Ever had that feeling like something dark and weird is following you, but you just can’t put your finger on it? Well, this story is gonna pull you into a world full of mystery, with a black t-shirt and a black umbrella as the key to everything strange that’s happening. So, get ready to feel the tension, your heart racing, and uncover the secrets hidden in the shadows!

 

The Black Umbrella

The Knocking in the Rain

The rain kept falling, relentless, drenching the streets of Kelam City in a cold embrace. It wasn’t the kind of rain that came with a gentle patter, but the kind that pounded against everything in its path, as if it had something to prove. The air smelled of wet earth and decay, a scent that lingered like a whisper of forgotten secrets. Only a few dared to walk the streets at night, and even fewer dared to enter the notorious alley known as Jalan Senja, the Street of Twilight.

The street was as desolate as the stories told about it. It was a place where the shadows lingered too long and the silence was far too thick. The only sound that ever seemed to fill the air was the occasional rustle of old leaves and the distant growl of thunder.

And then, there were footsteps.

Slow, deliberate steps that broke the stillness of the alley. A figure cloaked in darkness, with a black T-shirt clinging to their body, wet from the rain. In their hand, a black umbrella—open, even though the storm had begun to wane. It wasn’t just any umbrella. It looked ancient, worn at the edges, the fabric heavy with water. Whoever owned it seemed to carry more than just the weight of the rain.

The figure’s presence was… unsettling. It didn’t belong here.

The streetlight flickered as the person passed beneath it, casting their shadow long against the crumbling walls. No one in Kelam City really paid attention to strangers anymore. But tonight, there was something about this person that made the darkness hold its breath.

At the end of Jalan Senja stood an old, crumbling house—House Salma. The windows were cracked, the paint peeling, and the door was slightly ajar, as if it had been waiting for something, or someone, to arrive.

Inside the house, two figures moved with caution.

Kirana’s hands shook as she stood near the window, peering out into the rain-soaked night. Her face, pale and tired, reflected the dim light of the oil lantern she had lit earlier. She was trying to ignore the creeping sense of dread that had settled over her ever since they entered the house.

“Raka,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “This place is… it’s wrong. We shouldn’t have come here.”

Raka, who stood near the old wooden table with a book in front of him, didn’t look up. He was turning the yellowed pages slowly, each one crackling under his fingers as if the book itself were alive.

“I know,” he said, his voice calm, yet strained. “But we don’t have much of a choice, do we? This is the only place that can give us the answers we need.”

The air between them was thick with tension. Raka had been convinced that the answers to the strange occurrences that had plagued Kelam City for weeks would be found in this house, in this ancient book. But Kirana wasn’t so sure. She had always felt a strange energy in the house—an energy that seemed to draw people in, only to trap them once they were inside.

The book was open to a page that made her uneasy. The words were in a language she couldn’t understand, but she could feel them in her bones, like they were meant for her. Or maybe, like they were meant to call something else.

Raka flipped the page, his finger tracing a line of symbols. “This is it, Kirana. We have to do this. We’ve already come this far.”

Before she could respond, there was a knock at the door.

Three slow, deliberate knocks.

Kirana froze. Raka’s eyes shot up, his grip tightening around the knife he had kept hidden at his side. “Who’s there?” he called, his voice steady but low.

Silence.

He moved toward the door, his movements cautious, almost predatory. He didn’t know who—or what—was on the other side, but his gut told him it wasn’t human.

The knocking came again, louder this time.

Kirana’s heart raced. She was about to protest, to stop Raka from opening the door, but the words stuck in her throat. It was as if something was pushing her to remain silent.

“Raka, don’t—” she tried to say, but her voice barely made it past her lips.

The door creaked open slightly, just enough for Raka to peer through the gap.

There was no one there.

But there was something.

A black umbrella, soaked with rain, was leaning against the doorframe. It was the only thing that stood in the doorway, as if waiting.

Raka frowned. The air around them seemed to grow colder, the shadows deeper. He reached for the umbrella, his fingers brushing against the smooth fabric. It was heavy, unnaturally so.

