A NIGHTMARE

Walking down the alley as it rained cats and dogs, I was completely drenched, the relentless downpour clinging to my skin and weighing down my clothes. My hair stuck to my face, and every step felt heavier than the last. I had just left my boyfriend's house. I still questioned why I called him that — not after everything he had done to me. The word felt foolish now. Emotions overwhelmed me until I could no longer contain them. “T-This isn’t fair…” I whispered, my voice trembling as tears streamed down my face. When I lifted my head slightly, I noticed a dark shadowed figure moving toward me at a slow, deliberate pace. My heart pounded violently. Without hesitation, I stood and walked in the opposite direction, my breathing uneven. When I dared to look back again, the figure had vanished. I released a shaky sigh of relief and leaned against the cold glass wall of a nearby store. My reflection stared back at me — mascara threatening to run, eyes swollen with grief. Thoughts crowded my mind mercilessly, and tears slipped down again. Then— A loud bang echoed behind me, and when I turned to see the same shadow charging toward me with frightening speed, I ran with every ounce of strength left in my body, my lungs burning and my heart hammering violently against my ribs, until I was suddenly grabbed in the darkness... thoughts drifted backward, pulling me away from the alley and returning me to where it had all started. Saturday morning the 16th of August, 2025. My makeup had been flawless. My nails immaculate. I looked as though I had stepped straight out of a fairytale, wearing the most breathtaking blue dress I had ever owned. The fabric shimmered softly beneath the light, flowing elegantly around me. My chestnut-brown hair fell neatly around my shoulders, framing my face, while my hazel eyes caught the light with a soft glow. And yet, something had felt missing. “Mom! Where are my blue sport shoes?” My mom let out a tired sigh. “Nicole, who wears sneakers with a prom dress?” I knew she was right. Still, I couldn’t help myself. I was hopelessly sentimental, and my sense of fashion was questionable at best. “Her, apparently,” Noel chimed in. “You’re a complete disaster when it comes to style.” “Says the seven-year-old who refuses to sleep without a Superman cape,” I replied. Nick chuckled softly. “That’s still more mature than sleep-talking about Damian. ‘Oh, Damian, kiss me— Damian, I—’” Noel immediately erupted into laughter. I narrowed my eyes. “What exactly is so funny, booger boy?” “You really shouldn’t start this right now, Miss Snores-a-Lot,” he teased. “You—” “Enough,” my mom said firmly, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice. “Not today. Today is your sister’s special day. No arguments. Just for today.” Both of them groaned in reluctant agreement. After they headed to the car, I had lingered inside the house for a moment longer. The sudden quiet felt unfamiliar. Instead of walking straight out, I turned toward the basement door. My hand had rested on the knob briefly before I opened it. The stairs creaked softly beneath my heels as I descended. The air grew cooler with each step, carrying the faint scent of dust and forgotten years. A single dim bulb illuminated the basement in a muted golden hue, casting long shadows across old boxes and stored memories. Dad’s photograph had been resting exactly where it always had. I walked toward it slowly, my throat tightening. I picked up the frame carefully, almost reverently, as if it were something sacred. “Hey,” I had murmured softly. “Dad.” The silence felt heavy. “I know you always wanted to see me like this. All dressed up.” My voice had wavered despite my attempt to stay composed. “Your little girl isn’t so little anymore.” My eyes had filled with tears. “I can't cry. It would ruin my makeup. And I worked too hard on it.” A fragile laugh had escaped me. “I just hope I am making you proud. Wherever you are.” I had brushed my thumb gently across the glass, memorizing his smile once more before pressing a soft kiss against the frame. Then I had placed it back and climbed the stairs, carrying both pride and ache in my chest. As i got into the car, i completely tuned out the conversations inside the car and fixed my gaze on the glowing city lights outside. When the car finally came to a stop, I sat still for a moment, staring at the entrance ahead. The venue loomed in front of me, brightly lit and decorated, the glow from the building spilling into the parking area. My hands rested in my lap as I tried to steady my breathing. My mom turned slightly in her seat. I could feel her presence without even looking at her. I reached for the door handle and stepped out slowly, the cool air brushing against my skin. For a brief second, I just stood there beside the car, taking in the sight of the venue. Music vibrated faintly through the walls, and laughter echoed from inside. The lights shimmered against the windows, making the entire place look almost magical. My heart began to race. This was supposed to be my night. I adjusted