Every evening at precisely 8:17, the old man in the red coat would appear on the corner of Maple and 12th. He never spoke, never moved his head, just stood there with his hands in his pockets, staring at the pavement as if waiting for something that never came. No one knew his name, nor where he came from. Some said he was a ghost, others that he was just a madman lost in time. But no one could explain the symbols. They appeared only when the man was near. Not on the ground, not on buildings, but on people. A faint, glowing pattern etched into the skin, usually on the wrist or neck, like ancient runes carved by invisible hands. Most who noticed them simply thought it was a prank, a clever trick with temporary ink. But the symbols didn’t fade. They remained, pulsing softly, as though alive. Lena first saw them on her best friend, Mira. It was during their usual coffee break at the corner café, and Mira had rolled up her sleeve to show off a new tattoo. But the design wasn’t what Lena expected. The lines were jagged, uneven, and they seemed to shift when she looked away. “What is this?” Lena asked, leaning closer. Mira frowned. “I don’t know. I’ve had it all morning. It’s been... uncomfortable.” The next day, Lena found a symbol on her own wrist. It felt warm, like a brand, and when she tried to rub it off, it only grew darker. She stopped going out, avoiding the corner where the man stood. But the symbols spread. Soon, they were on her ankles, then her collarbone. People around her began to act strangely—whispering, avoiding eye contact, sometimes even laughing at nothing. One night, Lena followed the man. She watched him for hours, noting every detail. His red coat was old, frayed at the edges, and the fabric shimmered under the streetlights like oil on water. When he finally turned, his face was obscured by a shadow, but his eyes glowed faintly, like embers in the dark. He didn’t move when she stepped forward, just continued staring at the ground. She reached out, hesitating before touching his coat. The moment her fingers made contact, the world shifted. The air thickened, the sounds of the city faded, and she was standing in a place that didn’t exist. There were no buildings, no streets—just endless gray mist and a single, towering structure in the distance. It was shaped like a spiral, its surface covered in the same symbols that now marked her skin. The man was gone, but a voice echoed through the mist. “You are chosen,” it said, deep and resonant, like the sound of wind through hollow stone. “But you must understand before you decide.” Lena woke up on the sidewalk, the man still standing at the corner, as if nothing had happened. Her wrist burned, and the symbol had grown larger, now stretching across her forearm. She ran home, heart pounding, and searched the internet for any mention of the symbols. There was nothing—no records, no folklore, no legends. Just silence. Days passed, and more people began to show the marks. Some ignored them, others became paranoid, whispering about an unseen force. Lena tried to talk to Mira, but her friend had vanished. No one knew where she went, but the symbols on her apartment wall remained, glowing faintly in the dark. One evening, Lena returned to the corner. The man was still there, but this time, he turned to face her. His eyes were clear now, filled with something that looked like sorrow. “Why do you follow me?” she asked, voice trembling. He didn’t answer. Instead, he raised his hand, and the symbols on her arm pulsed brighter. A door appeared in the air, a swirling vortex of light and shadow. “This is your choice,” he said, his voice soft now. “To stay here, or to go through.” Lena hesitated. She didn’t know what waited beyond the door, but she also couldn’t unsee the symbols, couldn’t ignore the way the world had changed. The man nodded, as if he understood. Then, without another word, he turned and walked into the mist, disappearing as if he had never been there. Lena stood alone, the door still open behind her. She didn’t know if she would step through. But as she looked down at her arm, she realized the symbols had stopped growing. They were complete now, and for the first time, they didn’t feel threatening—they felt like a message. A warning. A question. And somewhere, in the quiet spaces between the real and the unseen, the man smiled.