Without warning, a gust of wind slammed the door shut, and the house was plunged into darkness.

The lantern sputtered and died, leaving them in a suffocating black void.

“Raka,” Kirana whispered again, her voice shaking. “We need to leave. Now.”

But it was already too late.

A figure appeared in the corner of the room, shrouded in darkness. Raka spun around, the knife in his hand now raised in defense.

But the figure didn’t move.

It simply stood there, holding a black umbrella that was open, despite the lack of rain. The person wore a black T-shirt, drenched from the storm outside, their face hidden in the shadows.

The figure’s presence felt wrong. Unnatural.

Kirana stepped back, her breath catching in her throat. “Who… who are you?”

The figure didn’t respond. It took a step forward, its movements slow and deliberate, like it was savoring every moment.

Raka felt a cold shiver run down his spine. His grip on the knife tightened, but his mind raced. This wasn’t part of the plan.

“Kirana…” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “Get away from it. Now.”

But before they could react, the figure raised the umbrella, and with one swift motion, it closed it with a snap.

The room plunged into an even deeper silence. The air grew thick, as if something had changed—something fundamental. Something that shouldn’t be.

The door slammed shut behind them. And when they turned to look, the figure was gone.

But the umbrella remained.

And the shadows that clung to the walls seemed to grow longer, as if they were watching, waiting for something.

The storm outside continued to rage, but inside, there was nothing but silence. And the sense that whatever had just visited them was not done yet.

Not by a long shot.

 

Shadows at the Window

The silence in the house was oppressive, pressing against Kirana and Raka like an unseen force. The closed umbrella lay where the figure had vanished, its soaked surface reflecting the dim light from outside. Neither of them moved, as if the act of breathing too loudly might summon whatever had just been there.

Raka was the first to break the stillness. He bent down cautiously, his knife still in hand, and nudged the umbrella with the blade. It didn’t budge, but the air around it felt unnaturally cold. He glanced at Kirana, who was clutching her arms, her eyes fixed on the spot where the figure had stood moments before.

“That… wasn’t human,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Raka straightened, his jaw tight. “I don’t think it was.” He gestured toward the umbrella. “And whatever that is, it’s not just an umbrella.”

Kirana shook her head vehemently. “We need to leave. Now. Forget the book, forget everything. This place—this thing—it’s cursed.”

Raka hesitated. His instincts told him she was right, that they had no business staying in this house any longer. But something gnawed at the back of his mind. The book. The symbols. The figure. It all felt connected, and leaving now would mean abandoning the answers they’d come searching for.

As he stood there, torn between reason and curiosity, a sound broke the quiet—a faint tapping. It came from the window behind Kirana.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Kirana froze, her back stiffening. “Raka…” she murmured, not daring to turn around. “Tell me that’s just the rain.”

Raka’s grip on the knife tightened. “Stay where you are,” he said, moving cautiously toward the window. The tapping grew louder, more insistent, as if whatever was outside knew they were listening.

He reached the window and peered through the cracked glass. At first, he saw nothing but the distorted reflection of the streetlight outside. Then, as his eyes adjusted, he spotted it—a shadowy figure standing just beyond the reach of the light, holding an open black umbrella. The rain poured around it, but the figure remained perfectly still, its face hidden in the gloom.

“It’s back,” Raka muttered under his breath.

Kirana turned slowly, her face pale. “What do you mean, it’s back?”

“It’s standing outside,” he said, his voice low but urgent. “Watching us.”

Before she could respond, the tapping stopped. The figure stepped forward, and the umbrella tilted slightly, revealing a glimpse of its face—or rather, the absence of one. Where a face should have been, there was only darkness, an empty void that seemed to suck in the light around it.

Kirana let out a choked gasp. “What is that?”

“I don’t know,” Raka admitted, his voice tense. “But it’s not going to wait for us to figure it out.”

As if in response, the figure began to move. Not toward the front door, but along the perimeter of the house. Its footsteps were muffled by the rain, but they could hear the creak of the wooden boards outside as it circled the building.

