Here's **another very long, standalone story**—in the same dark style, with a complex narrative and a deep atmosphere of dread.--# **13. "The Glass-Eyed Man of Liverpool"—A Story of Someone Who Seen Too Much**

In Liverpool, they like to say that the harbor remembers more than it should.

That the water collects the secrets of people who came here and never left.

That the fog on the quayside is like a curtain—if you lift it, you'll see things no one should see.

The scariest of these is the legend of the Glass-Eyed Man.

Some call him the Ghost of the Harbor.

Others call him the Last Witness. And the oldest sailors simply say:

> "If he looks at you, it means you've seen something you couldn't see.

> And then he won't let you go."

### **I**

It all began in 1931, the night the *Holborn Star* returned from a long voyage, even though it shouldn't have.

It had been lost at sea three years earlier. The crew was presumed dead.

And yet, that day, at dawn, the ship slowly sailed into port, as if no one was steering it alive.

Only one person was found on board.

A man sitting on a bench next to the helm.

Tall, gaunt, with a scarred face and hair so white it looked as if it had turned gray overnight.

And his eyes...

They weren't human eyes.

A glassy surface without pupils.

Smooth.

Gleaming.

As if made of thin sheets of glass bathed in cold light.

He didn't blink.

He didn't look away.

He stared straight at the people who dared to board.

"What's your name?" one of them asked.

The man slowly moved his head away, his glasses reflecting the morning sun.

"I am... the one who sees," he replied in a quiet, gravelly voice.

### **II**

They took him to the hospital, but nothing could be done for him.

He didn't eat.

He didn't sleep.

He didn't close his eyes.

He stared at the ceiling, as if he saw something there that no one else could.

The doctors said he had lost his sight—but if he had, why did he follow every movement of the people in the room?

On the first night, the nurse on duty noticed that the patient had disappeared from his bed.

She found him by the window, even though his legs were so weak he shouldn't be able to walk at all.

He stood motionless, staring into the darkness.

“What do you see there?” she asked.

He turned slowly.

Too slowly—as if his body wasn’t sure if it should obey.

“You,” he said. “I see you… everywhere.”

That same day, he escaped from the hospital.

He simply walked through a closed door.

No one could explain it.

### **III**

Rumors in the harbor began to circulate faster than the approaching storms.

People claimed to see him at night:

* standing at the end of the pier, still as a statue,

* sitting on cargo crates, staring at the waves,

* walking along the quay without a sound of footsteps.

And always—always—he looked with those glassy eyes that reflected the streetlights like wet pebbles.

They also said that if someone held eye contact with him for too long, they began to see **things behind them**.

Shadows.

Figures.

The outlines of hands gliding across the water.

As if the Man's eyes weren't looking *at* the world, but *through* it—to something beneath the surface.

### **IV**

The most famous story comes from a young sailor named Reggie Collins.

Reggie was returning to port late after working in a warehouse when he saw a man standing at the end of the dock.

Something about his figure sent a chill through Reggie's spine.

Instead of leaving, he stepped closer.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

The Man turned around quickly.

Too fast for someone barely keeping his balance.

Too fast for anyone at all.

His eyes reflected Reggie's face, replicating it in dozens of tiny reflections.

"You shouldn't be here," the man said. "You shouldn't see me."

"Why?"

"Because now... I'll see you."

Reggie started to back away, but his feet refused to obey.

Suddenly, he felt something moving beneath the surface.

Something huge.

Something that had no right to exist.

And the Man bowed his head and whispered:

"They come for those who look."

### **V**

Reggie ran home.

He didn't sleep.

He trembled.

Every reflective surface—glass, mirror, even a metal spoon—brought him a momentary glimpse of glass eyes.

After three days, he vanished without a trace.

Only his jacket was found on the same quay where he had met the Man.

And in his pocket—a small, smooth glass.

Resembling a fragment of an eye.

### **VI**

Legend has it that the Man with Glass Eyes still walks Liverpool.

Always at night.

Always where there's fog.

He doesn't attack.

He doesn't say much.

He simply looks.

And if you look into his eyes and see your own image in them—that means he already knows where you are.

And soon the *thing* that created him will know it too.

Because according to the oldest sailors, the glass in his eyes is not bone, not crystal, not enamel.

It is **frozen water from the ocean floor**, reflecting living things.in the dark.

Things that don't like being seen.