The Vermilion Pattern

It was 2:47 AM, and I was walking the cracked asphalt loop behind the old mill complex that had been converted into student housing. My roommate, Derek, was beside me, dragging on a cigarette and complaining about the online match he’d just lost. I’d been hunched over a CAD model for eight hours straight, and the night air felt like a balm on my fried nerves.

We were on the final circuit before heading back when my foot caught on something soft. I stumbled, and Derek grabbed my arm to steady me. I looked down, expecting a discarded blanket or a bag of trash. But it was a creature—a large bird, maybe a heron or a crane, but wrong. Its wings were splayed at unnatural angles, and its body was a ruin of torn flesh. The feathers around the wound were matted with a dark, syrupy liquid that glistened under the pale streetlight.

‘Jesus,’ Derek muttered, crouching for a closer look. He poked it with the tip of his shoe, and the carcass shifted, revealing more damage. The chest was hollowed out, the ribs exposed like a grotesque cage. But what made my skin prickle was the pattern on the concrete around it—a sprawling, intricate array of lines and loops, as if some giant hand had painted the pavement with the bird’s blood. It wasn’t random; it was precise, almost geometric, like a circuit diagram for something unholy.

‘That’s not a car hit,’ Derek said, his voice losing its usual bravado. He flicked his cigarette away, and we both stood there, staring. The wind picked up, carrying a faint, metallic smell that clung to the back of my throat. I wanted to leave, but my feet were rooted. Derek pulled out his phone and snapped a few photos, the flash making the pattern leap out in stark red.

As we finally turned to go, I noticed a flash of white in my peripheral vision—a shape moving between the parked cars near the mill entrance. I grabbed Derek’s sleeve. ‘Did you see that?’ He squinted but saw nothing. I chalked it up to exhaustion. We walked back to our building in silence.

The next morning, I couldn’t shake the image. I Googled ‘bird mutilation pattern’ and found nothing but dead ends. Derek showed me the photos he’d taken, and on the edge of one, there was a blurred shape—a figure, hunched over, too large to be a person. We zoomed in, but it was just a smudge of pixels.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I went to the window and saw a light flickering near the same spot. I pulled on my jacket and went outside, thinking I’d find a streetlamp. But the light was moving—a bobbing lantern, held by a silhouette that was distinctly not human. It had elongated limbs and a head that swiveled too far, as if it were scanning the ground. My heart hammered as I ducked behind a dumpster. The creature knelt at the exact spot where we’d found the bird. It produced something from its coat—a brush, I think—and began painting with broad, deliberate strokes. The blood was fresh, glistening again, as if the sky had wept it.

I backed away slowly, my sneakers scraping against the asphalt. The creature stopped. Its head turned, and I saw eyes—too many, maybe three, maybe five, all reflecting the lantern light like oil on water. I ran. I didn’t stop until I was back in my apartment, door locked, blinds drawn. I didn’t tell Derek. I couldn’t. I hoped it was a one-off, just my mind playing tricks.

But last night, three days later, I saw it again from my window. It was in the parking lot, and this time it had a body—a stray cat, by the shape of it. It bent over, and I could hear the wet sounds of its work even through the glass. When it finished, it stood and looked directly at my window. Its mouth opened, but instead of a scream, a low hum filled the air, vibrating in my chest. It raised its hand, and the lantern flickered out. I clicked off my lamp and didn’t move until dawn.

This morning, I walked past the spot where the cat had been. The blood was gone, but the pattern remained—a new one, more complex than before. The loops and lines formed a shape that, at first, I thought was a bird in flight. But then I realized it was a map. A map of this complex. And at the center, marked with a small, perfect circle, was my building.

I don’t know what it’s planning, but I see the pattern now. It’s been building this design every night, using whatever it finds. And I think it’s been saving a space for me.