Later that night, Jiko lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Soft moonlight peeked through the curtains, making gentle shadows on the walls. The wedding party was over, and the only sounds were crickets chirping and leaves rustling. Jiko's mind was still racing—he kept thinking about Julie's unexpected apology, Tito's huge smile, and all the feelings he hadn't expected to have.
He started to feel sleepy...
But just as he was drifting off, a loud, metallic rattling noise startled him awake. His heart started pounding.
The sound came again—a rattling, vibrating noise that seemed to be coming from the window. Jiko frowned, sat up, and grabbed the flashlight from his nightstand. He shone the light towards the window.
The windowpane was shaking hard, like someone was hitting it, but there was no one there.
Jiko's heart started beating faster, and a bunch of scary thoughts ran through his head. Was someone trying to break in? Was it just a branch hitting the window?
But outside, everything was still and quiet. Not even the trees were moving. Taking a deep breath, Jiko carefully unlatched the window and pulled it open.
What he saw was unbelievable.
Just outside the window, there was this swirling mass of darkness, like a mini-black hole, with faint blue sparks around the edges. It was moving and pulsing, like it was alive, and it looked like it went on forever. A freezing wind rushed into the room, and Jiko could hear faint whispers, but he couldn't make out any words. His flashlight started flickering and getting dimmer, like even the light was scared.
Jiko took a step back, every instinct telling him to run. But before he could even yell or do anything, the swirling darkness shot forward. These shadowy, rope-like things whipped out and wrapped around his arms and legs. Jiko struggled, his heart pounding in his chest, but he couldn't break free. He let out a choked cry as the darkness pulled him towards the center.
"No, no, no!" he yelled, trying to grab onto the floor, but he couldn't get a grip. The room started to stretch and bend around him, the colors blurring together as everything twisted and warped. The last thing he saw was his bedroom turning into a crazy mix of black and blue before everything went quiet.
Then, the swirling darkness was gone, and the room was just normal again. The flashlight was lying on the floor, shining steadily on the empty bed and the open window. Outside, the crickets kept chirping like nothing had happened.
Jiko woke up suddenly, gasping for air. He was covered in sweat, and his heart was pounding like crazy, as if he'd just run a race. Morning light was streaming through the curtains, making dust particles dance in the air. Everything was quiet. Normal. Too normal.
He sat up slowly, running a shaky hand through his sweaty hair. The night before came flooding back – the rattling window, the swirling darkness, the feeling of being pulled into nothingness. But now, in the daylight, it all seemed blurry, like a bad dream he was already forgetting.
"Come on," he muttered to himself, forcing a small laugh. "Too much fancy food and not enough sleep. That's all it was."
Trying to shake off the weird feeling, Jiko swung his legs off the bed and stretched. His body felt stiff, like he'd been sleeping in a weird position all night. He rubbed his temples and stood up, heading to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face and wake himself up.
The tiles are cool beneath his feet as he flips the light switch. The mirror above the sink reflects his tired face, dark circles under his eyes and a faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. Normal. Ordinary. With a sigh, he leans over the sink, turns on the tap, and splashes his face with water.
As the droplets trail down his skin, he glances up at the mirror—and freezes.
The face staring back at him isn't quite his own. It's familiar, yet unnervingly different. His features are softer, rounder, the sharp lines of adulthood smoothed away. His jawline lacks its usual definition, and his cheeks have a youthful fullness that hasn't been there in years. The stubble he noticed a moment ago is gone, replaced by the smooth, unblemished skin of a teenager.
Jiko stumbles back, his breath hitching. He grips the edge of the sink for support, his knuckles white. A cold chill snakes down his spine as he stares, unblinking, at the reflection that doesn't feel like his.
"What the hell…?" he whispers, his voice trembling. He touches his face, his fingers brushing over his skin. It feels real, solid, but it doesn't match the image in the mirror. He leans closer, searching for some logical explanation—a trick of the light, a warped mirror—but the reflection mimics every movement, every twitch, perfectly.
He steps back, his mind racing. The dream—the vortex—it couldn't have been real… could it? A sudden wave of nausea hits him as the pieces begin to connect. The vortex, the strange pull, the warped reality. It wasn't just a nightmare. Something happened. Something impossible.
Jiko's knees buckle, and he sinks onto the cool bathroom floor, his head spinning. He grabs his phone from the counter and turns on the camera, switching to the front-facing view. The screen confirms his worst fear: the youthful face from the mirror stares back at him, wide-eyed and terrified.
A wave of panic washed over Jiko. He felt like he was about to lose it. What had happened to him? How could something like that even happen? And most importantly, why him? His mind was racing, and then he heard it – a faint whispering sound, like distant voices carried on the wind.
He looked around wildly, but there was no one there. The whispers got louder, and Jiko suddenly realized they weren't coming from outside – they were inside his head.
"Find the target," the whispers murmured, sounding urgent and insistent. "Time is running out."
Jiko grabbed his head, his heart pounding. The room felt smaller, the air thick and heavy. He didn't understand what was going on, but he knew one thing for sure: this wasn't over. Whatever had pulled him into that swirling darkness last night had left something behind, and if he didn't figure things out soon, he was afraid he'd lose more than just his sense of reality.