Pascal's Paradox

***

A solitary raven's feathers, as black as night, silently glided while the bird’s shadow stretched long across the cracked streets. No sound followed its wings, only the whisper of wind, like a hand stretching across a chessboard, pondering if the king's time had come. It looked down at the mere civilians and knew its enemy was yet to arrive. After all, the people were busy. Some laughing and smiling. Long thin lines cut through their skins revealing sets of white, turned up.

As the bird continued its journey north, a wave of despair diffused through the air. A feeling of home. The cemetery. Whiffs of desolate striped clouds lingered over these deserted plots of land, consisting of slat grey slabs dung into the soil. The raven knew what it was doing, it knew what it would cost, but it had to anyway. “Feelings are the first signs of weakness” was what it had been told, what it had grown up with. At last, it perched on a certain gravestone, it made sure it was the right one, sticking out its neck to see the grave of Isla Necro, as it had been instructed specifically. Then it snapped its head, and let out a blood-churning screech. Its job was done, she was coming. 

***

Tucked away at the outskirts of this town, down the cemetery guarded by yellow tapes screaming "DANGER!!!", was the Woods of the Damned. Having been forbidden since the forefathers lost to the evil ones. And with Project JET wanting the forest chopped down, the threats of evil had reduced. However, there was still the case of the missing tourist. 

Maxwell Richards was quite....ambitious to say the least. Everyone knew him for one thing: He never knew when to stop. Always referred to as “stubborn” is what people believe caused his death. On a stormy day, Maxwell learned about the woman in the woods who was rumoured to have the looks of an angel but somehow always resides deep within this forest, about the mysteries and the wonders of how the place had a "supernatural hold". He took this as a sign that he too could live in the woods. His first mistake was that he didn’t finish that article. If he had, he would know that the author wasn’t alive to tell the story. This was his biography, documented on tape. His body was found...eventually but dead. 

That day this strong-headed tourist took his belongings into the woods despite his parents and peers' consistent warnings. He never considered the great danger that lay in front of him, on a silver palter topped with two cherries. He got past the first warning signs; he was alone, the rustling trees, lack of Internet and the sudden misplace of the map...He had a chance to turn back, too many that he didn’t take. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, his anxiety deepened. With only a torch, a few snacks, and a sleeping bag, he had nowhere safe to lay his head for the night. The growing shadows seemed to close in, and the absence of shelter weighed heavier with each passing moment. Then his beacon of hope drew close, a single tap and he was suddenly in the presence, of a beautiful thin woman, with black silky hair that glowed even without sunlight, and green piercing eyes that seemed to have a story, one without menace or pain. Along with abnormally pale skin. Offering assistance as her magical hands set to work, putting up his tent for him. Then she invited him to eat with her before sleeping, as her house was nearby and she was lonely. Maxwell, who had been smitten by the lady in his presence, accepted without hesitation. Maxwell had missed the mad glint in her eyes when she whispered, “Lonely.” There was something more behind it, a flicker of lust and hunger. Even as she spoke, he was already imagining their future—him with this woman, their children, living in a cozy home together. Oh, what a dream it would be! Yet, that glint in her eyes hinted at something darker, something that unsettled the fantasy he was so eager to believe. But he read it wrong. Terribly wrong.

The thing is, this man never made it to her house. In fact, there was no house waiting for him if he did. Large trees with branches linking to form mocking faces. Sweat trickles down his temples, his chin, as the sun finally goes to bed. Whispers. Shadows. A hurl of darkness. With each damned step taken, it felt like a brick was added to his shoulder, on and on replayed like an old film. Until he fell into a sense of turmoil, lost in a haze. Madness slipped in, looking back occasionally checking if actual bricks were placed. Just to find nothing but excruciating pain. Hallucinations. Running mad. A hammer jamming both sides of his head, a perfect rhythm. Everything swirled into a spiral of colour all compounded, enthralled by the lady’s enchanting voice. 

"D...did you hear that?" He trembled, pupils dilated, always met with the same response:

"We are almost there!!, Just this left turn-" 

Silence. In the quiet unfolding of that moment, his life slipped away, the weight of his imagined future dissolving into the cold, unforgiving mist of darkness.

 He didn't realise this but he was dead a long time ago. 

Don’t worry his was delivered to his parents so they could see their son. No signs of struggle. No blood. Hence ruled as suicide. This woman of mystery goes by the initials “IL”, we know this because they we engraved into the victim’s arm [sent separately]. Obviously, the police took this as a tattoo more than a warning. But she died years ago! Decades, centuries ago! She is dead unless someone decides to revive her, and it’s never someone good.  

