The world around me distorts, twisting and warping into a grotesque reflection of reality. Shadows stretch and writhe, flickering in and out of view like dark tendrils reaching toward me, refusing to fade. The ground beneath me shifts, pulsating with an eerie rhythm, as if it has a life of its own. I stand at the heart of a vast, dark forest, a suffocating mist swirling around my feet, cold and damp against my skin. It clings like a clammy blanket, wrapping me in its weight. The air smells of decaying leaves, moldy bark, and an overpowering sweetness, as if something had died here long ago and was left to rot in silence.
The trees tower over me, their twisted branches gnarled and unnatural, stretching out like clawed fingers, reaching for my throat. They seem to watch me, waiting. The silence is profound, almost unbearable, a heavy stillness that presses down on me, amplifying the pounding of my heart. I spin in slow circles, each beat of my pulse echoing in my ears, the sound deafening in the suffocating quiet. With each step I take, the earth beneath me seems to writhe, as if the ground itself is alive. A cold, slimy sensation brushes against my ankles, sending jolts of panic through me. I try to step forward, but the air feels thick, too thick—like walking through tar.
I glance down and see black vines, their surfaces slick and pulsating like veins of a monstrous creature, winding around my feet. The cold, creeping touch makes my skin crawl. I try to pull free, but the vines tighten, their grip unyielding, constricting around my calves. I stagger back, but the roots beneath my feet shift, pulling me deeper into the forest. I almost lose my balance, stumbling, but the vines hold me in place. I gasp for air, heart racing as the suffocating darkness closes in.
Then, through the fog, a faint glimmer catches my eye—a light in the distance, soft and pale, like the moonlight breaking through the clouded night. My breath catches as I push through the heavy mist, drawn to the object beneath the roots of an ancient tree. It gleams faintly, as though it's the only thing alive in this dreadful place. I step closer, my fingers trembling as I reach for it, feeling a strange pull that goes beyond simple curiosity.
As my hand touches the object, the fog seems to thicken, the air growing even colder. The box reveals itself, a small, ornate artifact, its surface etched with strange, glowing symbols. The symbols pulse, faintly but steadily, as though the box is breathing with a life of its own. I can feel the warmth seep into my fingers, but it's not comforting—no, it's unnerving, like the heat of something far too alive, something far too aware of me.
The lid creaks open, and as it does, a soft, silver light spills out, pushing back the darkness surrounding me. Inside, nestled in dark velvet, lies a delicate silver pendant, its crescent moon shape almost too perfect. A teardrop-shaped stone hangs from it, glowing with a mournful, ethereal light that seems to cast shadows even as it illuminates the space around me. A deep sense of grief washes over me, not my own grief, but something far older, far deeper—a sadness so profound it threatens to drown me.
Before I can think further, a whispering voice drifts through the trees, barely audible, like the rustle of dry leaves caught in the wind. "The blood of Fae… the light of truth… beware the darkness…"
The forest trembles as the voice fades, but its presence lingers in the air, heavy and oppressive. The branches above groan and creak, snapping under an unseen weight. The shadows deepen, growing thicker, pressing in on me from all sides. I hear the sound of vines tightening, their cold, slimy tendrils coiling around my legs, dragging me down, pulling me toward something I can't see. My breath comes in quick, shallow gasps as I try to scream, but no sound escapes. The words are stuck, caught in my throat, as if the very air is choking me.
The voices rise—discordant, frantic—each one jarring, like nails scraping across a chalkboard. They press into my mind, their words becoming clearer now, repeating the same phrases over and over, blurring together into one continuous scream. "The blood of Fae… beware the darkness… the light of truth…" The panic surges through me, my pulse hammering in my throat as the darkness closes in, threatening to swallow me whole. The vines grow tighter, colder. I try to push them away, but my hands slip off their slick surfaces. The light from the pendant flickers in the encroaching blackness, casting long, haunting shadows that twist and writhe as though alive.