“It’s trying to find a way in,” Raka said, his mind racing. He grabbed Kirana’s arm and pulled her away from the window. “We can’t stay here. We need to move.”

“Where?” Kirana asked, panic rising in her voice. “There’s nowhere to go! It’s outside, and we’re trapped in here with… that thing!” She gestured toward the umbrella, which still lay ominously on the floor.

Raka glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the staircase leading to the second floor. “Upstairs. If we can block the door, it’ll buy us time.”

“Time for what?” Kirana demanded. “You think that thing cares about doors?”

But Raka was already pulling her toward the stairs. They climbed quickly, their footsteps echoing in the empty house. The second floor was just as dilapidated as the first, with peeling wallpaper and creaky floorboards. A long hallway stretched before them, lined with closed doors.

Raka led Kirana into the first room they came across, a small bedroom with a single bed and a broken wardrobe. He shut the door behind them and shoved the wardrobe in front of it, the wood groaning under the strain.

Kirana paced nervously, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “This isn’t going to work,” she said, her voice trembling. “It’s going to find us.”

Raka didn’t reply. He was staring at the window, which faced the front of the house. The rain streaked down the glass, obscuring the view, but he could make out the faint silhouette of the umbrella on the ground below.

And then, it wasn’t there anymore.

A low creak echoed from somewhere inside the house, followed by the sound of footsteps. Slow, deliberate, and impossibly loud.

“It’s inside,” Kirana whispered, her face pale.

Raka nodded, his mind racing. “Stay behind me,” he said, gripping the knife tightly. He moved toward the door, his heart pounding. The footsteps grew closer, stopping just outside their room.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, three knocks echoed through the door, slow and deliberate, just like before.

Kirana’s breath hitched. “Raka…”

He held up a hand, signaling her to stay quiet. The doorknob rattled, and the wardrobe shuddered as if something was testing its weight. Raka braced himself, ready to fight, but then the noise stopped.

The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating. Raka dared to hope that whatever was outside had given up.

And then, with a deafening crash, the wardrobe toppled forward, slamming into the ground. The door swung open, revealing nothing but an empty hallway.

But Raka and Kirana knew better.

The shadows in the hallway began to shift, twisting and writhing as if alive. And in the middle of it all stood the figure, its umbrella now closed, its empty face turned toward them.

Raka raised the knife, his hand shaking. “Stay back!” he shouted, though his voice betrayed his fear.

The figure didn’t move. It simply stood there, its presence filling the room with an unnatural cold.

And then, it spoke.

Its voice was a low, guttural whisper, like the sound of wind through dead leaves. “You cannot leave,” it said. “You belong to the shadow now.”

Kirana clutched Raka’s arm, her nails digging into his skin. “Raka, what do we do?”

He didn’t answer. For the first time, he realized he didn’t have a plan.

 

Whispers in the Dark

The figure stood still, its words hanging in the air like a shroud. “You belong to the shadow now.” The room seemed to contract, the walls closing in as if the house itself were conspiring against them.

Raka’s grip on the knife tightened. The weight of the blade felt insignificant against the overwhelming presence of the thing before them. Kirana’s breathing was shallow and rapid, each exhale trembling with barely contained terror.

The figure tilted its umbrella slightly, the tip pointing toward the knife in Raka’s hand. Its head, or what should have been its head, shifted as if to study him. The whisper came again, though this time it sounded closer, as if the voice were speaking directly into their ears.

“Put it down. It will not save you.”

Raka’s instinct screamed at him to run, but there was nowhere to go. The thing had cornered them, and its calm, deliberate movements told him it didn’t need to hurry. It was in control.

“Raka,” Kirana whispered, her voice barely audible. “What does it want? Why is it doing this?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered, his eyes darting around the room. There had to be something—anything—that could give them an edge. His gaze landed on the broken window.

“Listen,” he said, his voice low but urgent. “When I say now, you run. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Just go.”

Kirana shook her head violently. “I’m not leaving you!”

“You have to,” he insisted. “If one of us can make it out—”

“Enough,” the figure interrupted, its voice reverberating like a deep, echoing drumbeat. “You cannot escape.”