The raven glides again, the weight of everything lifted off its shoulder. It sensed it too. The predator and prey were about to meet. 

***

Detective Jones sighs. Just when she was about to go for a lunch break this man? Woman? Whatever. Whomever, it is bursts in. Claiming they witnessed a murder in the safest part of the city and the worst part? They wouldn’t talk!

Ten past, 20 past, 30 past-

“Excuse me? Can you…explain?” She scoffs impatiently, itching for a smoke break, coffee break, even a water break! Anything at this point. All her friends were outside, having lunch but no! No! This thing strolled in requesting her specifically.

“I saw someone get killed” The same stoic words repeated for well over 30 minutes.

Jones sighs “I know…I…I know just... maybe elaborate?”

The person shifts, resting their umbrella to the side, gently taking out a pack of cigarettes, and passing one Jane’s way. 

“here”

“You know smoking is bad for you...” She bites her lip, her gaze piercing the pack down, her hands trembling in their gloves.

“Says the addict”

“You little- “Jones sighs, the draining feeling of nicotine swallowing her pride. “Fine…” she grunts, reluctantly happily taking one, holding this treasure between her lips while carefully lighting the bottom.

“I witnessed a murder on Orchard’s Lane,” the voice whispered, soft and sweet, but unsettling in its calm. It wrapped around Jones like a chilling breeze, persuading her that it could only belong to a woman. “A hooded figure crept into my home,” she continued, her tone never faltering, “and shot my husband.” The words hung in the air, eerily detached, as if recounting a distant memory rather than a violent act. An eerie stillness followed, heavy with the weight of what remained unspoken.

Now…Jones was confused. “Killed your husband?”

The woman nods. 

“And…you are…this composed” 

She nods again.

“Ok…go on”

The lady sits up, hands uniformly on her lap. “I was working late when I noticed my husband was gone… I rushed to the living room when I screamed. Seeing his lifeless body on the floor.” Her soothing voice suddenly takes an edge. Laced with a foreign emotion.

“Did you call the police?”

“No.”

“Ambulance?”

“No.”

“I…see. Where exactly do you live?”

“Orchard Lane, number 12”

She nods diligently taking a drag and jotting down.

 “Orchard Lane, number…Wait…what?!”

“Orchard Lane, number 12”

“But that’s my-“

“House.” 

It clocked. Jane had been so consumed with anger and frustration, that she hadn't even examined this stranger. Her face was a twisted void, an empty chasm where features should have been. A grotesque, unnatural sight that sent a cold shiver crawling up her spine. Yet, amidst the horror, an unsettling aura radiated from her—a presence that chilled the air around the office. Slowly, impossibly, the darkness began to shift. Patches of skin slithered and latched onto bone, flesh sticking wetly to flesh, some oozing and melting into place like candle wax. The disjointed pieces wriggled and fused, pulling themselves together with sickening squelches until her face became a smooth, glistening surface—perfect, yet disturbingly wrong as if sculpted by unseen, malevolent hands.

“Y…you are me!”

She chuckles, a deep hoarse rumble. A distorted melody. “And darling that’s a problem.” Unbuttoning her coat and letting it fall, her slick body sways towards the blinds, snapping them shut. 

“I am you, from a parallel universe”

“A...a what?” Jane leaps back, shakily clutching her chair, now forgetting all about lunch.

 A sinister, thin line slowly carved its way across her face, stretching from ear to ear, revealing an unnatural set of gleaming white teeth. It wasn’t a smile—it was a threat. Her voice dripped with cold malice as she hissed, "I don’t have time for chit-chat... you see, I was brought into this world, but there’s one slight problem.” She pouts mockingly, leaning against the cracked window, her silhouette framed in the limelight as the power conveniently shuts off. Shadows danced behind her, twisting and morphing against the light as she paused, the silence thickening with dread. Something far more sinister lingered beneath her words, waiting to strike. Dark hair down, long slithering excuse of fingers grabs a framed picture of Jones with her friends on that one trip to Paris.

“There are two of us”

She tilts her head putting the picture back in its slot. Gently blowing the dust away. Then pushing her weight forward, propelling herself off the rusting heater. Walking till she stands in front of a shivering Jane. They both had the same dark silky hair same green eyes same pale skin same height.

 Then she smiled. Though Jane didn't. 

   “But there can only be one.”