And something was playing the wolf. Growls erupted from behind her, echoed by others coming from different directions. She stopped abruptly, spinning to confront the approaching menace—massive canines, hellhounds born of nightmare and dark magic. Their shaggy, coal-black fur seemed almost woven from shadows, their fangs dripping with viscous, bloody saliva.

  Ruth's scream shattered the silence. Almost as if in response, the light returned, forming a protective circle around her. “Get away from me!” she yelled, her hands pressed against her face.

  One hound let out a chilling howl while another lunged at her, jaws gaping. But before it could make contact, the encircling light solidified into a barrier, a cylindrical shield. It was as though she was enveloped in an embrace, wrapped in the warmth of unconditional love.

  When the light dissolved, she found herself standing in her kitchen—inside her own hellish dwelling. Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor, sobbing, a quivering heap on the cold tile. Her ears still reverberated with the distant baying of the hellhounds; a haunting sound that would forever linger at the edge of her consciousness.

  Yet she wasn’t alone.

  The creak of a floorboard signaled Jeremiah's presence. He sat beside her, his fingers gently combing through her dark hair as he made soothing, almost melodic, sounds. Ruth, aching for touch, for comfort, practically clambered into his lap, pressing herself against him. It was a desperate plea, an unspoken prayer that he would remain by her side.

  And for the first time, he did.

  15

  Urgent Request

  “There’s something off about my mom,” Tilly declared, her voice tinged with an urgency that caught Tovah's attention the moment she opened the door to their Tel Aviv apartment. “I need to talk to your dad, like, now.”

  Tovah’s eyebrows knitted together. “Abba’s at Shuk HaCarmel, he won’t be back for a while.”

  Casting an anxious look over her shoulder as if she expected someone to materialize out of thin air, Tilly said, “Then let me wait inside. I can’t stay out here.”

  “You know Abba’s rule. No one's allowed in when he's not home.”

  Tilly rolled her eyes, exasperated. “He’s talking about strangers, Tovah. Let me in before someone drives by and spots me.”

  Yielding to her friend's urgency, Tovah widened the door, allowing Tilly to step inside. But not before she took a quick glance outside herself. The sun-drenched streets of Tel Aviv hummed with the usual bustling activity. “There’s nobody out there, Tilly. What are you—”

  Cutting her off, Tilly grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her in, slamming the door shut and quickly locking it. “Don't just gawk. You never know who's watching.”

  “Who would be watching me?” Tovah’s eyes narrowed, her confusion growing. “You’re not making sense, Tilly.”

  Ignoring the query, Tilly strode into the living room, collapsing onto the couch as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. “Don't you usually have a babysitter when your dad’s out?”

  “Sarit had to leave early. I called Abba, and he said he’d try to come back as soon as he can,” Tovah replied, her eyes still questioning. “He’ll probably be relieved to see you. He hates leaving me alone.”

  “You’re thirteen, Tovah. I was done with babysitters by the time I was ten.”

  Dismissing the comment with another shrug, Tovah asked, “Who were you worried would see you? Your ima?”

  A shadow seemed to pass over Tilly’s face. She leaned forward, her posture shifting from slumped resignation to keen alertness, her arms bracing against her thighs. She chewed at her lower lip before finally confessing, “I think someone’s tailing my mom. And it’s started to feel like they’re following me, too.”

  Captivated by Tilly’s confession, Tovah sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch. “Why would anyone follow Aunt Maggie? She just works at a pet shop, right?”

  “Yeah, she does, but this isn’t about her job.” Tilly’s eyes met Tovah’s, laden with concern. “I think she owes someone money. I overheard her on the phone once, and ever since then, she's been acting all jittery. That's probably why she was so torn up about Asher; she thought maybe it was her fault somehow.”

  “Asher had cancer. And then a heart attack. Those things happen.”

  “I know, but she’s not thinking clearly,” Tilly’s voice cracked with frustration. “She’s terrified, Tovah. And now, so am I. Yesterday, I was at work, and I saw this car—the same car I’ve seen trailing my mom. Except now it was outside my workplace.”

