Crack in the Glasses

One day, a middle school teacher was wiping his glasses and found a small crack. He was taken aback. He'd always been careful with his glasses so there was just no reason for it to appear. The crack was small and didn't interfere with the view. But the teacher still decided to go to the optician.

The next morning, when he put on his glasses, the crack had expanded.

"For God's sake! How did this happened during the night?" he muttered to himself, as he was getting ready for work at school.

When the next oddity happened, the teacher was walking along the road, the school building looming at the horizon. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a student on the other side of the street. A middle-school student glanced at him sideways. Probably recognized him? The teacher didn't remember a boy with a "mushroom" haircut, but perhaps you could blame his broken glasses.

He greeted the student.

The schoolboy didn't respond. He stared somewhere behind the teacher, turned away, and abruptly ran forward.

"What was that?" the teacher scolded him. "Probably this boy has some problems with his studies. Hmmm..."

Despite the inconvenience with glasses, lessons on this day passed pitch-perfectly.

In the evening, the teacher had to stay at school for work affairs. It was already dark when he started to get ready for home. He put his things into his leather briefcase and went to check the classroom in case he'd forgotten something inside.

But before he left the teacher's lounge, he accidentally overheard two of his colleagues talking.

"Hey, hey, you know that the math teacher quit, right? Well, there are rumors that she's gone missing."

"What are you talking about? She must've run away because of a low salary or a heavy workload."

The teacher snorted to himself, closing the door of the teacher's lounge.

"...was complaining about her eyesight all the time..."

He didn't listen to any of this nonsense anymore. Instead, he looked into the classroom. Everything was as it should be. It was clean. The desks were straight. The blackboard had been washed. The materials for tomorrow's lessons were in place.

At dusk, a cat began a long meow outside, and the teacher concluded that it was the end of his work here.

"Oh, what an orange moon it is today..." thought the teacher, turning off the light and taking a step towards the door.

The optician was located a couple blocks away from the school. So after choosing a road more or less lit by dim streetlights, the teacher headed right there.

The dark street was empty. At least, it seemed so to him in the beginning.

When the teacher got halfway to the optician's, he made out a small silhouette up ahead.

No one but a kid could be that short, and this observation was exactly what caused the teacher's concern. It had already gotten dark on the streets.

The teacher had an unsettling feeling that intensified the closer he got to this kid.

Because the kid… was today's strange boy with the "mushroom" haircut.

"Hey, what are you doing here at this hour?"

The schoolboy didn't react. He stood still, staring ahead of him at the space illuminated by the dim streetlight. The teacher squinted through the crack in his glasses, trying to catch the direction of the kid's gaze.

But there was absolutely nothing.

"Hey!" the teacher called out a second time. Moving closer, he put his hand on the kid's shoulder. "You shouldn't ignore-"

"Why are you in no hurry, Teacher?" the boy said this and slowly turned his head. His expression was calm and placid. Even too placid. "At such rates, it may become too late..."

"What are you talking about...? Ouch!"

The lens of the teacher's glasses cracked harder on its own.

The teacher flinched. And took his glasses off, scared that a splinter would get into his eye.

But when he inadvertently peeked into the cracked lens-

The boy's face became a bit longer. Then another bit longer. And longer. Until his blurry vision didn't show him something ugly and unhuman.

The teacher jerked aside. He stared at the kid. Blinked.

And realized he was already alone on the street.

His breath hitched. As if delirious, he found himself walking down several blocks.

All of a sudden, his cell phone rang. Nastily and too loudly for the once again deserted street.

Something paranoid washed over his entire being.

The display read "Mom" though.

Swallowing, the teacher picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, sweetheart. How are you doing? Are you home?"

That was indeed his mom's voice. A rather cheerful voice; it didn't sound a tad suspicious. Why would it though? He was the one out of his right mind here.

"Not yet. Had to finish a couple of things at school. And now, I'm going to the optician's to fix the glasses you sent me for my last birthday. One of the glasses' lenses somehow cracked yesterday."

"Oh, I see. What a disappointment. But darling, you must have gotten something mixed up. I gave you cufflinks for your last birthday."

The teacher was taken aback.

"What do you mean?"

The teacher peered at the cracked lens that had recently almost hurt his eye.

"You must have forgotten. I think someone else sent them."

Someone... someone else? But who?

"Okay, I won't distract you anymore. You absolutely have to make it in time, don't you?"

Before the teacher could respond, the call was unceremoniously cut off. He stared at his phone display for a while. Then, slipping it into his pocket, he quickened his step. So much that he accidentally bumbed into someone ouside the lamppost light.

"Oh, I beg your pardon!" the teacher said. It was only afterwards, when he'd moved a decent distance away, that he realized that the man was standing near the unlit shop window in pitch darkness.

Shaking his head, the teacher walked into the optician's office. Fortunately, despite the time, the glass door had an "open" sign on it.

