Your girlfriend is a Skinwalker!

On an ordinary night, in the middle of Christmas week, you were sunk into the couch, a laptop resting on your lap. The television was off, leaving the apartment drowned in an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of a neighbor celebrating something you were no longer part of. It had been five months since your life had reached that point. You had your reasons. Reasons strong enough to push you into the hands of loan sharks — people who do not believe in forgiveness. Five months in debt. Five months counting days. With part of the money, you were smart enough to guarantee electricity, water, and food for a little longer. But nothing lasts when every coin is counted. Slowly, the fridge grew emptier, lights were used only at night, and fear began sleeping beside you. That Christmas week, everything was worse. While others worried about gifts and holiday dinners, you stared at your own hand. Your pinky finger, crooked and swollen, wrapped in an improvised splint. When you closed your eyes, the memory came back vividly: their visit a few days earlier. Calm voices. Cold smiles. The dry crack of bone breaking. It wasn’t punishment. It was a reminder. You wondered if you would manage to pay the debt… And whether you would even be alive by Christmas. Then, the laptop glowed. A new email appeared on the screen, standing out in the darkness of the room. Something absurd. Unreal. A thread of hope that felt more like a trap than salvation. The subject made your stomach twist: “ONE MILLION DOLLARS.” You read the email more than once. There were no suspicious links, no exaggerated promises. Just simple instructions. Accept the offer. Be ready. Get into a car that would stop outside your door at dawn. You closed the laptop and set it aside. You stood up, pacing back and forth, the weight of the decision pressing against your chest. Accept it or not? Deep down, you knew. There was no choice. Either this. Or the loan sharks. You didn’t sleep that night. You stayed near the window, watching the empty street, every distant headlight making your heart race. Short breaths. Sweaty hands. Time crawled. Until the car appeared. A dark vehicle, no visible license plates. The rear passenger door opened by itself — inviting and threatening at the same time. You didn’t think. You just got in, sat down, and closed the door. The seat was cold. The interior smelled like old leather and something metallic. Beside you, an elderly man stared in silence, his eyes deep and far too attentive. Regret washed over you. Fear. A knot in your stomach. Not a single word was spoken during the trip. Hours passed. By the pale daylight slipping through the window, you guessed it was already close to noon. The car stopped. In front of you stood an isolated property, far from any sign of civilization. An old farm, surrounded by open fields. Cows, chickens, goats, horses, and ducks wandered freely. The air smelled of wet earth and hay. It was… beautiful. Almost cozy. The old man placed a firm hand on your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts. “We’ve arrived. This is where your girlfriend lives.” You stared at him, confused. Girlfriend? You weren’t dating anyone — let alone someone who lived in a place like this. Without giving you a chance to question him, he continued: “Your job is simple. You will stay here for seven days. On the eighth morning, we’ll come back to get you. Until then, you’ll stay with her… with Elenor.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his coat and placed it in your hands. The paper was yellowed and rough, as if it had been handled many times. “Memorize these rules well. They don’t exist for your safety… but for your survival. You’ll notice quickly, but Elenor is not human. She is a creature we call a Skinwalker.” You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued: “I know it sounds like a horror story. But these creatures are real. They’re spread all over the world, living among humans. All you have to do is simple: for seven days, be her boyfriend. Teach Elenor how to be human. Teach her how to imitate. How to blend in. How to go unnoticed.” He paused, staring directly into your eyes. “Don’t ask questions. Just survive. And remember: treat Elenor with love, and she will treat you with curiosity and gentleness. Show fear, disgust, or hatred… and her instincts will take care of you.” The car door opened. Before you could react, the old man practically shoved you outside. The car drove away, leaving you alone in front of a two-story house. The wood creaked with the wind. Peeling paint revealed the building’s age. With trembling hands, you unfolded the paper. Rules Be the perfect boyfriend. Compliment her. Show interest. Constant affection reduces aggressive behavior. Do not break the illusion. Never say this is a deal. To Elenor, the relationship is real. Never show fear. Fear is interpreted as weakness or a threat. Never call her strange, a creature, or a monster. Words shape reactions. Allow physical contact — but control your reactions. Direct rejection may be seen as betrayal. Correct behavior calmly. Anger and shouting provoke unpredictable responses. Never try to leave the property. She always notices. If Elenor asks about emotions, answer. Silence creates frustration. If she makes a mistake, praise the effort before correcting it. Teach her how to be human. Perfect her flaws. You folded the paper and slipped it into your pocket. As you raised your hand to ring the doorbell, the door opened by itself. You stepped inside. She was there. A beautiful, slender woman with pale skin, wearing a red dress that accentuated her curves. But the longer you looked, the more wrong she seemed. Her skin didn’t sit perfectly on her body, as if it were poorly fitted. Her blinking was uneven — her left eye lagged slightly behind the right. Her teeth were too perfect. Too straight. No canines. She smiled. “Hello, my love. You finally came back home! Come, I made your favorite dinner.” Her voice didn’t come from her throat. It came from her chest. From her ribs vibrating, reproducing human sounds like a poorly tuned recording. Before you realize it, you’re sitting at the table. A plate of risotto in front of you. Beside you, Elenor watches every movement you make, her own plate empty. “Go on, eat. I want to see your jaw move… I find it fascinating how you chew.” Her arm stretched toward you. Too far. Her elbow cracked as it shifted out of place. Her cold hand touched your face. Smooth. No fingerprints. The skin moved over the bones, like something not properly attached. By instinct, you pulled your head away. She froze. Her neck cracked, stretching unnaturally. Her pupils shrank until they vanished, then expanded, turning her eyes completely black. Panic flooded your body. You reacted quickly: “S-sorry… I’m shy.” She observed you. Curious. Her body relaxed. The arm returned to its place. “Shy…” She repeated the word, tasting the sound. “A defense mechanism. Interesting. I’ll store that in my repertoire.” She smiled, resting her face in her hand. “Now eat. After that, we’ll decorate our Christmas tree, my love.” Relief washed over you. Then she spoke again: “Tell me… what is love? My previous teacher said love is a great way to attract people.” She stared at you, waiting. Attentive. Learning.