It was just another morning. The sunshine filtered through the small slit in the curtain and entered the room.
And the room — not your typical bedroom. Buckets of paint are strewn across the floor, incomplete canvases are stacked in the corners, and there are splatters of ink everywhere.
An empty coffee mug with a visible mark on the rim from where one drank is on the table. Next to it is another incomplete portrait sketch, with pencils all over the space and eraser crumbs on the paper's surface.
"Ouch," she whispered as she shifted from reclining on the couch, holding the side of her neck as she tried to lift herself up.
"Did I sleep here again?" she said, her eyes half-closed, before sighing. "What's wrong with me? I can't even remember the last time I slept in my bed," she says, despite the fact that the bed is only five steps away from the couch.
"What time is it?" she asked, scratching her eye with the back of her pointing finger before rising to retrieve her phone from the floor. "How did this get here?"
"Seven-thirty-eight. She'll wake up at forty-five." She exited the room immediately, only to enter another.
The room is neat and tidy, and the colors are limited to black and white. Even the books on the shelf are organized by height and color. It is obvious that the owner is well-organized; if not, it could be someone with OCD.
"Why didn't she turn this off?" she wondered as she noticed the laptop left open on the side of the bed where another woman was blissfully asleep. She couldn't help but smile as she reached out to stroke the woman's hair. "I hope you wake up feeling this peaceful."
She moved to a corner of the room where sketches of various people's faces hung on the wall. "Till when do you have to come here only to stare for a few seconds and not really recognize anyone?" she added as she rearranged all the drawings on the wall.
She returned her gaze to the sleeping woman before leaving the room. "Have a good sleep, Dawn."
Little did she know that Dawn was having trouble sleeping because she was being haunted by the same nightmare.
2010
"Wait here, I'll find them, okay?" a fourteen-year-old girl murmured as she stroked the hair of her two-year-younger sister.
"Can't I just come with you, Dawn? I'm afraid of being alone in here," she pleaded, her eyes practically wet with tears.
"No, Iris," she responded before embracing the younger girl, "you should stay here because there are more dangerous things outside."
"So why are you going alone?"
"Because I am older than you. I am your sister. I should protect you," she softly explained before patting Iris on the head.
The younger girl sat there, staring at her sister, who left the house about 2 a.m. "Dawn, please return quickly," she said.
"Yes, I will, Iris!" she exclaimed, waving her hands in the air.
Tall grasses are most frightening at night, when the owls are screeching, and the moon is watching from above. The cool breeze brushes over the exposed skin, and there is rustling from the woods, leaving everyone wondering what was out there.
Tiny, terrified steps emerge from the darkness—in the middle of the road. No one is awake at this hour—even the angels are sleeping—and so what walked out there might be something not to mess with. But whatever it was will follow you with a large flawed smile on its face, going wherever you are going just to torment you.
"Mom!" Dawn exclaimed loudly, "Dad! Mom!"
She began to feel anxious. Even though she is a courageous little girl, she has certain fears. She, like everyone else, is afraid of being lost. She is afraid of not knowing how to return to where she started, and there is no other option except to keep moving forward even if she has no idea where she is going.
"Stephen, Dad! Mom, where have you gone?"
Then she heard it further down in the woods.
The scream.
The cry for help.
"Mom?" She froze in place. Was she hearing correctly? Is she simply hallucinating things out of fear?
"Why are you doing this?! Please stop! Help me!" her mother's voice strained, begging for help.
What would you have done as a child? Run away?
Dawn wouldn't do the same.
"Mom?" She fearlessly entered the unknown, dark, and hidden woods.
She followed the cry wherever it led her. It doesn't matter how far she wanders; she knows in her heart that it's mom.
Once more, what would you have done as a child?
If you watch your mother being stabbed repeatedly and helplessly across her body?
And the killer seemed to have no intention of stopping until the cry — until the breath was gone.
What would you have done in that situation?
"Stop! What are you doing to my mother?!" Dawn knelt, unable to look away from the gushing blood from her mother's body. "What did you do?" she cried.
He matched the girl's gaze, gripping that knife. "Why would you be out at this hour?" he laughed like a maniac as he approached Dawn, holding the weapon's handle ever tighter.
"What did you do?! You are a demon! You are—you are evil!" Dawn screamed.
"Am I? Why? Some people need help to fall asleep, and all I did was help her," he said, grinning. He knelt somewhere at the young girl's level. "Now she's been asleep for a really long time. She might not wake up," he said in a whisper.
She was a child, but she understood wrath. She took that stone and tossed it boldly at his face, tears streaming down her cheeks and her hands burrowing in the ground. She cried, "You are a disgusting person!"
He could only chuckle before rising up and lifting the knife, tracing its blade with his thumbs. "What a shame, I didn't want to murder two people tonight," he said, piercing through young Dawn's eyes.