Inside, his eye immediately fell on numerous eyeglass frames: rimless and full-frame, narrow, wide, horn, and plastic. But frankly, the teacher didn't care about the designs. An elderly man in a sleek gray suit standing behind the counter seemed to instantly recognize the customer's wish.

"Good evening, sir. Would you like to change your lenses?"

"Yes, that would be nice. Can we do it today?"

"Hmm... We'll see. Would you let me have a look at your glasses?"

The teacher took off his glasses and handed them to the salesman.

The man twisted them in his hands, examining the ill-fated crack.

"If here... And what if there... Or maybe... How can it be, such indelible damage..." he muttered to himself before giving out a sort of a sigh. "Oh, what a shame. There's nothing we can do about it anymore. My deepest apologies."

The teacher's eyes rounded.

"What do you mean there's nothing you can do? If you can't finish today, let me order new glasses. In the meantime, you could lend me temporary ones. Anything from the display case."

"I'm afraid it's quite impossible."

"Why so? Don't you have a few ready-made glasses for myopia?"

He looked at the samples eloquently.

"Of course there are some. But they won't help you anyway. So I don't see any point in lending them to you."

The teacher's mouth twisted.

"What do you mean there's no point in lending them to me? How dare you... It's not like I'm taking them for free. I'm going to place an order. That's your job, isn't it?"

"My deepest apologies, but I cannot help you." An elderly, neat seller in a smart suit smiled politely.

As if to confirm these words, the damaged lens of the glasses, still holding in the salesman's hands, finally cracked. Then, its shards crumbled on the display case.

"There, you see? If only you'd hurry up a little," lamented the salesman.

Dumbfounded, the teacher snatched his crippled glasses out of the seller's big hands.

"I also regret to inform you that we have to close up. Our business hours have come to an end."

The teacher nodded slowly, wishing he could get out as soon as possible. Except...

"Aren't you working until one o'clock tonight? It was written on the door sign," he recalled without knowing why.

"That's right. We have to close up because it's closing time."

"But excuse me! I'm absolutely sure that when I approached your store, it was barely ten."

"It really is magnificent how fast time flies when talking to an interesting person," the salesman responded. Then he nodded at the clock on the wall and smiled broadly.

The teacher sucked in a sharp breath. The clock showed fifty past midnight.

As if scalded, he backed away, and jumped out of the optician's office.

Rushing through the poorly lit street, he didn't notice changes immediately.

The street, with its standard residential buildings and small shops, looked dark, nightmarish, and unfamiliar. The uncanny lamppost, illuminating everything around it with dim light, rippled in undulating waves. 

But what was even worse… it became clear that he was no longer alone in the street.

Vague shadows were wandering around, emerging from and dissolving back into gloomy nothing.

The teacher darted amidst them in a frantic hurry, bumping into creepy beings materializing out of nowhere, carrying on with their unfathomable routes, oblivious to human presence.

But neither that nor the fact that the night street looked the same through the intact lens soothed his trepidation.

After passing a bizarre cluster of otherworldly apparitions, the teacher found himself in an uncharted alleyway. Narrow, backwater, and not the cleanest, it beckoned with its desolation.

A few times, the teacher almost tripped over discarded trash strewn along his path. But pressing his hands against the wall for balance and squinting in the semi-darkness, he managed to squeeze himself between the houses.

"What was that?! What on earth was that?"

Soon his blabbering was interrupted by the trill of the phone.

Breathless, the teacher picked up.

"Yes, Mom?"

At first, there was silence on the other end. It persisted until the teacher, clutching onto his gadget, managed to round the corner of the building.

Then: "They've spotted you."

The teacher's heart hammered in his chest.

Despite the fact that he'd somehow made it to the home street, dozens of vacant shadow eyes darted to the teacher.

They froze in their places. Having abandoned their aimless roaming, dark phantom shadows were observing his every step.

The teacher could feel the hostility exuded by them.

As if it could somehow save him, he hid behind the corner of the building again.

"They?" the teacher asked in an uncharacteristically high voice into the receiver.

"...ear me, dear, do you hear me? You need to close your eyes. Close your eyes and don't open them, no matter what you hear!"

The teacher squeezed his eyes shut without a question, ready to believe anything.

"Yes."

"Good. Go home and shut the door. Remember those cufflinks I gave you? They'll protect you from evil. So only when you're home can you open your eyes again. You've heard me?"

"...yes."

The teacher took a deep breath and walked forward, relying on his sense of touch to guide him. There was nothing but an unfaltering abyss before his eyes now, but he knew the phantom shadows were still there.

What would happen if he accidentally touched one of them? What would happen if he lost his way and went the wrong way? What if he had to wander in this impenetrable darkness for eternity?

All he could hear was his shuffling footsteps. All he could feel with his trembling hand was the cool air.

Until it miraculously stumbled upon the chilling sensation of cold iron. Thank God! The railing.

That was a part of the stone staircase leading up to his house. Now he had to walk up the stairs. And from there, it was merely a matter of time.