I try to move, to run, but my legs are trapped, pinned beneath the weight of the vines. The darkness around me tightens, the shadows thickening like oil in water. I feel as though I'm suffocating, as if the very world is closing in on me. I want to scream, to cry out for help, but the words never reach my lips. I gasp, my chest tightening, feeling the dark weight pressing down on me. The whispers turn into an overwhelming roar, deafening, relentless.
Just as the darkness threatens to consume me completely, I scream. My voice cuts through the chaos, shattering the silence. And then, everything goes black.
******
I bolt upright in my bed, drenched in sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs as though it's trying to break free. The room is bathed in the soft, hesitant light of dawn, shadows stretching and warping, flickering as though they have a life of their own. I draw in sharp, ragged breaths, the scream from the nightmare still echoing in my ears. My hands shake uncontrollably, the memory of the cold, creeping vines around my ankles lingering as if they're still there, constricting around me. The metallic chill of the pendant presses into my skin, its coldness a stark reminder of the nightmare that felt far too real.
The door bursts open with a suddenness that makes me jump, and Mom rushes in, her face pale, eyes wide with fear. "Sarah, what's wrong? I heard you scream!"
I clutch the blanket tightly, trying to calm my rapid breathing. "I… I had a nightmare," I manage to say, the words thick with emotion. "It felt so real…"
Mom sits down at the edge of the bed, her hands trembling slightly as she reaches to smooth my hair. Her touch is gentle, soothing, but there's something in her movements—something tight, too controlled. "It's okay, monkey. It was just a dream. You're safe now."
I swallow hard, my throat dry and tight. "But it wasn't just any dream. I was in a forest, and there was this box, these symbols… They felt familiar. Like I've seen them before. And then there was a voice, talking about Fae and darkness…"
A flicker of something flashes in Mom's eyes—fear, recognition, something I can't quite place—and it's gone in a heartbeat. She lowers her gaze quickly, a subtle shift that feels like a secret slipping away. "You've been under a lot of stress lately," she says, her voice too calm, too practiced. "Sometimes our minds play tricks on us when we're anxious."
"No," I protest, shaking my head, the frustration breaking through. "This was different. I know I've seen those symbols before. And the pendant… it was like it was meant for me. Mom, are you sure you've told me everything about my past? About my birth parents? Because I keep feeling like there's something important I don't know, something you're not telling me."
Her hand stills on my hair, and for a moment, the room is thick with silence, heavy and unspoken. Her eyes search mine, a fleeting moment of hesitation, then she looks away. "Sarah, I've told you everything you need to know," she says softly, but there's a strain in her voice, a quiet defense behind her words. "Your parents loved you, and they wanted to keep you safe. That's all that matters."
I want to argue, to press her for more, but I can see the barrier in her eyes. There's sadness there, but also something resolute. I know I won't break through it. I feel my jaw tighten as the sting of unshed tears rises, and I look away. Maybe now isn't the right time. But the question burns in my chest—what's she hiding?
"Okay," I say, the word a hollow concession, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just… I need to get ready for school."
Mom nods, her expression softening slightly, though I see the worry in her eyes. "Okay, monkey. I'll see you after school."
She kisses my forehead, a lingering touch that feels more like an apology than comfort, and then leaves the room, the door clicking softly behind her. I sit there in the silence, my pulse still thudding in my ears, the weight of the dream and the questions pressing down on me. I know there's more to the story—something my mom isn't telling me. And I'm going to find it.
The morning drags, each second stretching out as I sit through class, my mind tangled in fragments of the nightmare: the symbols, the forest, the haunting voice. The teachers' voices are distant, their words muffled, as if they're coming from underwater. My mind can't focus; the scribbles in my notebook blur into meaningless lines, my thoughts trapped in a fog.
By the time lunch rolls around, I'm barely holding it together. I slump into my usual seat, away from the chatter and laughter, staring at my untouched food. The room feels too loud, the clatter of trays and chatter mixing into a dull hum. My thoughts keep drifting back to Mom's reaction this morning—the flicker of recognition in her eyes when I mentioned the symbols and the pendant. She's hiding something. I know it. But how can I get her to tell me the truth? A wave of frustration rises in my chest, and I take a shaky breath, trying to push the tears back.