The shadows on the floor began to ripple, stretching toward them like long, grasping fingers. The temperature plummeted, their breath visible in the air as frosty puffs.

Raka acted on instinct. He lunged forward, slashing at the nearest shadow with the knife. The blade passed through it harmlessly, as if slicing through smoke, but the shadow recoiled slightly, the ripple breaking its fluid motion.

“It can’t hurt you, but it can slow you down,” he muttered, more to himself than to Kirana.

The figure remained still, as if amused by his futile attempt. It raised a hand—or what passed for a hand—and pointed at Kirana.

“You were warned,” it said, its voice like gravel grinding against stone.

Suddenly, Kirana screamed. She stumbled backward, clutching her head as if an invisible force were tearing at her mind.

“Kirana!” Raka shouted, rushing to her side. He dropped the knife and tried to pull her upright, but she resisted, her body shaking violently.

“It’s… in my head,” she gasped, tears streaming down her face. “Raka, make it stop!”

He looked up at the figure, rage overtaking his fear. “Leave her alone!” he shouted. “Whatever you want, take me instead!”

The figure tilted its head again, as if considering his words. Then, for the first time, it stepped forward. Each movement was deliberate, its feet making no sound on the floorboards.

“You do not understand,” it said, its voice softer now, almost mournful. “You brought this upon yourselves. The shadows are not merciful.”

Before Raka could respond, the figure raised its umbrella. The room darkened instantly, as if the light had been snuffed out. Only the faint glow of the streetlight outside the broken window remained, casting an eerie silhouette of the figure against the wall.

And then, the whispers began.

They came from everywhere and nowhere, a cacophony of voices speaking in languages Raka didn’t recognize. Some were harsh and guttural, others melodic and soothing, but all of them carried the same underlying message: Run. Hide. Obey.

Kirana’s sobs grew louder as she clutched her ears. “Make it stop! Please, Raka, make it stop!”

Raka’s mind raced. The figure wasn’t attacking them outright—it was toying with them, breaking them down. If he could figure out why, maybe he could find a way to fight back.

“The book,” he whispered, realization dawning on him. “It’s all about the book.”

The whispers faltered for a moment, as if acknowledging his thought. The figure turned slightly, its umbrella lowering.

“What is the book?” Raka demanded. “What does it have to do with you?”

The figure didn’t answer immediately. Instead, it gestured toward the shadows pooling at its feet. The tendrils of darkness began to rise, forming jagged shapes that looked like letters, though they shifted too quickly to be read.

“The book is a door,” the figure finally said. “You opened it, and now you must pay the price.”

“A door to what?” Raka pressed, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

The figure’s void-like face turned toward him fully. “To us.”

The shadows surged forward, wrapping around Raka and Kirana like icy vines. He struggled, but the more he fought, the tighter they constricted.

“Stop!” he shouted, his voice raw with desperation. “We didn’t know! We didn’t mean to—”

“Intentions do not matter,” the figure said coldly. “The shadows have claimed you.”

Just as Raka thought the darkness would consume them entirely, a blinding light erupted from the hallway. The shadows recoiled, hissing like steam against fire. The figure turned sharply, its umbrella snapping open as if to shield itself.

The light grew brighter, pushing the darkness back. For the first time, Raka saw fear—or something like it—in the figure’s stance.

“You dare…” it hissed, its voice losing its composure.

And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the light vanished, leaving only silence and the faint hum of rain outside.

Raka blinked, his vision adjusting. The figure was gone, and so were the shadows.

But the umbrella remained, standing upright in the middle of the room as if waiting for someone to claim it.

 

The Price of Shadows

The room was silent. The oppressive weight of fear that had gripped them for what felt like hours seemed to lift, leaving behind an eerie calm. Raka and Kirana stood frozen, their eyes fixed on the lone umbrella that remained in the center of the room, as though it had never moved, as though it were never part of the nightmare they had just survived.

“What… what just happened?” Kirana’s voice cracked, her hands trembling as she wiped her face, trying to rid herself of the remnants of tears.