Clutching the iron railing with both hands, the teacher started climbing the stairs. With every passing moment, he became more and more paranoid that something was following him. Still he had to walk slowly to avoid slips that could send him tumbling down. 

Even if there was something, it couldn't see him now anyway, could it?

The wind blew. And with the whistling came another sound. A strange gurgling.

Squelch.

The teacher froze. The sound was gradually drawing nearer. As if it were slithering up the stairs behind him, creeping closer and closer, about to touch the teacher's heels.

"Who's there?"

There was no response. Even the previous sound ceased.

Slightly relieved, the teacher continued to ascend. However, just a few steps later, the silence was interrupted. But a low, snide chuckle.

The teacher stopped for a moment. But regained his resolve.

As soon as his foot touched the next step, the chuckle repeated, accompanied by another one following in close succession.

"K-quit it, stop it!" stammered the teacher. To his dismay, in response to his words, something behind his back only giggled louder.

"Why are you talking to them? It only attracts more," said a familiar kid's voice. It came from somewhere disturbingly close, almost making him fall from the stairs.

"God! Are you... that boy?"

Abruptly, another chuckle from behind reached the teacher's ears.

"You see. They follow you because they can hear you," a kid's voice chimed in, ignoring the question. "Besides. What makes you so sure they won't hurt you if you're not looking at them?"

No, no, no. Mom said not to look, didn't she?

"Are you sure it was her?"

His fingers gripped harder on the iron.

"How did your mother know you saw the shadows? Did you tell her about it?"

He couldn't remember if he did. He couldn't remember anything at all.

Panic started to rise in the teacher's mind, driving it into a state of complete chaos.

"And don't you think that her words are now leading you to your imminent doom?" suggested a childish voice eerily. "You have no idea where you're going, do you? Are you so confident that it's your home that awaits you at the end of these stairs?"

As if to confirm these words, a sinister laugh sounded from the front this time.

"Aren't the stairs too long? Are you sure you're climbing up? Not going down?"

The teacher wasn't sure of anything anymore.

He began to gasp, pure dread coursing through his body.

What should he do? Go up or down? Open his eyes or keep them closed? Which was the right decision? And which one could make him dead?

The teacher squeezed his eyes shut even tighter.

No, he shouldn't listen to the boy. Perhaps he was in concert with the shadows and was just waiting for the teacher to fall for his tricks. There was something off with his face – that time on the way to the optician's.

Staying in place was not an option, so he kept walking up the railing. But having surmounted a few more steps, he halted again as his hand made contact with something different rather than cold iron.

Something repulsive.

Cold. Slimy. Reminiscent of jelly.

"You'd better not go any further, Teacher. Otherwise, they'll devour you. Oh, I can see very well from here how much they want it."

With a piercing shriek of terror, the teacher rushed forward. Even if he wanted to stop, he couldn't. His legs were acting on their own.

He leaped over several steps. Stumbled. Stumbled again. But through some miracle, he managed to fall forward instead of backward, colliding with the step.

His chin struck the stone; the skin on his palms rubbed off.

But even so, his body proved unable to stop. Guided by the touch, he made his way up for a couple more steps before his hand ran across the flat surface.

"Аh?"

Not believing his sensations, the teacher explored the ground ahead. There were no more stairs to climb.

The infinite staircase had finally ended.

To his relief, he also didn't hear chilling laughs or the boy's voice anymore.

Still keeping his eyes closed, the teacher forced himself to his feet.

He proceeded with caution, extending his arms in front of him. Gradually, his fingers made contact with the building.

Yes. This had to be his house. His memory told him so.

Relying on touch, he navigated through. Brick. Brick. Brick-

The teacher's brows furrowed.

He began to inspect the door. He certainly remembered it was wooden.

But this one had a smooth, cool panel.

He didn't see what it was, but the sensations suggested that it must be glass.

His concerns increased even more when his fingers grazed something plastic hanging on the door. Plastic and square. The door opened. The clock ticked.

"There you go, dear client. I've already told you we're closed, haven't I?"

That voice made his heart sink.

And overwhelmed by a sense of dread, the teacher snapped his eyes open.

There was no salesman in sight. The space in front of him stood empty. Only the sky overhead was painted in baleful scarlet, adorned with black tornado-like funnels, and the surrounding buildings no longer resembled anything he'd ever seen before.

In the distance, in the shadow of the twisted lamppost, writhing like a living snake, loomed a huge, undiscernible entity, comprising numerous phantom shadows. This ghostly cluster had no face, limbs, or distinct body parts. But the teacher was sure the creature's triumphant laught was directed at him.

"No," came a whisper.

And at the same moment, the second lens of his eyeglasses cracked and fell out of the frame.

There was no one else on the street. No shadows. Not a creepy creature. No teacher.

The was only a forgotten leather briefcase, abandoned within the shadow of an ordinary old lamppost.