Eyes in the darkness

A homeless man dragged a box into place and sat on it.
“Right your wrongs. The wolves are coming,” he said, lighting a cigarette.

He heard the words as he walked past but paid no attention.

“You’ll see the yellow eyes in the corner of your room,” the man continued, exhaling smoke. “You’ll know it’s a warning. Every day, closer and closer.”

He glanced back briefly, then kept walking. When night came, he forgot about it.

At three in the morning, a noise woke him. For a second, in the corner of the room, he saw a pair of yellow eyes staring directly at him.

He rubbed his eyes and shook his head, forcing himself awake. When he looked again, the room was dark—and the eyes were gone.

He reached for the lamp and aimed it toward the corner. A pile of clothes sat where the eyes had been.

On his way to work the next day, the same man stepped down from the box.
“The problem with only feeding one,” he said, “is you end up with a hungry wolf. And when it gets loose… nothing but trouble. Right your wrongs.”

More unsettled this time, he kept walking, trying not to think about the eyes from the night before.

Behind him, the man lit another cigarette and spoke louder.
“It’ll get closer. It’s just a warning. But it’s a hungry wolf, after all.”

That night, he did the laundry, making sure there were no clothes left on the floor—just to be safe.

A noise in the corner woke him again. He grabbed his phone and shone the light across the room. Nothing.

He locked the screen.

Then, right where the light had been pointing, the yellow eyes appeared—watching him.

His heart raced. Right your wrongs. Everything he had done in his life rushed through his mind like a fast-forward film.

Could that be it? he thought. Is that what the man meant?

The eyes didn’t fade this time.

He sat up, sweating, hands shaking, and reached for the lamp.
How does he know?

The next day, exhausted from another sleepless night, he took the bus to work.

At his stop, a man asked for a lighter. He reached into his jacket and helped him light up.

The man switched stations on an old radio. A song crackled through the speaker:
The wolf knows—no need to ask.
It comes and goes, doesn’t need an invitation.
It’ll come, and it’ll wait… until it’s time.

A spike of fear hit him, but he pushed it down.

That night, drained, he fell asleep immediately.

In the morning, he was relieved to realize he had slept through the night. No interruptions.

He walked the same route to work. The man was there again, lying beside the box. A cigarette hung from his mouth. A bloody rag wrapped his hand.

“You made the wolf,” the man said, staring at the ground. “You starved it. Tortured it. Isolated it. Stole from it. Now it waits in the corner—hungry.”

He didn’t look up.
“You’ll hear the growls as the eyes stare through you.”

“It’ll be there until it’s time. Right them,” he added, clutching his injured hand in pain.

He broke into a run. He didn’t want to hear anything else. This time, it truly terrified him.

That night, a stench woke him. A gust of air brushed his hair, carrying the smell back and forth.

When he opened his eyes, the yellow eyes were right in front of him.

A cold ran down his spine as the wolf’s breath washed over his face.

Unable to scream. Unable to move.

He stared as the growl deepened, fangs emerging in the darkness, the yellow eyes burning in the room.

He closed his eyes as another gust of wind hit his face.