  Tovah's eyes widened. “Are you sure it wasn’t just parked there, coincidentally?”

  “It followed me like a shadow, tracing my every move until I reached my boyfriend's apartment,” Tilly confessed, her voice threaded with anxiety. Her eyes flitted toward the window, as if half-expecting that lurking car to appear. "I scanned the street before coming here. I didn't see it, but that likely means it's tailing my mom now, doesn’t it?”

  The gravity of Tilly's words settled between them like a shroud. "That's terrifying," Tovah acknowledged. Her natural impulse was to probe, to question, to dissect the logic of it all. But she reminded herself that compassion should precede curiosity. "So, what exactly can Abba do?"

  "I don't know," Tilly sighed, her shoulders deflating. "Going to the police feels like inviting danger, given that I have no clue what my mom's entangled in. Maybe your dad could talk some sense into her. Offer an unbiased perspective?"

  Tovah contemplated, her mind adrift in the midst of her own chaos—the heaviness that had descended since her sister’s passing. It was as if the universe had lost some of its luminescence, leaving only a darker, more treacherous terrain to navigate. Late at night, a disturbing sense of being observed gripped her, and the lighter that Asher had gifted became her talisman. Even now, she felt its presence in the back pocket of her baby-blue shorts. Resisting the urge to fidget with it, she finally spoke. "Okay."

  Tilly blinked, caught off guard. "Okay? Just like that?"

  "Yes, okay," Tovah reiterated. "I think it could be good for him too. Abba has been enveloped in this lingering sadness. It's as if he's wrapped in a never-ending cloud of melancholy."

  For the first time, Tilly seemed to remember that Ahmed had lost his eldest daughter just weeks prior. Her eyes widened, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. "Oh my God. I—I forgot."

  Both girls rose from their spots. Tovah tried to speak but was interrupted by Tilly, whose face had drained of color, making her appear almost spectral. "They're here," she whispered.

  Tilly inched her way to the window, her hand gripping the sill as if it were a lifeline. She peered through the glass, now seeming like a pane that separated reality from impending danger. Tovah sidled up next to her, peering around the older girl’s frame. Sure enough, on the other side of the sun-drenched, seemingly innocuous Tel Aviv street was a car—a car that hadn’t been there before.

  The air in the room thickened, and in that moment, both girls understood that their lives had just intersected in a way neither had anticipated, merging their separate fears into a shared reality.

  The car that had manifested across the street looked like an enigma wrapped in black paint and tinted windows. It sat there idly, its headlights off, as if it were merely another unremarkable part of the Tel Aviv streetscape. "That's it," Tilly muttered. "That's the car that's been stalking my mom!"

  Tovah, acting on instinct, gripped Tilly's hand firmly. "Let's go to my room. Now."

  She tugged Tilly along, and they ascended the stairs, their footsteps punctuating the tense atmosphere. Upon reaching the sanctuary of her bedroom, Tovah locked the door behind them. "When did your dad say he'd be back?"

  "He didn’t specify," Tovah replied. "But given that the sitter had to leave, I doubt he'll be long." She motioned for Tilly to join her on the bed. Silence enveloped them—a pause that stretched into a palpable quietude, lasting nearly forty minutes.

  Then, the audible creak of the front door opening echoed from below, followed by footsteps. Tilly's eyes widened in sheer terror, but Tovah recognized the familiar cadence of her father's steps. She slid off the mattress.

  "Don’t!" Tilly hissed, grabbing her hand.

  "It's Abba," Tovah reassured her. "He can help."

  Skeptical but resigned, Tilly released her grip. The door swung open seconds after Tovah had unlocked it.

  Ahmed appeared in the doorway, his face a roadmap of stress lines and worry wrinkles. He looked as if he'd been stretched thin in every direction, like Play-dough nearing its breaking point. "I’m sorry for the delay, little one. What—Tilly? What brings you here?”

