The Marid pact

The Dead Dog

The morning after that haunting night by the river, the camp awoke to the sound of birds and the soft rustle of leaves. The air was crisp, tinged with the freshness that only a riverside dawn could bring. Yet, for Sarah, the beauty of the morning was marred by the memory of what she’d seen: Aliyah at the water’s edge, her silhouette strange and otherworldly in the moonlight.

Aliyah seemed different as she emerged from the tent—her face pale, lips pressed into a thin line. She barely touched her breakfast, ignoring the gentle teasing of her friends. Sarah watched her closely, her worry deepening with every passing moment.

After breakfast, the group set out for a short trek through the woods that bordered the river. The teachers led the way, and the students followed in pairs, their laughter echoing through the trees. Sarah tried to keep Aliyah close, but her sister drifted at the back of the group, eyes distant, as if listening to a melody only she could hear.

About half an hour into the trek, they stumbled upon a clearing. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, but something else lingered—a sharp, metallic tang that made Sarah’s stomach twist.

A few steps ahead, a small crowd had gathered, murmuring in disgust. Lying in the centre of the path was a dog, its body twisted unnaturally, blood still fresh on the ground. The sight was shocking—most of the students recoiled, some covering their mouths, others turning away in horror.

Sarah felt a wave of nausea rise within her. She averted her gaze, trying to steady her breathing. But when she glanced at Aliyah, her blood ran cold.

Aliyah was staring at the dead animal with an intensity that bordered on fascination. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, and a strange, almost eager smile played at the corners of her lips. She took a step closer, as if drawn by an invisible thread.

“Aliyah, don’t,” Sarah whispered, grabbing her sister’s arm. Her voice trembled, but Aliyah didn’t resist. She allowed herself to be pulled away, though her gaze lingered on the carcass.

The teachers quickly ushered the group onward, urging everyone to ignore what they had seen. But the mood of the trek had changed—conversation dwindled, and the laughter that had filled the morning was replaced by uneasy silence.

Back at the camp, Sarah confronted Aliyah. “What’s happening to you?” she demanded, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not yourself. You barely eat, you don’t sleep, and now this—what’s going on?”

Aliyah looked at her, her expression unreadable. For a moment, it seemed as though she might confide in her sister. But then she shook her head, a sad, distant smile on her lips. “I’m just tired, Sarah. That’s all.”

But Sarah knew it was more than that. She could feel it in the way Aliyah moved, in the shadows that seemed to cling to her. She remembered the marks on Aliyah’s back, the whispers in the night, and the way her sister had stood by the river as if answering some ancient call.

That afternoon, the group returned to camp, exhausted from the trek. Most of the students collapsed into their tents, eager for rest. Sarah watched Aliyah slip away, her heart pounding with dread. She knew that whatever was happening to her sister, it was only getting worse—and she was powerless to stop it.

As the sun dipped behind the trees and the river began to glow with the colours of dusk, Sarah made a silent promise to herself: she would not let Aliyah face this darkness alone. No matter what it took, she would fight for her sister—even if it meant facing the shadows herself.