The rain had a vendetta tonight. It slapped against Ivor Drench’s window in erratic bursts, as if demanding to be let in. The neon glow of the Greydell skyline bled through the fogged glass, casting long shadows across the apartment’s cluttered interior. Half-inflated balloons sagged over a crooked banner that read “New Year, New Chaos!” in glittery letters.
Ivor stared at the banner with tired eyes.
“Subtle, Mara.”
“Subtle is boring.”
Mara Thistle twirled a sparkler dangerously close to the couch. Her lipstick was the shade of fresh blood, and her sequined jacket caught the light like a disco ball on steroids. She grinned.
Mara had been Ivor’s best friend since university—a loud, reckless spark to his quiet cynicism. She filled the room with energy he couldn’t summon if his life depended on it.
“It’s New Year’s Eve, Ivor. You should be happy.”
“Mm.” Ivor took a sip from his chipped mug. The coffee was cold, yet he sipped it anyway.
Around them, the party limped on. A handful of half-drunk guests mingled in corners, shouting over off-key karaoke and the hum of a dying speaker. The room smelled of stale chips, burnt dip, and desperation.
“Come on,” Mara nudged him with her elbow. “One resolution. One wish. Humor me.”
Ivor leaned back, eyes half-lidded. “I wish this stupid year would never end. That way, I wouldn’t have to deal with any of this ‘new year, new me’ crap.”
The words slipped out casually, but the weight behind them lingered.
Mara raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Inspirational.”
He didn’t look at her.
“Every year’s the same, Mara. People make resolutions they’ll break by February. Fall in love just to fall apart. Pretend next year will be different. It won’t be.”
There was a flicker of something beneath his sarcasm—an edge that hadn’t been there before.
Mara caught it.
Her grin softened.
“This about her?” she asked, quieter now.
Ivor didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
Outside, the city held its breath.
“Five! Four!” The guests joined the countdown, slurring the numbers.
Ivor didn’t bother.
“Three! Two! One!”
The world erupted in cheers. Fireworks painted the sky in wild colors. Glasses clinked. Laughter swelled.
Then… silence.
The world stuttered.
Ivor blinked.
The clock still read 11:59 PM.
“…Huh?”
Mara giggled, waving her sparkler. “Happy—wait, is it stuck?” She tapped her phone. December 31st.
The TV looped the countdown.
“Five! Four! Three—”
Ivor sat up straight.
“Mara. Did we just—”
Ding-dong.
The doorbell.
Neither of them moved.
Another chime. Longer this time.
Slowly, Ivor approached the door.
The hallway beyond was dark, shadows pressing against the doorframe.
He opened it.
A woman stood there, the rain sliding off her perfectly tailored black suit. Her silver eyes gleamed like polished steel, and her pale skin glowed faintly, as if lit by some hidden moon.
She smiled. Slow. Predatory.
“Ivor Drench.”
His mouth went dry. “…Uh, yeah?”
She tilted her head.
“Congratulations. Your wish has been granted.”
Ivor blinked. “Wait, what?“
Moments later, they sat in the dim glow of the living room.
Nyxie lounged on the edge of the couch, legs crossed with impossible grace. Mara sat rigid, clutching her drink like a shield.
“Your wish,” Nyxie repeated, inspecting her nails. “The one about the year never ending. Granted. Irrevocably binding, naturally.”
Ivor laughed, but it came out shaky. “You’re joking.”
“Oh, I never joke about business.”
“Business?”
Nyxie slid a silver coin across the table. One side was blank; the other read Be Careful What You Wish For.
“Payment,” she said. “And a warning. Bit late for the latter.”
Mara leaned in, whispering, “Is she a demon?“
Nyxie’s smile sharpened. “No. Worse. I’m in customer service.”
Ivor’s throat tightened. “Undo it.”
Nyxie tilted her head. “Oh, I would, but undoing a wish? That’s… tricky. But not impossible.”
Her silver eyes gleamed.
“Find the one thing you feared most this year and embrace it. Only then will the year move on.”
Her smile widened. “Most people don’t realize how afraid they are until it’s far too late.”
And with a blink, she was gone.
Hours—maybe days—passed.
Time spiraled in on itself.
The streets of Greydell warped. Streetlights flickered, stretching like melting wax. Voices echoed in reverse. People repeated conversations, their eyes glassy. Some flickered, their forms stuttering in and out of existence.
Mara stared as a man on the corner laughed the same laugh on a loop.
“This… isn’t right.”
Ivor rubbed his face. “No kidding.”
“Embrace what you’re afraid of,” Mara murmured. “What does that even mean?”
