WE ARE THEY: BEHIND THE SCENES.

I paused when I heard a sound behind me. My heart raced. The door was locked from the outside. I pressed my ear against it—voices. Low. Muffled. I wasn’t sure. The room was dark, damp, and suffocating. I tried to convince myself it was my imagination. Nobody is here. Calm down. But deep inside, I knew I wasn’t alone. “Who’s here?… anyone?… hello?” I whispered. No response. “Ghosts?” The word slipped out before I caught myself. I almost laughed, but the silence pressed in heavier. I was about to leave when I heard it again—louder this time. Clear voices. My chest tightened. Without thinking, I shoved the door open. The room was the same—dark, stinking, loaded with boxes. But I felt it. Someone was here. “Please… who’s here?” My voice cracked. I grabbed an iron rod from the floor, forcing my tone to sound firm. “Show yourself or I’ll fight back.” Silence. My fingers brushed a light switch. I flipped it on. And froze. A woman sat on the floor, one hand pressed to the neck of a lifeless boy, the other covering her own mouth. Blood pooled beneath him. A man stood in the corner, arms folded, face expressionless. My knees went weak. The mother wept, clutching her son. “Please don’t take him away… he’s not dead… I’ll clean him up… he can’t leave me like his sisters did…” She grabbed my ankle, her nails digging into my skin. I pulled free, trembling. “I won’t take him. I swear.” The man finally spoke, voice flat. “We tried. Twelve years… we tried.” “Who did this?” I asked. “They slit his neck. We watched him shake… blood everywhere… and we couldn’t stop it.” His voice cracked, then he broke down in tears. Before I could respond, a voice came from the doorway. “We are they.” I spun around. Four men stood there—black caps, shades, masks. Their leader’s voice was chillingly familiar. “Pack that thing. Let’s go.” The others dragged the boy’s body away as his mother screamed and bit one of them. They slammed her head against the wall until she went limp. The father begged me with wide, desperate eyes. “Help me. Please.” I couldn’t speak. My mouth hung open. The leader smirked. “No need. She’s one of us.” My stomach dropped. “Me?… No, I—” The man’s eyes filled with betrayal. He lowered his head. The leader turned to him. “Agreed?” “Never.” A smirk. Two shots. The father collapsed in a pool of blood. And then silence. I screamed and jolted awake, drenched in sweat. My chest rose and fell like I’d been running for hours. Slowly, I sat at the edge of my bed. “Just a dream, Matilda,” I whispered to myself. I reached for my phone in the drawer. The screen lit up: 4:14 p.m. Not a nightmare, I thought, but something felt too real. When I tried to stand, a sharp pain shot through my right leg. I froze, lifted it carefully, and gasped. There was a scar across my ankle. My heart raced. The dream. It wasn’t supposed to leave a mark. I rubbed some ointment on the wound, dressed quickly, grabbed my bag, and decided to visit my best friend, Mia. Mia and I had been inseparable since childhood. Dark-skinned, tall, and chubby, she lived with her elder brother Michael in a cramped one-room-and-parlor. Being an orphan never dimmed her spirit, though she had one annoying habit: leaving her door unlocked. “As usual,” I muttered, pushing it open. “Mia?” I called out. No answer at first. I guessed she was in her favorite place—the kitchen. She loved cooking, and honestly, I could bet on her skills. “I’m here,” her voice rang out, and soon she appeared, carrying a plate of steaming food. She placed it carefully on the table and sat in the parlor. I joined her. “Can I say something?” I asked. “No. Not interested.” Her tone was sharp. “This time it’s different, Mia. I swear.” She hissed and reached for the TV remote, pretending I wasn’t there. She always hated it whenever I mentioned my dreams. “Mia…” She ignored me, eyes fixed on the screen. “Okay, fine. I suspect something.” Her head snapped toward me. “What?” she asked quickly, almost too quickly. I chuckled at her sudden interest. “Something mysterious. I’m not sure what.” She shifted in her seat, her expression tightening. “Oh really? What did you suspect?” I stared at her. She looked lost in thought, distracted, almost nervous. “Mia?” I asked. She jolted. “Huh? Yes, what?” “You took me serious,” I laughed, shaking my head. “I was just joking.” Her shoulders relaxed. She forced a smile. “You joke too much.” “Forget it. I’m hungry. What did you keep for me?” I asked, heading toward the kitchen. “Rat poison,” she muttered. I froze. “What?” “I mean… there’s rat poison on the floor. You might step on it.” She quickly corrected herself. I squinted at her but said nothing. “You should leave,” she added. “It’s late. My brother might be back soon.” I checked my phone. It was indeed getting late. With a sigh, I picked up my bag. “Fine. I’ll see you later then.” “Bye.” She smiled and waved. I waved back and closed the door behind me. Almost immediately, her phone rang. “Little suspicious,” Mia whispered into the receiver. “Confirm the money,” the caller replied coldly. The line went dead.