  “Uncle Abadi,” Tilly sobbed, lunging toward him and enveloping him in a desperate hug. “I’m scared. I don't know what to do!”

  Ahmed escorted Tilly downstairs, leaving Tovah sequestered in her room—unfair, but not unexpected. The ones who’d always treated her like she was in the know, Asher and Ruth, were gone.

  And as the darkness within her began to swell, Tovah pulled out the lighter from her back pocket. She clicked it twice, and then a third time, locking her thumb in place to keep the flame alive. There, in the flickering light, something caught her eye—a tiny, beady glint. Tovah squinted, bringing the flame closer to her face for examination.

  "What is..." she gasped, her voice catching in her throat.

  It was an eye!

  With a horrified squeal, Tovah dropped the lighter. It skidded across the floor, extinguishing itself just before it could pose any real danger. But as it disappeared under the bed, Tovah didn't make a move to retrieve it. Whatever normalcy the lighter once symbolized was shattered now, reduced to inexplicable terror that seemed to permeate even the most mundane parts of her life.

  Tilly stayed for dinner, which was a quiet affair. She was given the guest room downstairs. Ahmed came into Tovah’s bedroom and tucked her in, then pressed his hands to either side of her face. He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I need you to do me a big favor, Tovah.”

  “Okay.” Tovah stared up at her father, big eyed and serious. Favors were like secrets. People didn’t ask them of Tovah often. “Anything.”

  “Your cousin is going through something very difficult. I have offered to let her stay with us for a few days, while we sort this out.”

  “She said that Aunt Maggie owed someone money.”

  “Yes.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Tovah’s knee. The touch was nothing shy of comforting. “That’s correct. I tried to call your aunt today, but she didn’t answer the phone. I’ll go over tomorrow and check on her.”

  “Do you think she’s hurt?”

  “You are the most curious girl in the world,” said Ahmed, neither warmly nor coldly. It was a simple unchangeable fact.

  Tovah just shrugged.

  Ahmed admitted, “I don’t know what I’ll find when I go over tomorrow, but I do know this. Tilly will need you to treat her with kindness. So I need you to promise that if you have any questions, you’ll wait and ask me.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Not Tilly,” clarified Abba. “Just wait and ask me.”

  “Okay,” said Tovah, a little put out. She thought that the favor might have been something that needed to be done, not just her father asking her to be quiet. It was done with love, Tovah knew, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

  She had little to say in the moments that followed as her abba kissed her forehead goodnight and then left the room, pulling the door shut behind him with a little click. Tovah dropped down backward onto the mattress and stared up at the ceiling above her, wishing that it was at least raining outside.

  Ruth had loved the rain.

  If it was raining, then Tovah could pretend that her sister had only gone for a Storm Walk, and that she would be back. But it wasn’t raining and Ruth was never coming back. And that meant that Tovah was going to be stuck here alone forever, with only people who didn’t understand.

  The lighter was under the bed. The sensation of being watched came again, as it did every night. Tovah felt tears form in the corner of her eyes. This time, instead of hiding beneath the bed, she rolled over and pressed her face into the pillow.

  The blanket was pulled up around her shoulders and then higher up, covering her completely until a special warm sort of protective sensation brushed over her instead. With the blanket over her, there was nothing to be seen, so even though the eyes never stopped watching…

  It was better.

  It was something.

  16

  Creatures of the Dark

  By the third whirl around the phantasmagoric merry-go-round, the rust was still clinging stubbornly to the horses, even though the bleeding—whatever ethereal lifeblood that had seeped from the wounds in the world—had ceased. Ruth looked at the carousel with a sense of longing that almost bordered on desperation. "Can I clean them?"

  Jeremiah cocked his head, pondering her question. "Clean what, exactly? The universe?"

  "The horses!" Ruth's mirthful voice lifted like a soft note sung during Shabbat prayers. "I mean, the world could do with a good cleansing too, couldn't it? But look at them--these horses. They wear expressions as if the Shechinah—the divine presence—has abandoned them."

