I jolted awake, heart pounding, lungs gasping for air. Fear clung to me like a second skin, stubborn and unyielding. For three years, the same dream had haunted me—darkness, the relentless feeling of being hunted, and the sound of my own footsteps echoing as I ran. Sitting upright, I found myself tangled in my sheets. My sketchbook slid off the bed, landing with a soft flutter as its blank pages scattered across the floor. A breath of relief swept over me like a cool breeze.
Swinging my legs to the side, I planted my feet on the chilly floorboards. That cold sting grounded me, slowing my panicked thoughts. Still shaky, I rose and headed toward the bathroom. But just as I glanced at the door, my left foot caught in the sheet. It yanked me backward. I stumbled, arms flailing for balance—too late. I crashed down, my body twisting mid-fall. Pain pulsed from my stump in a wave that stole my breath.
"I'm okay," I muttered, pushing myself up quickly. The morning routine would wait for no one.
In the bathroom, my Xanax bottle sat exactly where it always did—on the counter, like a loyal shadow. Some days, I wished it would sprout legs and vanish down the drain. Bitter little things, but they kept the chaos in check. I popped the cap, dry-swallowed one, and caught my reflection in the mirror.
My green eyes stared back—clearer than usual, almost hopeful. I smirked, then winked. "Hello, beautiful. Today will be a great day," I said, first in my head, then aloud. That goofy grin crept across my face again. Yeah, I was definitely talking to myself—again.
Warm water welcomed me as I stepped into the shower, rinsing away the residue of fear and doubt.
Just as I crossed into the kitchen, Laura jumped into action. Camera in hand, she snapped a photo mid-expression.
"This one's going in the album, short stuff!" she beamed, already walking off, laughter trailing behind her.
"Hey, I'm not short!" I called after her, fully aware of how ridiculous that sounded—especially since she had at least a few inches on me.
Where I was compact and athletic from years of gymnastics, Laura had that sleek, fencer's build—long lines and sharp poise.
I followed her into our cozy kitchen-living room mashup. The place felt like home: warm tones, a snug kitchen with a big cupboard, compact fridge, and a worn but reliable sink. The table stood at the center, ready for meals and late-night chats.
Over breakfast, Laura asked, "So, how's the porridge? Okay?"
"Delicious," I said with a grateful smile. "Thanks for making it."
We chatted about school, my first day, little things—until I drifted, my mind slipping into shadows.
"You alright?" she asked, eyebrows knitting together.
"Yeah," I lied, brushing it off. But the truth? The nightmares were getting worse.
Laura left briefly, returning with her hands hidden behind her back and a mischievous grin lighting up her face.
I played along, raising an eyebrow and saying nothing. I glanced at the clock, then back at her.
She cleared her throat, trying to grab my attention.
"Everything okay?" I asked.
"Nope," she pouted dramatically. "You're no fun anymore."
Then, like a magician, she revealed her hands and held them out. "Pick one."
After a moment's hesitation, I pointed.
She opened her palm to reveal a delicate silver pendant. My name—Alex—was etched into its smooth surface.
"If you ever feel alone," she said softly, "just whisper my name into it."
It was cool to the touch, lighter than it looked, shaped like a slim rectangle of chilled metal.
I smiled and, just for fun, whispered "Laura" into it three times.
We both burst into laughter. "Think it's broken!" I teased.
"Want me to put it on you?" she offered, eyes sparkling.
I nodded, and she tied it gently around my neck.
"Now go finish your food," she teased, nudging me.
I rinsed my plate, but she waved me away. "I've got it."
As I stepped out into the crisp Cape Town morning, the cool ocean breeze carried the salty scent of the sea, invigorating me instantly. The sun, already high in the sky despite the early hour, cast a warm glow over the city. I pulled my black cap on—Tristan had gifted it to me two years ago. A faint smile touched my lips at the memory of his bright grin and infectious laughter. Faded and worn, the cap remained my most treasured possession—a tangible reminder of his kindness.
