The Cinder Man

It was the summer we moved into the old farmhouse on Holloway Road, a place that smelled of damp wood and forgotten things. My partner, Sam, and I had been together for two years, and we were excited to start our life in a place with a bit of land, away from the city’s noise. The house was charming in a dilapidated way, with a wraparound porch and a barn that leaned like a tired old man. We knew it needed work, but we were young and full of plans.

One evening, about three weeks after we’d settled in, Sam came to me with a strange look on his face. He said he had seen something in the barn. I laughed, thinking he was joking, but he was serious. He described it as a tall, thin shape, darker than the night around it, with a texture like soot or ash. It had no face, no features, just a silhouette that seemed to drink the light. He said it was just standing in the corner, watching him, and when he called out, it dissolved into a puff of black dust and was gone.

I tried to reassure him, saying it was probably a trick of the light, a shadow from the rusted tools, or maybe he’d been working too hard. But Sam was insistent, and he started sleeping with the lights on. I didn’t believe in ghosts, but I loved him, so I agreed to go with him to the barn the next night, to prove to him that it was nothing.

We stood in the barn, the air thick with hay dust and the scent of old motor oil. The only light came from a single bulb swinging overhead, casting dancing shadows. We waited, and I felt silly, holding Sam’s hand, our breath visible in the cold. Just when I was about to suggest we go back inside, I saw it. In the corner, where the shadows were deepest, there was a shape that was darker than it should have been. It was like looking at a hole in the world. My heart lurched, but I forced myself to step forward, to prove it wasn’t real. As I approached, the shape shifted, and I felt a chill that went straight to my bones. I stopped, and the shape seemed to tilt its head, as if curious. Then it dissolved, leaving behind a faint acrid smell, like burnt plastic.

From that night on, things changed. Sam became obsessed with the ‘cinder man,’ as he called it. He started keeping a journal, documenting every sighting, every flicker of movement. He would stay up late, watching the windows, waiting. I tried to be supportive, but I was scared. The farmhouse, which once felt like a haven, began to feel like a cage. The walls seemed to press in, and the floorboards creaked underfoot even when no one was walking.

Then one night, I woke to find Sam missing from our bed. I found him in the barn, standing in the corner where we’d first seen the shape. He was covered in a fine gray dust, and his eyes were wide and unblinking. He didn’t respond when I called his name. I shook him, and he blinked, then looked at me with a strange smile. ‘It’s been waiting for me,’ he said. ‘It wants to show me something.’

I tried to pull him away, but he resisted, his strength surprising. ‘No, it’s okay,’ he insisted. ‘It’s not a ghost. It’s a messenger. It’s from the other side.’ I felt a deep unease. Sam had never been one for the supernatural, but now he was speaking as if he’d been initiated into some secret order.

The next morning, Sam was different. He was calmer, more focused, but there was a glint in his eye that I didn’t like. He started spending hours in the barn, sometimes not coming in for dinner. When I asked what he was doing, he said he was ‘communing’ with the cinder man. He began to carve strange symbols into the barn’s wooden beams, and he hung old iron tools in patterns. I found a dead crow on the doorstep one day, and I knew he had placed it there.

I confronted him, begging him to stop, to see that this was taking him away from me. He looked at me with pity, as if I were the one who was lost. ‘You don’t understand,’ he said. ‘The cinder man is real, and it’s been searching for a vessel. It chose me.’ He held out his hands, and I saw that they were stained gray, like ash. I grabbed his arm to inspect it, and the stain didn’t come off. He smiled. ‘It’s inside me now.’

I felt a cold dread settle in my stomach. I knew I had to leave, but I couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning him. That night, I lay awake, listening to the sounds of the house. There were whispers, low and sibilant, coming from the walls. I got up and followed the sound to the barn. The door was ajar, and I could see Sam inside, kneeling in the center, surrounded by candles. He was chanting something in a language I didn’t recognize. The cinder man stood behind him, larger than I remembered, its smoky arms wrapped around him like a lover.

It turned to look at me, and for the first time, I saw its face. It wasn’t featureless anymore. It had taken on Sam’s features, but twisted, with hollow eyes that held a universe of nothing. I screamed, and the figure vanished, leaving Sam collapsed on the floor. I rushed to him, but he was cold to the touch, and his skin had a gray pallor. I called for help, but by the time the ambulance arrived, it was too late.

They said it was a heart attack, brought on by stress or some undiagnosed condition. I knew the truth. The cinder man had taken him, body and soul. I sold the house at a loss and moved across the country. But I can’t escape the memory. Sometimes, in the corner of my eye, I’ll see a dark shape, and I’ll smell that burning odor. And I know, with a certainty that chills me, that the cinder man is still looking for a new vessel, and it won’t stop until it finds one.

I’m writing this now as a warning, not for the faint of heart, but for anyone who might find themselves in a place where the shadows seem to move. If you see a shape darker than night, with a texture like soot, don’t approach it. Don’t acknowledge it. And above all, never let it into your mind. Because once it does, it leaves a piece of itself behind, a seed that grows and devours from within. And then you’ll become like Sam, a hollow shell, going through the motions, while the cinder man wears your face and waits for the next poor soul to come along.

I can only hope that if you’re reading this, you’ll heed my words. And if you see him, run. Run and don’t look back.