NIGHT

4AM A creature yells someone's name in the street and they go missing the next day. It screamed my name. It started a few months ago with my neighbor across the street. At exactly 4 AM, something outside screamed his name, not yelled, screamed it like it was being ripped out of a throat that wasn't meant to speak. I woke up in a panic, heart racing. By the time I looked out the window, the street was empty. The next day, his house was quiet. His car was still there. Keys on the dashboard. But he never showed up back to work. By the end of the week, the police were calling it a disappearance. Then it happened again. Same time, same sound. A different name. This time it was a woman, two houses down. I heard it clearly through my wall, like it was standing right under her window. She was gone the next morning. No signs of a struggle, no nobody, just gone. People started noticing the pattern, but no one wanted to say it out loud. Everyone was awake at 4 AM after that. In silence, waiting to hear if it would happen again. When it did, the name always belonged to someone on our street. And whoever it called for never made it to the next night. The police started doing overnight patrols. Nothing on camera, no footprint, no witnesses. Just the sound. Always loud enough to hear, never loud enough to record. My neighbor, three doors down, started leaving his porch light on. He thought it might help. Two nights later, it screamed his name. The next morning, his front door was wide open. His coffee was still warm on the kitchen counter. After that, people started leaving. Whole families packed up in the middle of the night and drove away. But some of us stayed. Either because we couldn't afford to leave, or because we thought we'd be safe. Last night, I was sitting on my bed, wide awake, staring at the clock. 3:59 AM. I remember thinking maybe it was over, maybe it had stopped. Then the clock changed. 4 AM. The screen came from outside my house. It said my name. Perfectly. The way my mom says it when she's angry. The way my friends say it when they're laughing. It stretched the last syllable out like it was tasting it, then it went quiet. I didn't move. I sat there frozen, listening, waiting for footsteps or breathing or anything. Nothing. I didn't sleep after that. I packed a bag, grabbed my keys, tried calling friends. No one answered. Around sunrise, I finally worked up the courage to look outside. There were footprints in the street. Air. Wrong shape. Too many toes pointing toward my front door. I left the house immediately and drove to my sister's place across town. She let me in, but she looked scared. She asked if I'd heard it. I told her yes. She said everyone did. The whole street heard it. Even people blocks away said they woke up to the sound. Around noon, my phone started blowing up. Neighbors texting me, asking if I was okay. Telling me to stay inside. One of them sent a message that made my stomach drop. The rule isn't that the person disappears. The rule is that no one ever sees them again after their name is called. No one. At sunrise, I looked at the time. 6:47 PM. I was still here. Maybe the rule was wrong. I stayed at my sister's house that night. She set up the couch for me and locked every door and window. We didn't talk much. She went to bed around 11 o'clock. I tried to sleep, but I couldn't. I kept checking the time. 1 AM, 2 AM, 3 AM. At 3:50 AM, I heard something outside. Footsteps. Slow, heavy, walking up the driveway. I got up and looked through the window. Nothing there. Then I heard it at the door. Not knocking. Scratching. Like nails on wood. I backed away. The scratching stopped. Then I heard it at the window behind me. I spun around. There was a face pressed against the glass. Pale, eyeless, smiling. And it said my name. Exactly the way it did the night before. I ran to my sister's room and locked the door. She was already awake, sitting up in bed, staring at me. "It followed you here," she whispered. "I heard glass breaking downstairs, then footsteps inside the house. Slow, deliberate, coming up the stairs." My sister grabbed my arm. "You have to leave," she said. "It's not here for me." I tried the window, but it wouldn't open. The footsteps stopped outside the bedroom door. Then the doorknob started turning. My sister pushed me toward the closet. "Hide," she said. I didn't argue. I got in and closed the door. Through the crack, I watched the bedroom door open. Something tall, two tall for the doorway, bent to come in. Its arms dragged on the floor. My sister didn't scream. She just sat there, staring straight ahead. It walked past her, straight to the closet. It stopped right in front of the door. Then it crouched down and looked through the crack. It smiled and whispered my name one more time. The closet door opened.