As I stepped into the old man's house, the warmth enveloped me like a soft blanket. I could still feel the chill of the street fading away. My eyes darted around, taking in the modest furnishings and the way the sunlight poured through the windows, casting golden rays on the worn wooden floors.
On a small table against the wall, I spotted a framed photograph. My curiosity piqued, I walked over to it. The frame felt cool in my hands as I lifted it closer to my face. The image showed a younger version of the old man, laughing beside a woman and a boy—his family. Their smiles were bright and full of life, contrasting sharply with the somber aura of the house.
He had been telling the truth. They looked so happy together, and the love between them was palpable. A wave of sympathy washed over me; I understood the ache of loss all too well.
"Maxwell?" the old man called from another room, his voice warm and inviting.
I quickly set the frame back down and padded softly toward the sound. I entered what appeared to be his son's room, the door creaking open to reveal a space filled with remnants of childhood dreams. Posters of football stars adorned the walls, their vibrant colors clashing with the muted tones of the room. Trophies lined the shelves, gleaming in the light, each one a testament to victories long past. Certificates of achievement fluttered slightly from the breeze coming through the window.
"This must have been his room," I thought, a pang of sorrow hitting me. "He must have been passionate about football." My heart ached for the old man; the room spoke of a vibrant life now dimmed.
As I wandered further in, I noticed the small details—a forgotten game on the floor, a dusty football tucked in the corner, and a half-finished drawing of a player on the desk. Each item whispered stories of laughter and dreams that once filled this space.
"Sir?" I tugged at the old man's pant leg, my small hands barely reaching his knee. "It's alright. I can just sleep on the couch." I tried to sound brave, but the thought of this man's sorrow weighed heavily on my heart.
The old man turned, his expression softening as he looked down at me. "It's alright, boy," he said, a gentle smile breaking through his sadness. He ruffled my hair, the warmth of his affection a stark contrast to the coldness of the streets. "This room isn't occupied anymore. You can use it. Get yourself comfortable while I prepare your dinner, okay?"
"Okay," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. A rush of gratitude swelled within me. Such kindness from a stranger—it felt surreal.
He stepped out, leaving me alone in the room. I took a moment to soak it all in, the memories clinging to the air like the scent of old books. The walls held echoes of laughter, dreams, and the promise of a future that never came.
I flopped onto the bed, the mattress sinking gently beneath my weight. It felt soft and warm, a sanctuary after the chill of the street. I closed my eyes, letting the comfort wash over me.
Before I knew it, sleep took me.
When I opened my eyes again, darkness engulfed me. I blinked, confusion clouding my mind. Suddenly, two huge red eyes gleamed at me from the shadows, looming ominously. A deep voice reverberated through the silence, sending shivers down my spine.
"I have given you a chance," it intoned, the words heavy with menace. "You must retake what is yours… Revenge is the answer!"
Panic surged through me as a rush of pressure enveloped me, the weight of the voice pressing down like a heavy fog. Just as I felt it lunging toward me, I jolted awake, gasping for air.
My heart raced, pounding against my chest like a wild drum. I was back in the old man's house, drenched in cold sweat. Just as I was trying to gather my thoughts, a sharp pain flared at my wrist. I looked down to find a mark forming on my skin—a circle, etched deep like a brand.
"What the…?" I muttered, bewildered by the strange symbol.
Just then, a gentle knock echoed from the door. "Had you fallen asleep?" the old man's voice called, warm and cheerful. "Hoho! Dinner's done. Come have some."
I rubbed my wrist, still reeling from the remnants of my nightmare. "Yeah, I'll be right there!" I replied, forcing a smile as I tried to shake off the lingering dread.
As I rose, I couldn't help but feel that the night had shifted something within me. Whatever that mark meant, I knew it would lead me somewhere—I just hoped it was the right path.
With a deep breath, I opened the door, ready to taste the old man's dishes filled with warmth and love.