The Initiated: Written from the Shadows

Frank Molina, a once-renowned and respected journalist, sat in silence, his back against the cold wall of his dimly lit apartment. The faint hum of a single overhead light danced across the room, casting eerie shadows on the walls. He had long since abandoned any semblance of a life outside these walls, opting instead to live a life of anonymity in hiding. The public knew him as 'Lazarus', a name given to him by the online community, who had been drawn to his unflinching, raw style. His bylines had once adorned the covers of major newspapers and magazines, but a scandal several years prior had irreparably damaged his reputation. The public's once-admiring gaze had turned to one of scorn, and Frank now struggled to find solace in the world he once knew so intimately. As the silence wore on, his fingers moved across the keyboard, tapping out the rhythmic flow of his latest article. It was a piece on the growing disparity between the world's haves and have-nots, but the thoughts were laced with a tinge of personal reflection. He couldn't help but think that if only he had uncovered the truth sooner, things might have been different for him. But he knew that this self-indulgence served only to feed the darkness that gnawed within him. Just as his fingers seemed to find a rhythm, the creak of the front door shattered the silence, echoing throughout the room. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes scanned the small apartment with a mixture of trepidation and dread. He knew the drill – anyone unwanted was a potential threat. A slow movement towards the peephole, a hesitant gaze through the peephole's confines confirmed his morbid intuition – an unwelcome visitor. As his stomach twisted, a hesitant hand reached for the door's lock. Who was it, and what did they want? A quick, furtive glance around the room revealed only the dim light that cast shadows, his scattered writing papers, and a lingering sense of emptiness. He took a deep breath and swung the door ajar, half-expecting a news reporter looking for comment, or an irate former colleague demanding answers. Instead, he found a peculiar and gruesome sight. Two disembodied eyes stared back at him – their milky white surface had been ripped open to reveal raw redness beneath – and it was impossible to distinguish which direction was up from down. Beneath the eyes lay an unassuming piece of paper covered in crimson stains. Frank's heart sank as a creeping unease spread up his spine, making the skin on his neck prickle. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as he struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. The eyes were severed, a sickening gash surrounding their rim, as if ripped from their owner's sockets. But the piece of paper bore an unmistakable message scrawled in red ink – 'Welcome back, Lazarus.' As if a switch had been flipped inside his head, Frank's senses went into overdrive, piecing together fragmented memories he'd tried to suppress for years. He took a step back from the abomination at his door, trying to clear his fogged mind, while his heart pounded out a frantic rhythm. It had been years since he'd left the headlines of the city, fleeing from an investigative story that almost cost him his career and his sanity. Something had triggered a traumatic response within him, something so dark, so malevolent that it sent him into hiding, where he assumed he could lose himself forever. A creeping fear took hold as his memories re-emerged like a tide, pulling with them the ghosts of his troubled past. This macabre message hinted that something much more sinister awaited him, something far more sinister and personal. Frank knew with a shivering certainty that this dark entity had been awakened by his anonymous writings – his Lazarus series – a series where truth and fiction blurring at every bend. He closed the door on the eyes and cringed from the image seared into his memory, but it was already too late. A wave of anxiety crashed over him as more disturbing thoughts and fragmented memories started spilling in, threatening to destroy the thin veneer of his carefully constructed persona. Suddenly, his quiet life in hiding was no more. In a moment of stark realization, Frank knew that his existence was no longer his to control – the past had caught up with him, with a gruesome ferocity that would change the course of his life forever. His once-peaceful darkness had become a breeding ground for chaos as his mind wrestled with visions of his own traumatic past, where the darkness had long been waiting. The eerie stillness was replaced with a cacophony of questions – who was this monster? And was he, Frank Molina, now in a fight for his life as the bodies accumulated and the messages grew more disturbing? One thing was clear – Lazarus had returned, but the question was – for how long?