my dress, smoothed it down with trembling fingers, and lifted my head with quiet determination. Even though anxiety lingered in my chest, I forced myself to walk forward. With each step toward the entrance, I felt the anticipation growing heavier. The doors stood tall in front of me, reflecting my image back at me for a split second. I paused, inhaled deeply, and then pushed them open. As I stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted immediately. The sound of music grew clearer, conversations blended together, and bright lights washed over me. I entered the room, trying to appear composed, even though my emotions were anything but calm. When we arrived at the prom venue, conversations had softened the moment I stepped inside. Eyes followed me from my curled updo down to my sparkling blue shoes. Their stares had felt invasive, almost suffocating. My scopophobia had begun creeping in, tightening around my thoughts like an invisible grip. The room suddenly felt too bright, too loud, too crowded. Every glance in my direction felt amplified, each pair of eyes pressing against my skin with uncomfortable intensity. That was when Damian, my boyfriend, walked toward me with a gentle smile resting on his face. His blonde hair was neatly styled, and his clear blue eyes held a warmth that usually made everything feel easier. Dressed in a fitted black suit with a crisp white shirt beneath, he looked effortlessly refined, the dim lights catching subtly along the edges of his frame. At first, his presence should have calmed me. It usually did. But something about the atmosphere felt different that night—unsettled, almost distorted. The music seemed slightly too sharp in my ears, the laughter around us oddly distant, as though I were standing behind a thin veil separating me from everyone else. The air itself felt heavier, charged with a tension I could not explain. “You look beautiful,” Damian said softly, his voice warm and steady as it blended with the distant music. He gently lifted a loose strand of my dark chestnut brown hair and tucked it behind my ear with careful precision, his fingers brushing lightly against my cheek. The gesture was tender, almost protective. At the same time, his other hand rested comfortably on my waist, grounding me in the middle of the bustling room. For a brief moment, the noise around us faded into the background. The lights, the conversations, the movement—everything blurred into insignificance as his presence became the only thing I could focus on. His blue eyes searched mine with quiet sincerity, reflecting admiration and affection. I swallowed nervously, my heart beating faster for reasons I couldn’t entirely explain. “T-thank you,” I replied quietly, forcing a small smile. “You look handsome too.” After I replied, Damian’s expression softened even more. His thumb traced a slow, reassuring circle at my waist, as if he was trying to calm my nerves without saying a word. The way he looked at me made the rest of the room feel distant, like we were enclosed in our own quiet space despite the crowd around us. He leaned slightly closer. “You really do,” he murmured, his voice lowering into something more intimate. Then, carefully, he shifted closer and brushed another strand of hair away from my neck. His fingers lingered for a second longer than before, gentle and deliberate. I felt his breath near my skin, warm and steady, and my heartbeat quickened in response. Before I could fully process the moment, he placed a soft kiss just behind my ear — tender, unhurried, almost protective. The gesture was subtle, but it sent a quiet shiver through me. It wasn’t dramatic or rushed. It was thoughtful. Intimate in a way that felt sincere rather than performative. His hand at my waist tightened slightly, grounding me, while his other hand rested lightly against my back. I exhaled slowly, trying to steady myself. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to relax into the warmth of it. But even as everything unfolded, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. It was subtle at first — just a sensation at the edge of my awareness. Yet it persisted, lingering at the back of my mind like a shadow that refused to disappear. I glanced around casually, but nothing seemed unusual. People were dancing. Others were laughing. The lights continued to glow brightly overhead. Still, the feeling remained. The night felt unusually long, as though time had slowed and become stuck on the same hour. The music continued, yet it felt distant, muffled, almost distorted. The air inside the venue felt heavier than before, and despite the celebration around me, a strange tension clung to the atmosphere. Eventually, I excused myself and made my way toward the drink bar. I ordered a cocktail, hoping something simple would calm the uneasiness in my chest. When the drink arrived, I lifted it carefully and took a sip, letting the cold sweetness linger on my tongue. My eyes roamed the room, taking in the subtle warmth of the dim lights, the gentle clatter of glasses, and the soft