"Sarah?"
The sound of my name pulls me from my thoughts. I jump, almost knocking over my drink. Justin stands in front of me, holding his tray, a concerned look on his face. He looks different today, somehow more serious, more intense. There's something in his eyes—something that makes my heart beat faster.
"Hey," I mumble, forcing a smile. "Didn't see you there."
He slides into the seat across from me, his gaze studying me closely. "Are you okay? You've seemed… off all day. Like you're a million miles away."
I shrug, avoiding his gaze. "I'm fine. Just… a lot on my mind, I guess."
Justin's frown deepens, but he doesn't press it. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything."
I hesitate, the words sitting on the tip of my tongue. I want to tell him about the nightmares, the symbols, the pendant—but something holds me back. Maybe it's the fear that it's all in my head, that I'm just imagining things. Or maybe it's the knowledge that saying it out loud will make it feel more real. Either way, the words get stuck.
"It's nothing," I say, forcing another weak smile. "Just… stuff with my mom. You know how it is."
Justin's brow furrows, but he nods, sensing that I'm not telling him the whole truth. "If you say so. I'm here if you need to talk, though."
I nod, grateful for his understanding. There's a brief silence between us, the noise of the cafeteria fading into the background. Then Justin shifts in his seat, breaking the tension.
"Hey, I'm sorry I canceled our library session last night," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Something came up with Natalia. But I was thinking… maybe we could meet up tomorrow instead? Even though it's the weekend. We still have a lot of research to do for that project."
I hesitate, my mind flashing back to the library, the strange comfort I felt being there with Justin. It would be a good distraction, something to keep me busy. But the thought of being alone with him, of feeling that pull between us, makes my stomach flutter with nerves. The thought of what else might be lurking underneath the surface makes my pulse quicken.
"Yeah, okay," I say, my voice coming out more easily than I expected. "That sounds good. We can meet at the library around noon?"
Justin smiles, his expression relaxing. "Perfect. I'll see you then."
He gets up to leave, giving my shoulder a light squeeze as he passes. The warmth of his touch lingers, and I watch him walk away, a mix of relief and unease swirling in my chest. The thought of spending more time with him is comforting, but the knowledge that something isn't right—the feeling that my mom knows more than she's saying—remains heavy, pressing down on me.
The rest of the school day passes in a blur, hours bleeding together as I go through the motions. My thoughts keep circling back to the forest, the box, and that pendant. I find myself sketching the crescent moon in the margins of my notebook again and again, as if drawing it will bring me closer to the answers I'm desperate to find. By the time the final bell rings, my head is pounding, and I feel like I'm walking through a fog.
I head straight home, the quiet of the house wrapping around me like a blanket. Mom's car is gone, and I'm relieved to have the place to myself. I drop my bag by the door and head to my room, collapsing onto my bed. My mind keeps drifting back to Mom's look this morning, to the flicker of fear in her eyes when I mentioned the symbols and the pendant. There was something there—something she didn't want me to see. But what?
I pull out my phone and text Justin:
Hey, can we actually meet up at my place tomorrow instead? I'm not feeling up to going out.
His reply is almost immediate:
Sure. Is everything okay?
Yeah, just tired. Thanks, Justin.
No problem. See you tomorrow.
I toss my phone aside and stare at the ceiling, the exhaustion settling deep in my bones. But sleep feels distant, unreachable. The sense of something closing in around me—something dark and unsettling—lingers, like a shadow I can't shake.
I pull the blanket up over my shoulders, hoping the night will bring some relief. I close my eyes, but the haunting sense of something just out of reach is there, following me into the darkness.
*******
The library is quieter than usual for a Saturday afternoon, its vast expanse filled only with the soft rustling of pages and the occasional squeak of a chair. I sit at our usual table, a stack of books piled in front of me. I glance at the clock on the wall, watching the minute hand slowly tick forward, each second stretching longer than the last.
