The Cold Stare of the Celosia

It was just past nine on a Tuesday night when Elena and her younger brother, Marco, finally exited the sprawling Mesa Ridge Mall. They’d lingered too long in the video game store, and now the parking lot stretched before them like a black sea. Elena had parked at the far edge to avoid the five-dollar fee, a decision she was already regretting as they trudged across the asphalt.

The lot was bordered by a long, sloping walkway that cut through a stretch of undeveloped land, overgrown with weeds and dotted with a few sickly trees. The streetlights along the path were mostly dead, casting only pools of weak light every fifty feet. Elena clutched her shopping bag tighter, the crinkle of plastic unnaturally loud in the silence.

‘I keep feeling like someone’s watching us,’ Marco said, his voice thin.

Elena forced a chuckle. ‘Probably a ghost trying to find its way back to the food court.’ But even as she said it, a chill traced her spine. She quickened her pace.

They were halfway down the slope when a figure emerged from the shadows ahead—a huge man, his silhouette blocking the path. He lumbered toward them, and as he drew closer, they saw the glint of a baseball bat in his hand. He reeked of stale beer and sweat.

‘Hey, you two,’ he slurred, planting himself in their way. ‘Got any cash? I need a drink.’ His eyes were glassy, unfocused.

Elena’s heart hammered. ‘We don’t have any,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

The man’s face twisted into a scowl. ‘Don’t lie to me!’ He swung the bat in a slow arc, the air whooshing past her head. ‘I’ll smash your heads in if you don’t buy me a bottle.’

Marco yelped and yanked Elena back. ‘Back off!’ he shouted, his voice cracking.

The man took a step forward, then another, but his steps were unsteady. He wobbled, his eyes going wide as he pitched backward. They watched in frozen horror as he stumbled, arms flailing, and toppled over the low rim of a reflecting pool that bordered the path. He hit the water with a loud splash, his head cracking against the concrete edge.

Before they could react, a police officer appeared from the gloom, his flashlight beam cutting through the dark. ‘What’s going on here?’ he demanded, his hand resting on his holster.

Elena’s mind went blank. Marco was shaking, unable to speak. She opened her mouth, but no words came. The officer’s eyes flicked to the man in the fountain, then back to them. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone.

‘He just… he fell,’ Elena finally managed.

The officer stepped closer, and in the light she saw the cold stare of his eyes—like a predator sizing up prey. ‘Fell, huh?’ He glanced at the man, who was groaning and trying to get up, blood mixing with the fountain water.

‘Is he alright?’ Elena asked, her throat tight.

The officer ignored her question. ‘You kids shouldn’t be out here alone at night.’ He took another step, and now he was close enough that she could smell his cologne—something sharp and metallic.

Marco grabbed her arm. ‘We should go,’ he whispered.

But the officer’s hand shot out, gripping Elena’s wrist. His fingers were like ice. ‘Not so fast. I need to take a statement.’

Elena’s skin crawled. There was something wrong about him—the way he stood, too still, the way his smile never reached his eyes. As he pulled out a notepad, she saw a dark stain on his uniform sleeve that looked like dried blood.

‘Let go of me,’ she said, her voice trembling.

The officer’s grip tightened. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

And then, from behind them, a voice—shrill and distant—called out. ‘Hey! Is everything okay over there?’

They turned to see a security guard from the mall, his flashlight bobbing as he jogged toward them. The officer’s face flickered with annoyance, and he released Elena’s wrist.

‘Just a minor incident,’ he said smoothly. ‘Drunk fell into the fountain. I’ll handle it.’

The guard looked at the man in the water, then at the officer. ‘You’re not Officer Reyes. Who are you?’

The officer’s smile didn’t waver. ‘I’m new. Just transferred from the next precinct.’

The guard frowned, pulling out his radio. ‘I think I should call this in.’

In that flash of a moment, the officer’s mask dropped. His eyes went cold, and he reached for his gun. Elena screamed, and Marco yanked her hard, pulling her down the slope. Behind them, she heard a scuffle, then a single gunshot, then silence.

They didn’t stop running until they reached the car. Elena fumbled with the keys, her hands shaking, and they peeled out of the lot, tires screeching. They drove in silence for miles, the radio off, the only sound their ragged breaths.

When they finally pulled into their driveway, Marco looked at her, his face pale. ‘Did you see his eyes?’ he whispered.

Elena nodded, unable to speak. She hadn’t told him what she’d seen in that final moment—the officer’s face contorting into something inhuman, a flash of yellow in his eyes, and the way the shadows around them seemed to writhe and reach toward the fountain’s edge.

Later, as she lay in bed, she couldn’t shake the image. The police report would call it an accident—a drunk man tripping into a fountain, a panicked officer firing a warning shot that killed him. But Elena knew the truth. She’d seen the cold stare of the Celosia, the thing that wore a police uniform and fed on fear. And it knew her name now.

She never went back to that mall. But sometimes, at night, she catches a glimpse of a figure standing at the edge of her driveway, watching the house. Its eyes are not human. And its lips move, forming words she can almost hear. ‘I know you saw.’

She doesn’t know how long it will be before it comes for her, but she knows it will. And when it does, she’ll be ready. Because the cold stare is patient, and it always gets what it wants.