murmur of conversations around me. Almost immediately, I felt a sudden, intense warmth spreading through my body. It wasn’t the temperature of the room. It was internal. The sensation rose from within me, moving quickly, as though something had triggered it. It felt overwhelming — like a wave of heat traveling upward through my body. My throat tightened slightly, specifically along the esophagus, the passage that carries food and drinks down into the stomach. The feeling was unusual, unsettling — as though the drink had activated something inside me rather than simply being consumed. I set the glass down slowly. My heart began to beat faster. The room seemed to blur at the edges. And once again, I couldn’t ignore the growing sense that something was not right. Before I could process what was happening, everything around me faded into complete darkness. The music dissolved, the lights disappeared, and the noise collapsed into a distant echo. The only thing I could still perceive was the frantic sound of my name being called, growing fainter as if I were drifting further away. Then, slowly, I began to regain consciousness. My eyelids felt heavy as I forced them open, the sterile brightness of the room replacing the darkness. I found myself in the nurse’s office, the bright overhead lights pressing harshly against my vision. The sterile scent of the room filled the air, and for a moment, everything felt unfamiliar and disorienting. The nurse’s voice reached me clearly as she leaned closer and addressed me by my last name — “Miss Morley?... your awake...?” As my vision cleared, and I realized Damian was sitting beside the bed. His face was etched with concern, his expression tense yet relieved to see me awake. He was still holding my hand gently, as though he had refused to let go while I was unconscious. A tired sigh escaped my lips. “I ruined my own prom,” I murmured weakly, the words heavy with disappointment. After that, everything felt like a blur. I barely paid attention to what happened next — not to the conversations, not to the movement around me, not even to the concerned expressions. The only thing I remembered clearly was my mom rushing into the nurse’s office, her footsteps quick and urgent, her voice filled with worry as she spoke to the staff. Soon after, she was helping me up and guiding me home, insisting that I rest. The morning felt quiet and strangely ordinary, as if nothing unusual had happened the night before. Sunlight filtered gently through my window, and after getting ready, I joined my mom outside. She suggested that I accompany her to the flower store, and I agreed without much hesitation. I needed fresh air — something calm and ordinary to ease the heaviness lingering in my mind — so I stepped out of the house and into the waiting car. As we drove toward the flower store, I sat quietly beside her, watching the scenery pass by through the window. The ride was peaceful, and for a moment, I allowed myself to simply breathe and observe the world outside. Then my phone buzzed. I glanced down and saw a notification from the school board — a confirmation that a mandatory school trip had been scheduled for the following day. The timing felt sudden, especially after everything that had recently happened. I stared at the message for a brief moment, letting the information sink in, before locking my phone and turning my gaze back to the window, my thoughts already beginning to wander. After the short drive with my mom, we arrived at the flower shop and stepped out of the car together. The store was bright and beautifully arranged, filled with vibrant colors and the rich fragrance of fresh blossoms. We walked through the aisles as my mom examined different bouquets. But when we reached the daisies, the scent suddenly became stronger — sweet and overwhelming, pressing against my senses in an uncomfortable way. Feeling slightly lightheaded, I quietly stepped away and returned to the car. Once inside, I closed the door and took a slow breath, trying to steady myself. While I leaned against the car window, trying to steady my breathing, a sudden force struck the vehicle. I looked up and saw a strange old man pressed against the glass, his expression urgent and unsettled. In a low, strained voice, he warned, “Refrain from going to that land. Turn away before it is too late.” His words lingered in the air, heavy and cryptic. My breathing turned ragged from the shock. Instinctively, I reached forward, attempting to honk the horn to alert my mom. Before I could react properly, she suddenly appeared at the opposite window, her face filled with confusion. Before I could explain anything, I glanced back — but the old man was gone. In the end, I chose not to ask my mom if she had seen anything. His words kept ringing in my ears, echoing like a distant bell as we drove back home. The warning lingered in my mind, refusing to fade even as the car moved steadily along the road. When we finally arrived, I stepped inside with a quiet sense of unease, preparing to pack my things for the trip ahead. I