Where is he?
My eyes drift back to the doorway, searching for any sign of Justin. He was late, which is unlike him. Normally, he's the one waiting for me, greeting me with a casual smile and a witty comment about me being fashionably late. I bite my lip, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest. I want to believe his excuses from yesterday about Natalia, but there was something off in the way he avoided my gaze when he apologized.
I flip open a book, trying to distract myself. The pages are filled with illustrations of ancient symbols, ones that seem eerily similar to the glowing carvings I had seen in my dreams. My fingers trace the lines of a particularly intricate design, my mind replaying the nightmare again: the dark forest, the whispers, the box.
"Sarah?"
My head snaps up, and my eyes meet Justin's. He stands at the edge of the table, his face a mixture of concern and something I can't quite decipher. His clothes are slightly disheveled, and there's a tiredness in his eyes that wasn't there before.
"Sorry I'm late," Justin says, sliding into the chair across from me. "Got caught up in some family stuff."
"It's okay," I reply, trying to keep my voice light. I've just been… waiting."
Justin sits back in his chair, eyes lingering on me for a moment longer than usual. "You sure you're alright? You seem off today."
I nod, giving him a small smile, but something inside me tightens. "Yeah, just… a lot on my mind."
He nods but doesn't look convinced. For a moment, silence stretches between us, the weight of unspoken things hanging in the air. I know I can't keep hiding everything, but I don't know if I'm ready to say it all out loud just yet. Instead, I change the subject, the words coming out almost too quickly.
"Ready to dive into this project?" I say, picking up one of the books, trying to push aside the nagging feeling that something is wrong.
Justin grins, his usual playful spark returning. "Always ready to dive in," he says, grabbing a book from the pile and flipping it open. "The town could have its own… pulse. Like the buildings are aware of who's there, or the roads change at night, leading people places they didn't mean to go."
I feel a spark of excitement at the direction this is going, the way Justin's enthusiasm matches mine. "Yeah, and maybe it's connected to something much older, something buried in the history of the town that people don't want anyone to discover."
His eyes light up as he glances at me. "You've been holding out on me. I didn't realize you were such a mastermind."
I feel my cheeks warm, but I quickly brush it off with a playful eye roll. "What can I say? I'm full of surprises."
Justin leans back in his chair, his smile turning softer, more genuine. "I can tell." His eyes linger on mine for a moment longer than usual, and I feel my heart rate quicken before I look away, focusing back on the project.
There's a moment of quiet between us, the sound of pages turning and the soft hum of the library filling the space. I'm starting to feel a little less on edge, like the tension that's been gnawing at me for the past few days is loosening, just a little. I'm still on guard, but something about Justin's presence is making it easier to breathe.
"So," Justin says, breaking the silence, "what about the characters? Got any ideas for them?"
I hesitate for a second, but the words come out easier this time, my walls not as high as before. "Maybe one of them's an outsider. They don't quite fit in, but there's something about the town that draws them in. Like they have unfinished business there… or maybe something they don't even know they're looking for."
Justin leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. His voice drops, softer now, almost teasing. "Unfinished business, huh? Sounds like a mystery waiting to happen."
I smile, meeting his eyes. "Exactly. A mystery no one's willing to solve—except for this one person who's stubborn enough to figure it out."
Justin chuckles, but it's quieter now, the atmosphere between us shifting. "You know," he says, his tone still playful, "I think this is going to be a good story. And I think we're the perfect team to write it."
Something about the way he says it makes me feel… lighter. Like maybe, just maybe, he's right. Maybe this project is exactly what I need. A little distraction from the chaos inside my head.
"Well, I couldn't do it without you," I say, finally feeling like the words are true. I glance at Justin again, and this time, instead of pulling away, I let myself meet his gaze for just a beat longer than usual. There's a quiet understanding between us now, something unspoken but comforting.
Justin smiles again, a bit shy this time. "I'm glad you think so." He reaches over to turn a page in the book, his fingers brushing mine. The contact sends a small jolt of electricity through me, and I quickly look down at the book, trying to ignore the heat spreading across my face.
