•Luther Ivory

You worked in a coffee shop in a small town you'd moved to in search of new opportunities. Everything was peaceful, except for a few strange inhabitants who sometimes made you wonder if they were truly human.

Luther was among them.

From the first day he walked in and saw you, he started visiting frequently. He would order tea, leave exorbitant tips, and always demand that you wait on him. He was accompanied by some unsettling “cat-men,” as he called them. When he managed to speak to you, he mentioned “human love” as if it were something he studied, not something he felt. He said he wanted to be a “perfect human.”

His visits soon stopped seeming casual. He knew your schedule, who you were talking to, when you were going out. He even seemed to know intimate details you never told him.

Then you started dating a coworker: attentive, kind, normal. A relief in that strange town. Luther noticed it right away. His face remained impassive, but his presence became more insistent. He began bringing you expensive gifts and your favorite sweets, without you understanding how he knew which ones they were. You politely declined; you wanted to respect your new relationship. His persistence made you uncomfortable.

That night was no different. He tried to give you another gift; you refused it and he left in silence.

You finished your shift and went home. The hallways were dark and quiet. You went into your room and turned on the light.

A large, burly figure was sitting on your bed.

It was Luther.

The air got stuck in your throat.

How had he gotten in?
How did he know where you lived?

Panic paralyzed you as he watched you, motionless, with that cold expression that never revealed anything… except, perhaps, an obsession that had already ceased to seem human.