He'd found me wandering the streets, lost, crying, and alone. The memory of that day lingered like a bruise. But Tristan had been a beacon of warmth in my darkest hour. He brought me home, and with Laura, gave me something I thought I'd never have again—family. Two years passed like a blur, but then, just when life began to feel normal, a head-on collision with a bus took him away. The pain hadn't dulled. It still clung to me, sharp and raw.
At the funeral, I stood near the back, trying to stay invisible. I overheard Mrs. Campbell whisper to someone, "Being a widow at such a young age must be hard." Her words were meant to be sympathetic, I think, but they felt cruel. A careless reminder that the hole Tristan left could never be filled.
Shaking off the weight of the past, I swung my school bag over my shoulder—my only shoulder—and set off. The school wasn't far, and the neighborhood wasn't bad by Cape Town standards. Still, my thoughts remained heavy, the ache of Tristan's absence following me like a shadow.
Then it hit me—subtle at first, like a whisper at the edge of hearing. A strange sensation, like I was being watched. It came and went quickly, like I'd suddenly stepped out of time. One moment I was surrounded by the colorful noise of the city, the next, plunged into silence and darkness. These strange lapses had started a month ago, brief yet unsettling, always leaving behind a residue of dread.
The dreams had changed too. Now, in them, I was always running—from something I couldn't see, something cloaked in shadows. I never saw its face. I never got to turn around. Just endless sprinting until fear swallowed me whole.
By the time I reached the school, anxiety buzzed under my skin. Excitement wrestled with nerves as I stood before the entrance, flanked by two towering trees, their limbs stretching toward the sky like silent guardians. Birds chirped overhead, flowers swayed gently—but I couldn't shake the feeling that I didn't belong.
I took a deep breath and stepped forward—only to trip over the gate's railing. I crashed awkwardly onto my knees, books flying from my bag. The sound echoed embarrassingly loud. A few students turned. My cheeks burned.
As I scrambled to gather my things, a boy approached. His hair was a chaotic mess, and his smile was warm. "Hey, need a hand?" he asked.
I looked up. His eyes were like the ocean—calm, deep, endlessly blue. For a moment, everything stilled. The noise, the school, my thoughts. Then, just as quickly, he broke the moment and helped me up.
"I'm Jaden," he said. Before he could introduce the other boy beside him, the friend called out, "Jaden! We're gonna be late!"
Jaden gave me an apologetic smile. "Sorry, nice meeting you!" he called as they rushed off.
As I turned to collect the last of my books, I noticed one that didn't look familiar. The moment my fingers touched it, I froze. It felt… alive. Not in the literal sense, but it vibrated with something unspoken.
It was deep green, with an engraving of a sparrow and a sword on the cover. Silver inlay lined the edges, and the leather cover felt cold and worn. The pages were yellowed and delicate, whispering of age and secrets. It looked ancient—and valuable.
I tucked it into my bag, heart racing, certain it belonged to Jaden. I started after them, following the winding stone path through the school grounds. The crowd had thinned, and soon I found myself in front of a pair of tall double doors that led into the school hall.
That's when it happened.
Before I even reached the doors, my chest tightened. My heart began hammering violently—as if my body knew something my mind hadn't caught up to yet. Every instinct screamed for me to stop. But something else... pulled me in. A magnetic tug, invisible but undeniable.
I stepped forward.
My fingers closed around the cold handle, and I pushed the door open just a crack. Dim light spilled out. Inside, I saw rows of benches bolted to the floor, all facing a small stage. A typical school theater—or so it seemed.
But the moment I stepped inside, everything changed.
An unnatural cold slammed into me, wrapping around my limbs like chains. It wasn't just temperature—it was something else. Something ancient. My breath caught. The theater twisted and melted away like smoke.
I blinked.
I was no longer in the school.
The air turned thick and sour with the stench of rot. A soft, constant drip echoed around me, each splash like a heartbeat. I spun to find the exit—but it was gone. In its place stretched a narrow corridor, endless and dark.
It looked like a throat, waiting to swallow me whole.
Panic bloomed in my chest.
I was alone.
And I hadn't even begun to understand what had just happened.