finished packing in a hurry, folding my clothes carefully and placing them inside my bag before zipping it up. My phone kept buzzing on the bed with messages from my best friend Isharma, urging me to hurry. She reminded me to be quick, saying the bus would leave soon. Her excitement contrasted with the uneasiness I could not shake. After leaving my room, I walked through the hallway and out of the house, bag in hand. The morning air felt slightly cool against my skin as I stepped outside and made my way toward the school grounds. The drive earlier had already placed me there, but now the atmosphere felt different — busier, louder, filled with students gathering in groups near the parked vehicle. When I reached the school premises, I joined the crowd and moved toward the bus to load my bag. Students were handing their luggage to be placed in the storage compartment underneath. I stepped forward, preparing to do the same — and that was when I saw him again. Across the road, standing near the edge of the sidewalk, was the same old man from the flower store. He was watching me directly, unmoving. His face carried that same unsettling seriousness. Slowly, deliberately, he shook his head, as though sending a silent warning meant only for me. My heart skipped. For a moment, I froze in place, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag. Before I could process what I had seen, he turned away and disappeared into the crowd. Isharma noticed the change in my expression immediately and stepped closer. “What’s wrong?” I hesitated, glancing back once more to make sure he was truly gone. Then I forced myself to breathe normally. “It’s nothing,” I said quietly. Soon, we boarded the bus. I walked down the aisle, found a seat by the window, and placed my bag beside me. After settling in, I put on my headphones and leaned back, closing my eyes to calm my thoughts. But instead of fading, the warning echoed in my mind as the bus began to move. I slowly opened my eyes again, letting my gaze adjust to the interior of the bus. As I looked around, my eyes settled on the front row — where Damian was seated. He appeared unusually comfortable beside a girl, leaning in as they spoke, their closeness catching my attention. A faint sting of jealousy flickered within me, subtle but undeniable. For a brief moment, my chest tightened, and I felt the familiar pull of insecurity. But I did not have the time or the emotional space to dwell on it. With everything that had been happening, I forced myself to look away and focus on the journey ahead. My gaze drifted toward Isharma, who was absorbed in watching reels on her phone, completely unaware of my inner turmoil. I managed a faint smile and then turned toward the window beside me. That was when it happened. Like a sudden jolt to my senses, I saw him again — the old man standing outside, directly beside the window. His presence felt impossible, almost like a curse that followed me wherever I went. My thoughts froze instantly. A silent gasp escaped my lips as fear tightened around my chest. Without thinking, I drew my legs closer to my body and buried my face in them, trying to shut out the sight. Isharma must have noticed my sudden movement because she leaned closer. “Hey, are you okay?” she asked softly. “I’m just feeling car sick,” I replied, forcing the words out as a lie. I remained in that position, pretending to rest, while my heart continued to race. I did not lift my head again until the bus finally came to a stop. I felt the sudden jerk of the bus as it came to a stop. The movement pulled me from my thoughts, and I slowly raised my head to see my classmates already standing and preparing to disembark. I followed behind Isharma, keeping my hands buried in the pockets of my hoodie, using the fabric as a small shield against the uneasy feeling growing inside me. Stepping out of the bus and onto that land felt strangely unsettling — almost like entering a restricted space. The air seemed different against my skin, heavier somehow. A silence lingered over the area, broken only by distant movements and murmurs. It did not feel lively or welcoming; instead, it felt still. I also noticed the expressions on my classmates’ faces — some curious, others uneasy — as if everyone could sense that something about this place was not entirely right. My curiosity slowly took over, and my eyes began to study the surroundings in detail. The area was wrapped in a thin layer of fog, soft yet unsettling, blurring the outlines of the old buildings in the distance. The structures looked aged and forgotten, their surfaces worn and silent, as though time itself had abandoned them. I was so absorbed in the atmosphere that I barely noticed the conversations happening around me. “Nicole!” Isharma suddenly cried out. Before I could turn toward her, something struck me from behind. The force was sudden and unanticipated, strong enough to completely disrupt my balance. My body lurched forward as I tried to steady myself, but I had no time to react. The impact sent me crashing to the ground.