"Let's figure this out," I say, my voice a little quieter now, but with a new sense of purpose. For the first time today, I feel like I can actually focus on something other than the weight of my own thoughts.
As we dive deeper into the project, the hours slip away. Justin talks about his ideas for the characters, and I listen intently, even offering my own suggestions. Each time he glances at me, there's a warmth in his eyes, a little spark that makes me wonder what's underneath all the joking and the easy smiles.
I don't know if I'm ready to uncover all of it yet—but for the first time in a while, I feel like I might want to.
We get back to work, our earlier banter fading as we dive into the project. Justin flips open his notebook and scribbles down some notes, then pushes the book toward me. "So, for the small town, what kind of atmosphere do we want? Should it feel creepy from the start, or should we ease into the danger?"
I tilt my head, thinking. "I think we should ease into it. Like, it starts out normal, even charming—people think they're just visiting a cute little town. Then as they stay longer, strange things start happening. The town becomes more oppressive the longer they're there."
"That's good," he nods, a grin playing at the corner of his lips. "You're good at this. I'm not sure if I'd have thought of that."
I feel a little warm at the compliment, but I brush it off. "Thanks. So, how do we introduce the witches and vampires? Should we have them be the reason people get stuck, or should they just be… part of the town's curse?"
Justin leans back in his chair, tapping his pen against his lips. "I like the idea of the curse being tied to them. Maybe they're the ones who put the town under the spell, and now everyone who enters is doomed to never leave. It could be a place where they trap people to feed on or use for rituals."
I raise an eyebrow. "Feed on? That sounds… dark."
His grin widens, and for a moment, there's a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Well, vampires are supposed to be dark, right? It's a horror story."
I can't help but laugh. "Fair point. So, we'll have witches keeping the town locked in place, controlling everything, and vampires feeding off anyone who stays too long. That should make for a pretty messed-up situation."
"Definitely," Justin says, the energy between us shifting. "We'll need a protagonist who somehow gets caught up in this. Someone who's got the skills or luck to try to escape."
I tap my pen against the page, pretending to think hard. "Maybe they're from a family of hunters, or someone who's stumbled onto the town by accident, like an outsider who's not supposed to be there. But then they start getting drawn in because of the mystery—or maybe someone in the town is trying to help them."
Justin nods along, his eyes fixed on my face. "I like that. Someone from outside the town who's got their own reasons for wanting to leave… or stay."
I feel the pressure in my chest ease a little as we throw ideas back and forth. The story is beginning to take shape, and with each suggestion, I start feeling more and more invested in it. But there's something else in the air now, something I can't quite name—something that shifts between us when our hands brush over a page or when our gazes meet just a little too long.
"Do we want a love interest?" Justin asks, breaking my train of thought.
"I don't know," I reply, distracted by the way his voice sounds when he says it—low, thoughtful. "Maybe, but it could complicate things. We're already dealing with vampires and witches. Throw in a romance, and it might just take away from the tension."
Justin raises an eyebrow, an amused smile creeping onto his face. "You're not a fan of romance, huh?"
"I'm a fan of tension," I reply quickly, forcing my attention back to the project. "But I guess a little romance could work if it's done right—if it adds to the danger and makes the stakes higher."
He leans in, tapping his pen against the paper. "So, maybe we have a character who starts to fall for someone in the town, but then they realize it's a trap. They're being used."
"That's good," I murmur, unable to stop myself from leaning a little closer as we both look at the page. "They think they're escaping, but then they find out they've been feeding the curse all along."
Justin's smile softens, and he looks at me for a moment too long before quickly glancing back down at the book. "Yeah. It's gotta be a messy ending. No one walks out of there unchanged."
I let out a small laugh, but it's edged with something else, something darker. "Yeah, nothing good ever comes from that kind of place."
There's a brief pause, and I realize that the air between us has thickened. There's a weight in his eyes, a strange intensity that makes my heart skip a beat. But before I can fully process it, Justin straightens, a little too quickly, and starts jotting down more notes.
