Chapter 4:When the dead look back
1156 Words
Ava didn’t remember falling asleep.
One moment she was sitting on the edge of her bed, camera in her lap, replaying every second of the night at Wellesley Manor. The next, darkness folded over her like a shroud.
She dreamed of roots.
They twisted through soil thick and wet, wrapping around bones that still remembered their names. Fingers—human fingers—poked through the earth, reaching for light that never came. Ava tried to move, but the ground swallowed her, pulling her deeper until the sky became nothing more than a rumor.
She woke screaming.
Her cottage was silent, dawn light seeping through the curtains in thin, watery stripes. Her heart slammed violently against her ribs, sweat cooling on her skin. For a long moment, she couldn’t tell if the smell of damp earth lingered in the room or if it was only in her mind.
“Get a grip,” she whispered.
Her voice sounded wrong—thin, stretched.
Ava swung her legs off the bed and froze.
There were footprints on the floor.
Bare. Dark. Leading from the door to the foot of her bed.
They ended abruptly, as if whoever—or whatever—had stood there simply ceased to exist.
Ava backed away, pulse roaring. Her camera lay on the nightstand, its lens cap missing. With shaking hands, she lifted it and scrolled through the photos.
One new image waited at the top of the gallery.
It showed her bedroom.
From the corner.
And in the reflection of the mirror behind her bed, a figure stood watching her sleep—tall, indistinct, eyes glowing faintly red.
Ava dropped the camera.
Ravenswood noticed change.
It showed in the way the air thickened around Ava when she walked through town, how conversations stuttered and stopped when she entered a room. The café felt colder. The library quieter. Even the birds seemed to scatter when she passed.
Lily handed her coffee without smiling. “You okay?”
Ava forced a grin. “Didn’t sleep much.”
Lily’s eyes flicked briefly to Ava’s neck, then away. “Yeah. That happens sometimes.”
“Sometimes when what happens?”
Lily hesitated, then shook her head. “Nothing. Just… be careful in the woods.”
Ava left with more questions than caffeine.
By afternoon, the visions worsened.
They came without warning—brief flashes that stole her breath and left her dizzy. A man collapsing in the street where she stood seconds later, alive and unaware. A tree splitting open to reveal a human heart beating inside its trunk. Ravenswood layered over itself like double exposure.
She tried calling Ethan.
No answer.
She tried again at dusk.
Nothing.
The silence felt deliberate.
By nightfall, Ava was done being afraid.
She grabbed her camera and marched into the woods.
Ethan felt her before he saw her.
The silver thread pulsed like an exposed nerve, tightening with every step she took closer to the manor. He cursed under his breath, shadows recoiling as if sharing his frustration.
He had stayed away for three days. Three days of isolation, of resisting the pull that drew him to her heartbeat like gravity. He had done this for her safety.
And she had come anyway.
“She never listens,” he muttered.
Ava burst into the clearing, breathless, eyes wild. “You don’t get to disappear on me.”
Ethan stepped out of the shadows. “You don’t get to come here.”
“Something is wrong with me,” she snapped. “And you know it.”
His jaw tightened. “I warned you.”
“You warned me and then abandoned me!”
The word struck deeper than she intended. Ethan flinched.
Ava hesitated, then softened. “I’m seeing things, Ethan. Dead things. Things that haven’t happened yet.”
His gaze darkened. “Precognition.”
“What?”
“You’re seeing echoes of death. Potential deaths. The veil is thinning for you.”
Ava laughed shakily. “That’s… that’s insane.”
“Yes.”
“So fix it.”
“I can’t.”
The honesty shattered what little calm she had left. “Then who can?”
The forest shifted.
Shadows stretched unnaturally long, converging at the edge of the clearing. The air grew colder, heavier. Ava felt the pressure behind her eyes spike painfully.
Ethan stiffened. “We’re not alone.”
A presence stepped forward.
Tall. Immaculate. Dressed in black that seemed to absorb the moonlight rather than reflect it. His smile was slow and cruel, his eyes ancient and amused.
“Well,” the stranger drawled, “she’s prettier than I imagined.”
Ava’s stomach dropped. “Who is that?”
Ethan’s voice was barely a whisper. “My maker.”
The man inclined his head. “Malakai.”
Ava swallowed. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but her legs refused to obey.
Malakai’s gaze lingered on her, sharp and invasive. “Oh, yes. I can see it now. The thread. How delightful.”
“What thread?” Ava demanded.
Malakai chuckled. “You really didn’t tell her? How careless, Ethan.”
Ethan stepped in front of Ava protectively. “Leave her out of this.”
“But she’s already in it,” Malakai said pleasantly. “You felt it the moment you touched her, didn’t you? The curse waking up.”
Ava’s head pounded. “Ethan?”
Malakai leaned closer, eyes gleaming. “Love, my dear. That’s the curse. Vampires of our bloodline are forbidden it. Fall in love, and the human dies.”
The world tilted.
Ava grabbed Ethan’s arm. “That’s not true.”
Ethan didn’t deny it.
“But,” Malakai continued, “there’s a loophole. Break the curse, and Ethan dies. Walk away, and you live.”
Ava’s breath came in shallow gasps. “You’re lying.”
Malakai smiled. “Am I?”
The forest groaned around them.
Ava’s vision blurred again—this time clearer, sharper.
She saw herself lying still on the forest floor. She saw Ethan burning, light tearing through him. She saw a camera shutter snapping.
A thread of silver stretched between their chests, glowing brighter with every heartbeat.
She screamed.
Ethan caught her as she collapsed, eyes glowing with fury. “Get out of my sight,” he snarled at Malakai.
Malakai stepped back, amused. “Tick tock, Ethan. Midnight always comes.”
He vanished.
The forest exhaled.
Ethan cradled Ava, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”
Ava clutched his coat, tears streaking her face. “We’ll figure this out.”
His arms tightened around her. “I won’t let you die.”
“Promise me something,” she whispered.
“Anything.”
“Don’t disappear again.”
Ethan pressed his forehead to hers. “I can’t promise that.”
Ava closed her eyes, the silver thread humming between them like a warning.
Above them, Ravenswood listened.
And somewhere deep beneath the earth, the curse smiled.
- Writer