  "I'm aware of the Shechinah, Ruth. Do you feel abandoned?" Jeremiah asked, piercing her with his gaze, a look that seemed to see through the veils between worlds.

  "I don't know," Ruth replied hesitantly, stepping onto the forlorn carousel as if she were crossing into sacred space—a mechitza separating the ordinary from the sacred. "I know Asher was looking for me. I felt him in the house. I thought maybe he'd come back, but I can't find him. I can't feel him."

  "So, you believe he's forgotten you?"

  "No, I think Shamayim is beautiful," she said, caressing the chipped paint on one of the carousel horses like it was a mezuzah at the doorway to a long-lost home. "I think he saw what my world has become, and maybe, just maybe, he got lost in the splendors of the divine."

  Jeremiah stepped up beside her, looking down at the horses as if pondering the mysteries of the Torah. "Is that why you wish to cleanse this place? To make it resemble the Heaven you imagine?"

  "Partly," Ruth admitted, her voice soft as challah. "But it's more than that. I just think... they deserve better."

  "Ah," Jeremiah whispered, his hand gently caressing the nose of one of the horses. "This realm is an extension of your soul, you know that, don't you? Just like a siddur is an extension of one's prayers."

  Ruth nodded. "I've started to realize. That’s why the house is there, the garden, this entire amusement park. They’re all spun from the threads of my experiences and deepest yearnings."

  "In that case, they deserve a softer existence because you do. It's a mutual belonging," Jeremiah's words felt like more than a simple response to her statement; it felt like wisdom passed down through generations, like ancient scrolls unrolled just for her.

  "So how do I clean it?" Ruth asked, anticipation dancing in her eyes.

  Before Jeremiah could answer, a scream erupted in the air—a sound as jarring as the shofar's call, yet tinged with a feral edge, like a wild beast on the prowl. Jeremiah spun around, his dark robes billowing like the wings of the Angel of Death.

  "What was that?" Ruth's eyes widened, fear clouding her face.

  "Come," Jeremiah commanded, seizing her hand like it was a lifeline. "We must define the boundaries of your world, lay down the halakhah—the law of this realm. These disruptions can't go on. Do you understand? We must make sure they cannot cross into your sacred space."

  And with that, he yanked her away from the eerie carnival, its abandoned rides like relics of forgotten dreams leaving the carousel to its eternal, silent spinning—a world in limbo, yearning for redemption, like all worlds do.

  She became breathless as he led her farther and farther until the scenery shifted grotesquely. Now there were only overgrown flowers that soon gave way to a dark forest, a suffocating jungle that clawed at her with its sprawling foliage. The woods seemed almost ravenous, as though infused with a malevolent hunger that she couldn’t call her own.

  “What is this place? What's happened?” Ruth’s voice scaled octaves as she took in the surrounding chaos. Wild ferns had choked out the other flora, and sporadic fires smoldered in the distance like the eyes of lurking demons. Another scream—a keening wail—echoed, amplifying the dissonance around them.

  “It’s a darkling.” Jeremiah abruptly halted, whipping around to face her. His hands clamped down on her shoulders with a force that made her gasp. “You have to understand, Ruth. What you’ve seen is just a sliver of what this realm can become. This is a place where endings are blasphemy, do you understand?”

  “What does that—”

  “No questions!” His voice was suddenly venomous, startling her into silence. The eyes that met hers were as fiery as the distant blazes, infused with an urgency and a rage she had never seen in him before.

  “You need to grasp this. I’ve been guarding the borders of your realm so far, but that’s a temporary solution. You’ll need to start enforcing those boundaries yourself. Soon.” The urgency drove his words like a stake through the heart.

  Clamping her mouth shut to stave off another question, Ruth nodded, signaling for him to go on. A lump of unease settled in her throat as a second scream, distant yet piercing, joined the first in the nocturnal cacophony.

  “The darklings are as eternal as I am. They are constants in a shifting reality.” He laid a hand over her chest, above her heart. “And they are irresistibly drawn to nascent souls like yours—souls still impotent of their own power.”