"Alright," he says, the usual easygoing tone back in his voice. "Let's focus on the plot outline. We're on a roll here."
We dive back into the project, but I can't shake the feeling that something just shifted, something I can't quite place. Despite my best efforts to stay focused, the idea of the town, the curse, and the growing tension between us won't leave my mind. We continue writing, the lines between fiction and reality starting to blur as we build our dark little world.
But as we work, I find myself glancing at Justin more often than I mean to. His smile, his intensity, the way he listens so carefully when I speak—it's starting to feel like maybe, just maybe, I'm letting myself get too close.
As we dive deeper into the project, I feel the weight of the atmosphere around us shift. The words seem to flow more easily now, ideas bouncing between us as we refine the plot. The dark town, cursed by witches and haunted by vampires, takes shape in front of us. Our characters, their fates tied to the town's secrets, begin to feel real, and as I sketch out the details of our protagonist's escape attempt, I realize how much I've invested in this story.
But it's more than just the project that has my attention. Every glance, every word from Justin seems to hold more weight than it did before. His voice, deep and steady as he shares his thoughts, keeps pulling me in. The way his fingers brush mine as we both reach for the same book—every little touch, every accidental contact, sends a spark through me that I can't ignore.
"Do you think the protagonist will make it out in the end?" Justin asks, his voice suddenly low, his gaze flickering up to meet mine with an intensity I wasn't expecting.
I pause, considering his question carefully. It feels like more than just the story now. "I think it depends on how far they're willing to go. The town doesn't just trap people physically—it traps them in their own darkness, too. The longer they stay, the more they start to lose themselves."
Justin leans back in his chair, nodding thoughtfully. "Kind of like how we've all got our own demons to face. The town just forces it to the surface."
I feel a chill run through me at his words, and for a moment, the line between fiction and reality blurs. It's as though the shadows of the story we're writing are pulling at something inside me, something I haven't been able to shake since my nightmares started.
For a brief second, I wonder if Justin sees it, too—the weight we're both carrying, the things we haven't said. But the moment passes, and Justin breaks the silence, leaning forward again with a half-smile.
"We're going to make this really good," he says, his voice lighter now, teasing. "This is going to be a story people won't forget."
I smile back, the edges of my tension easing just a little. "As long as they're not too scared to finish it," I joke.
Justin chuckles, but there's something else there, something in the way he looks at me that makes my pulse quicken. For a second, I think he might say something more, something that might break the unspoken boundary between us. But then, he picks up his pen and writes something down, the moment slipping away like sand through my fingers.
"Alright, let's focus on the ending," Justin says, bringing me back to the present. "We need a killer final twist."
I nod, trying to focus, but my thoughts are still tangled in the unspoken words that are lingering between us. It's like a delicate thread, pulling me toward something I don't fully understand but can't ignore.
As the afternoon wears on, we continue to build the world of our story, but the tension between us only deepens. Every time I glance at Justin, I wonder what he's really thinking. Does he feel it too? Or is this just another project for him—just another story to tell, no more significant than the last?
By the time we finish for the day, I feel a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. We've made great progress on the project, but I can't shake the feeling that something has shifted between us. Something I'm not sure I'm ready to face.
"We'll meet again on Monday to finish the outline," Justin says, packing up his things. "But, hey, if you want, we can always finish the rest over the weekend. Just let me know."
I nod, still feeling the warmth of his gaze on me as he grabs his bag. "Yeah. I'll think about it."
He stands up, giving me one last look, and then, with a casual wave, heads out the door. The silence in the room feels heavier now, the weight of the afternoon hanging between us.
I stare at the page in front of me, the final paragraph of the project already written, the words already starting to blur. But as I sit there, my thoughts drifting back to Justin and the way he looked at me, I can't help but wonder—just for a second—whether I'm getting too close to something I'm not ready for.
The shadows in the corners of my room seem darker now, as though they're creeping closer, and for the first time today, I wonder if the town we've created is starting to feel just a little too real.