I woke with a start, gasping for air as if I had just surfaced from underwater. My heart pounded in my chest, and my skin was slick with sweat. The room was dark, but the faint glow of the streetlights outside filtered in through the curtains, casting long, distorted shadows across the floor.
It took a moment for my breathing to steady, for my mind to adjust to the present. I was still in my bed, my hands clutching the sheets in a vice-like grip. But even as the fog of the dream began to lift, I could still feel it—the dream, that feeling of having touched something so strange and wrong that it clung to me like a second skin.
I glanced at the clock beside my bed. 3:42 AM. The world outside was silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.
I ran a hand over my face, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare. The dream had been vivid—too vivid. I had been in the same town, the same place where it all started, but everything had been warped, distorted as though viewed through a cracked lens. The streets had been unfamiliar, though I knew them like the back of my hand, and the sky had been a sickly yellow hue, like the world itself was sick.
And then there had been the figure.
A person, standing in the distance. Their back was turned to me, and yet I knew it was them. I couldn't see their face, but I could feel it—the connection. It was like I had known them my whole life, yet the memory of their face remained elusive. A blur. Like trying to remember the face of someone you've met in a dream but can never quite recall when you wake.
I had tried to approach them, to call out their name, but each time I reached for them, the distance between us seemed to stretch farther. The air grew colder, the shadows deeper. And then, just before I could touch their shoulder, the world around me had shattered, the sky opening up in a burst of light and dark, and I had been pulled into the void.
I sat up in bed, my chest tight. I had never had a dream like that before. Not with that kind of intensity, not with that kind of familiarity.
I needed to calm down.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet hitting the cold floor. I ran my hands through my hair, forcing myself to take slow, deep breaths.
Get a grip, Ethan.
The house was quiet—too quiet. I could hear the soft hum of the refrigerator downstairs, the rustle of leaves outside. But the silence felt heavy, oppressive, as though it were waiting for something. Or someone.
I stood, my legs slightly unsteady as I made my way toward the door. The hallway was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, the shadows long and stretching. The door to Hannah's room was slightly ajar.
I paused, my hand hovering over the door handle. Something about the way her room looked in the dark felt unsettling, like there was something waiting on the other side, something that shouldn't be there. I shook my head, trying to push the thought away.
She was just a kid. My little sister.
I pushed open the door, stepping into the room.
At first, I just stood there, watching her. The soft rise and fall of her chest as she slept. Her messy hair spread across the pillow, her arms tucked beneath her head like she was trying to protect herself from the world. She looked so peaceful, so innocent, and for a moment, all the tension in my chest seemed to loosen.
She's fine. She's okay.
I crept closer to her bed, crouching down to get a better look. The moonlight filtered through the window, casting a soft glow on her face. She was so small in the oversized bed, her body curled up in a ball like she was trying to make herself smaller. I could see the faint outline of her stuffed rabbit tucked under her arm, the one she had carried with her everywhere since she was a toddler.
She's fine. Everything's fine.
But as I watched her sleep, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. It was like the dream was still with me, lingering at the edge of my consciousness. I felt that same strange sense of foreboding—the same feeling I had when I first discovered the diary.
I reached out, my hand hovering over her shoulder as if I were afraid to touch her. She stirred slightly, mumbling something in her sleep, but she didn't wake. The fear that had gripped me earlier in the night began to ebb, replaced by a strange sense of calm as I watched her.
I knew I had to protect her. I had to keep her safe.
But there was something in the back of my mind, a nagging thought that wouldn't go away. What if I couldn't? What if the diary was right? What if—
"No," I whispered to myself, shaking my head. "No. I won't let that happen."
I turned away from her bed, taking one last glance at her peaceful form before stepping out of the room. The soft creak of the door echoed in the silence as I closed it gently behind me.
The hallway felt darker now, the shadows stretching longer as I made my way back to my room. I couldn't sleep. Not now. Not after that nightmare. Not with the unsettling feeling that something was coming, something I couldn't control.
I paced back and forth in my room, trying to push the thoughts out of my mind. The diary. The ledger. The names.
Hannah.
I stopped in front of the desk, my gaze falling on the diary. The old book sat there, innocently waiting for me to open it. I had been reading it for days now, and each time I did, the entries seemed to grow darker, more twisted. It had been right about everything so far, predicting Peter's disappearance, then the entry about Hannah. But even as I had read those words, I had refused to believe them.
I had to believe that I could change things. That I could stop whatever was coming.
I reached for the diary, my fingers trembling as I opened it to the next blank page.
It was then that I felt it—the pull. The compulsion to keep reading, as though the book were guiding me. My eyes scanned the pages, looking for something, anything that could give me hope.
And there, written in familiar handwriting, were the next words.
Diary Entry: November 13, 1994
You will think you have time. You will think that you can stop it, that if you just act fast enough, you can change the course of fate.
But you are wrong.
Time is already slipping through your fingers, and no matter how hard you try, you will not be able to stop the inevitable.
She will call for you, but it will be too late. You will hear her voice, but it will be drowned out by the screams of those who came before her.
You will search for answers, but there will be none. Only shadows, and darkness, and the realization that you have already failed.
You will blame yourself. But you were never meant to save her.
I closed the diary with a snap, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. The words echoed in my mind, mocking me with their certainty.
"No," I muttered, my voice thick with emotion. "I won't let this happen."
I had to protect her. I had to save her.
I glanced at the clock again. The time had passed without me noticing. It was already 4:15 AM, and the world outside was still silent. But in the quiet, I could hear the soft creak of the floorboards beneath my feet as I stood and walked back to Hannah's room.
This time, I didn't hesitate. I opened the door without a second thought.
She was still sleeping soundly, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The peacefulness of her sleep was a stark contrast to the chaos swirling inside me.
I watched her for a long time, my heart aching with the overwhelming need to protect her.
"I won't fail you," I whispered softly, my voice barely audible in the quiet room.
And for the first time that night, I felt a sense of peace. Despite the darkness, despite the fear, I knew one thing for sure: I would do whatever it took to keep her safe.