didn’t have a choice. The hounds snarled, the soldiers began their advance, and somewhere in the distance, a deep, resonant voice boomed through the fog.

The King was coming.

* * * * * *

We didn’t make it far before the King arrived.

The growls of the hounds and the clinking of armor were one thing, but his presence was something else entirely. It didn’t creep in like the fog—it crashed into the street, a suffocating wave of power that made the air feel too thick to breathe. My knees buckled, and it was all I could do to stay upright.

“Don’t look at him!” Edran hissed, grabbing my arm to steady me. “Keep your eyes down. You’re not ready.”

I wanted to ask what that meant, but the words got caught in my throat. Instead, I found myself staring at the pavement, at the fractured lines of red light spreading outward from the fissures. The ground shook with every step he took, and the deep, booming voice I’d heard earlier grew louder, sharper, more distinct.

“Edran.”

It wasn’t a question or a greeting. It was a statement, as if the King were acknowledging a bug before squashing it.

Edran froze, his hand tightening on the glowing orb. “Y-Your… M-M-Majesty,” he said, his voice trembling.

I didn’t have to look up to feel the King’s gaze on me, pinning me in place. My instincts screamed at me to run, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate.

“Who is this?” the King demanded. His voice was layered, as if a dozen people were speaking at once.

Edran hesitated. “A… a messenger. He bears a g-g-gift for you, m-my… my Lord.”

I turned to Edran, my eyes wide. “What are you doing?” I whispered.

“Trust me,” he whispered back. “It’s the only way.”

Before I could argue, Edran thrust the orb into my hands. It was warm to the touch and pulsing. The red glow intensified, bathing the street in an eerie light.

“Step forward,” Edran said. “Offer it to him. Now.”

I didn’t want to. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to drop the orb and run, but the hounds growled, their glowing eyes locked on me, and I knew there was no escape. My hands shook as I stepped forward, clutching the orb like it was a lifeline.

The King was massive. Even without looking directly at him, I could see his towering silhouette through the fog, the edges of his form shifting like smoke. His armor gleamed black, etched with symbols that hurt to look at, and his crown… it wasn’t made of gold or jewels. It was a jagged, twisting thing, like molten metal frozen mid-surge.

I kept my gaze fixed on his chest—on the swirling, dark mass that seemed to pulse where a heart should be. “My L-Lord,” I said, my voice shaking. “Th-this is for y-you.”

The King leaned down, and for the first time, I saw his face. It was worse than I could have imagined. His features didn’t stay still; they shifted and morphed, a blend of faces and forms that never settled. His eyes glowed a deep, searing red, and when he smiled, his teeth were jagged, too long, and stained black.

He reached out, his clawed hand hovering over the orb. For a moment, I thought he might crush it—or me. But then he took it, his massive fingers closing around the glowing sphere. The light dimmed, and the street grew darker.

“I find your offering…” he said, his voice reverberating in my chest. “Acceptable.”

Behind him, the soldiers and hounds stood motionless, their eerie gazes fixed on Edran. The King turned to him, his twisted smile widening. “You dared to run from me.”

“My Lord,” Edran said, dropping to his knees. “I meant no disrespect. I only—”

“Silence.”

The word wasn’t shouted, but it carried such force that Edran collapsed, his forehead pressed to the pavement.

The King turned back to me, his gaze boring into my soul. “You have served well tonight,” he said. “You may yet be of use.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

One of the King’s assistants stepped forward, their form almost as twisted as his. They placed a hand on my shoulder, their grip cold and unyielding. “Your service is noted,” they said. “The King appreciates your loyalty.”

Loyalty? I wanted to laugh—or scream. I hadn’t been loyal to anyone. I’d just wanted to survive.

The King turned, dragging Edran with him as he and his entourage stepped into the glowing fissures. The hounds followed, their growls fading into the void. The fissures closed behind them, the red light winking out, leaving the street silent once more.

I stood there, shaking, clutching my hands to my chest as if wounded.

* * * * * *

The silence after their departure was absolute. It wasn’t just the absence of noise; it was the kind of quiet that made my ears ring, as if the world itself were holding its breath. My legs finally gave out, and I collapsed onto the curb, my chest heaving as I struggled to process what had just happened.

For a long moment, I sat there staring at the spot where the fissures had been. There wasn’t a single trace of the King, his soldiers, or Edran. The street was empty, the fog thinning out like it had never been there in the first place.

But I knew it had been real.

I held my hands in front of me, turning them over, expecting them to shake. They didn’t. Instead, I noticed something else—my palms were glowing faintly, a dull red light pulsing just beneath my skin.

“What the hell?” I whispered, rubbing them together like that might make it go away. It didn’t.

The warmth from the orb hadn’t just lingered—it had seeped into me. The veins in my arms had a faint red tinge, and the glow was spreading, moving up toward my elbows like some sort of infection.

I scrambled to my feet, suddenly desperate to get home. Maybe this was all in my head, or perhaps I was hallucinating—God, I hoped I was hallucinating—but I needed to be somewhere safe.

The walk back was a blur. Every sound made me jump—the rustle of leaves, the distant hum of a car engine, even my own footsteps echoing off the pavement. I kept expecting the King’s soldiers to reappear, or the hounds to start baying again. But the streets stayed empty.

When I got home, I locked the door behind me, bolted it, and slid the deadbolt into place for good measure. Then I turned off every light in the house and sat in the darkness, staring at my hands.

The glow was still there, faint but undeniable. Worse, I could feel it now—a low hum that resonated through my body, like my bones were vibrating.

I pressed my palms against the table, trying to ground myself, but the vibrations only grew stronger. When I closed my eyes, I saw flashes of something else—fractured images of places I didn’t recognize. Towers crumbling against a blood-red sky. A forest of twisted trees burning in an endless fire. And everywhere, I saw glimpses of him.

The King.

He wasn’t here, but I could still feel his presence, lurking at the edges of my mind like an unshakable shadow.

The next few days were a nightmare. The glow in my hands didn’t fade, and the visions came more frequently. I’d be walking to the store, and suddenly the street would shimmer, replaced by a scene of carnage from another world. Cars twisted into jagged wreckage, people screaming as they were dragged into fissures by monstrous figures. Then, just as quickly, it would all snap back to normal, leaving me breathless and disoriented.

It wasn’t just the visions, either. I started noticing… glitches. Little tears in reality, just for a second or two. I’d be reaching for a coffee mug, and my hand would pass right through it like it wasn’t there. Or I’d see people flicker, their faces momentarily replaced by something inhuman.

The worst part? No one else seemed to notice. I nearly caused a car accident when one of the visions hit me while I was driving. The road in front of me disappeared, replaced by an endless void filled with those glowing rifts. I slammed on the brakes, swerving onto the shoulder, and by the time I realized it wasn’t real, the car behind me had skidded to a stop mere inches from my bumper.

The driver got out, yelling something about reckless driving, but I barely heard him. I was too busy staring at my reflection in the side mirror. My eyes were glowing now, faintly red, just like my hands.

I haven’t been able to sleep since that night. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. I see the King, staring at me from the other side of some impossible barrier, his smile sharp and knowing.

I don’t know what he did to me, or what’s happening to me. All I know is that it’s not over.

I’ve started writing this down because I need someone to believe me. I need someone to be ready. Because if I’ve learned one thing, it’s this:

The King doesn’t forget. And he doesn’t forgive.

So if you ever meet someone on the street—someone who asks if you have a gift for the King—do yourself a favor.

Say yes.

And pray he finds your offering acceptable.