Ivor didn’t answer right away.
He sat on the threadbare couch, the silver coin cool in his palm.
Afraid?
What had he feared this year?
The unopened emails. The half-finished applications. The unopened sketchbook.
But none of that burned like her absence.
Eris Vale.
The memory of their last fight tightened in his chest.
Her voice, brittle and breaking—
“You don’t want a new year, Ivor. You don’t want any year. You’re just stuck.”
He had been.
Rooted in fear.
Afraid that reaching out to her meant risking rejection. Afraid that moving forward might hurt more than standing still.
The walls seemed to close in.
“…Of course.”
Mara tilted her head. “What?“
“I know what I’m afraid of.”
“Okay, good. What is it?”
“…I need to find someone.”
Mara stared. “Her?”
He didn’t answer.
The streets of Greydell twisted unnaturally as Ivor made his way through the cold, warped city. Streetlights leaned at impossible angles, their glow sputtering in and out. Windows flickered like blinking eyes, watching him pass.
Mara had wanted to come with him, but he told her no.
This was something he had to face alone.
He paused in front of the gallery’s entrance.
The glass doors were cracked, and the sign above hung crooked, swinging in an invisible breeze.
His hand hovered near the handle.
For a moment, he hesitated.
And then it hit him.
He wasn’t just trying to fix the year.
He was trying to fix himself.
The thought tightened in his chest.
With a steadying breath, Ivor pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The gallery was cracked at the edges—paintings bleeding into the walls, colors dripping like melted wax. Canvases sagged, their subjects distorted, as if they were trying to crawl out of the frames. The air was thick with the scent of oil paint and something fouler, like charred paper.
Ivor stepped cautiously inside, each footfall echoing too loudly in the cavernous space.
It was colder here.
Eris stood at the far end, painting in furious strokes. Her figure was silhouetted against a canvas taller than she was, splashed with angry reds and shadowy blues. Shadows coiled unnaturally around her feet, stretching and flickering like they had minds of their own.
She didn’t look up.
“Ivor?”
Her voice was quiet, but it didn’t waver.
He froze.
It had been months since he heard her say his name. Months since he last stood here, in this very space. But it wasn’t the same.
No music hummed through the walls. No faint smell of lavender. Only silence and the suffocating weight of unspoken words.
He swallowed hard.
“Yeah. It’s me.”
The brush in her hand moved slower now, each stroke more deliberate, like she was deciding whether to keep painting or throw it at him.
“You didn’t come to my last show.”
The words cut through the stillness, sharper than he expected.
“I know.”
Her shoulders tensed, but she didn’t turn.
“You said you would.”
“I was scared.”
Silence stretched, taut and fragile.
“Of what?” she asked, quieter now.
Ivor’s breath caught. His eyes drifted to the warped paintings lining the walls, their colors melting like time itself was giving up.
“Of how much you mattered.”
The words felt heavier than he imagined, dragging something dark and ancient from his chest.
The walls groaned, slow and deep, like the building itself was listening.
Eris’s brush paused midair.
“That’s a new excuse,” she murmured, but there was no venom in it. Just exhaustion.
Ivor took a hesitant step forward. The floorboards creaked under his weight.
“Everything’s falling apart, Eris. Time. People. Me. And it’s because I was too much of a coward to admit what I felt.”
Still, she didn’t move.
“Look around you,” he said, gesturing to the melting walls. “This… this is what I did. To everything. To us.”
The shadows on the walls deepened, crawling closer.
Her grip tightened on the brush.
“And now?” she whispered.
He swallowed, feeling the weight of the silver coin in his pocket, cold and biting.
“Now…” His voice cracked. “I wish for the year to begin. No matter what happens.”
For a heartbeat, nothing changed.
Then the air split.
A jagged crack tore across the ceiling, light spilling through like a wound. The walls trembled violently, and the paintings began to peel away in long, curling strips.
Colors drained from the canvases, swirling upward into the crack above.
Eris stumbled back, eyes wide, clutching her paint-stained hands to her chest.
“Ivor, what—”
A clock somewhere began to chime.
Once. Twice.
Midnight.
But this time, the clock ticked forward.
And the world, for the first time in far too long, began to breathe again.
January 1st.
His phone buzzed.
Eris: Hey. Want to grab coffee sometime?
Ivor smiled.
“Funny. Maybe ‘new year, new me’ isn’t total crap after all.”
The silver coin glinted.
And the year marched on.
If you loved “Be Careful What You Wish For” and crave more dark twists, emotional journeys, and unforgettable characters, explore more stories like this at podiumexpress.com!