Raka couldn’t answer. His eyes, still wide with disbelief, were locked on the umbrella. There was something about it, something that felt both wrong and familiar. He had seen that umbrella before. Not in this room, but somewhere. Somewhere important.

The air around them was thick with an unnatural stillness, as if the world had frozen in time. The rain outside had stopped completely, leaving only the rhythmic sound of their own breathing.

“Raka…” Kirana’s voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. She moved closer to him, still cautious, as if she weren’t sure whether it was safe to approach. “What do we do now?”

The words felt heavy on his chest. He glanced at her, the fear in her eyes matching his own, but there was something else there too—a kind of determination. She wanted to fight, to understand what had just happened, to end it. He knew because he felt the same way.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, still unable to tear his gaze away from the umbrella. “But I’m not leaving until I figure this out.”

Kirana took a step forward, her voice steadier now. “Maybe we should just leave. The umbrella—it’s… it’s just a thing, right? We can get away from all this.”

Her words were reasonable. Logical. But they didn’t sit right with Raka. There was something about the umbrella—something tied to the darkness, something they couldn’t escape simply by walking away.

“You don’t get it,” Raka said softly, his eyes narrowing. “This isn’t just about the umbrella. It’s the book. It’s always been the book.” He felt a sudden chill crawl up his spine, the remnants of the darkness lingering like a shadow in the corner of his mind. “That thing we saw—it’s part of something bigger. Something we can’t outrun.”

Kirana frowned, looking back at the door, the window, the broken pieces of the world outside. “So, what do you want to do? Stand here and wait for it to come back?”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, but this time, there was a fire in his eyes. He wasn’t running anymore. The truth of the words echoed in his head. They had already stepped too far into the shadow’s world, into the realm of what they could not understand. The umbrella, the figure—it was all connected, a part of something that had taken root in their lives without their knowing.

There was a long pause. Then, the slightest shift in the air—a whisper, no louder than a breath, yet it reached Raka’s ears clearly. The door is still open.

He stiffened, turning toward the umbrella. A cold chill ran through his veins as if the shadow itself had touched him. “Kirana…” he started, but the words caught in his throat. The whisper wasn’t over. It lingered, tugging at his mind, pulling him toward the darkness.

“No,” Kirana whispered, suddenly realizing what was happening. “We can’t… We can’t let it pull us back.”

But it was already too late. Raka had stepped forward, unable to resist the pull of the umbrella, as though it had become a magnet to his very soul. His fingers reached for it, and as they brushed against the cold fabric, the world around them seemed to flicker, like a television screen losing its signal.

“Raka!” Kirana cried, but it was too late.

The instant his hand made contact, the room around them vanished. The walls, the floor, the ceiling—all dissolved into nothingness. There was no sound, no light, no sensation but the feeling of falling.

And then, there was the darkness.

It enveloped him entirely, wrapping around him like a thick fog. The shadows whispered again, louder this time, their voices blending into one deafening cacophony.

The price of shadows was not always immediate, nor was it always apparent. The darkness did not come with claws or fangs, but with the quiet, unsettling whisper of inevitability.

Raka’s mind reeled, the shadows pressing against him, suffocating him in their depth. It’s not over, they hissed. Not yet.

But somewhere, far off, the light began to break through, fragile at first, then stronger. A thin line of brightness split the darkness, growing, spreading. The whispers faltered, as if uncertain of what was to come next.

Raka felt a strange sensation, like he was being pulled through the dark itself, but not by the shadows. No, this pull was different—it was the light. The promise of something beyond.

He reached out, the faintest trace of a grin forming on his lips. Whatever had opened that door, whatever had brought the shadow into their lives, could be closed. They could escape it. It wasn’t over.

And somewhere in the blackness, the umbrella remained, waiting, its final secret still locked inside.

But for now, Raka would fight.

 

And just when you think it’s over, remember—some shadows never really disappear. The black umbrella, the darkness, and the secrets… they always find a way back. Keep your eyes open, because in this world, nothing is ever truly what it seems.