Today was my 18th birthday. I woke up from a nightmare, one I can't remember in detail, but it left me feeling anxious, uneasy. Grandpa tried to cheer me up with pancakes, his voice cheerful as always, but the strange, foreboding feeling never quite left.
We were talking, trying to make plans for the day, when there was a knock at the door. It was sudden, sharp, and my heart skipped a beat. Grandpa froze. For a moment, he didn't move, and then he turned to me, his voice low, urgent. "Hide behind the counter. Now."
I didn't question him. I did as he said, crouching behind the counter, my heart racing. Grandpa grabbed something from the cupboard, a strange, old-looking bracelet or watch, I couldn't tell and opened the door.
And there he was. The boy from my dreams. His eyes, those glowing, impossibly bright eyes—locked onto mine, and I felt my breath catch in my throat.
Grandpa's voice was tight, harsh. "Why are you here?"
The boy didn't answer right away. He just stared at me, then back at Grandpa, his eyes filled with something, anger, maybe? Fear? Then, finally, he spoke. Three words that froze me to the core:
"They are coming."