crimson vow

Golden eyes

That night, the house felt too quiet.

Black Hollow was supposed to be peaceful and different,Catherine had said so herself when we first drove through the narrow streets, when she pointed out the woods that seemed to wrap the whole town in a dark embrace. But now, lying in bed, I wasn't so sure. It felt as if there was a dark presence in this town and I could feel it.

The silence pressed in on me, thicker than it should've been. No cars. No laughter. Just the tick of the old clock in the hallway and the groan of the wooden frame every time the wind shifted.

I curled tighter under my duvet, trying to shake the weight that had followed me home from school. My books and schedule sat untouched on the desk, but my mind wasn't on homework. It was still trapped in the cafeteria.

Maya's perfect smile. Sophie's whispered warning. Kayden's dark eyes, steady, unblinking. They had followed me all day, lingering long after I'd walked away. And I hated the fact that I could feel it every time his eyes were on me

Why me?

I didn't know him. Didn't want to know him. But it felt like he already knew me.

A soft knock broke through my thoughts.

"Ayla?" Catherine's voice carried warmth with it, steady and careful.

I straightened. "Yeah?"

The door cracked open, her face peeking through. "You doing alright? Long first week"

"I'm fine." The words came too fast.

Her eyes lingered, searching me the way she always did, like she could peel back the layers I tried to hide. Then she smiled, gentle and patient. "Well, if you need anything, we're just downstairs. Don't stay up too late, okay?"

"Okay." I nodded as she left

She closed the door softly, leaving a thin sliver of light in the hall. I listened to her footsteps fade, then the faint sound of Eric's laugh downstairs. They were always contented with each others presence and I wonder how that felt like.

Safe. Normal probably.

So why did it feel like the house was holding its breath?

I slid lower into bed, pulling the blanket to my chin. The room was warm, the mattress soft, but my body wouldn't settle. I rolled onto my side, then my back, then my side again. Every creak of the floorboards, every brush of the wind outside, made my heart skip. It was as if the night itself was leaning closer, waiting.

Eventually, sleep dragged me under.

And, like always, the dream found me.

It began the same way it always did under a sky split wide open by the moon. Cold silver light spilled across a clearing, and there she stood: the old woman. Who was always present in all my nightmares.

Her hair was long and grey, falling in straight waves over her shoulders, her face shadowed except for the glint of her eyes, sharp, knowing, endless. They always looked scary.

Her grey hair were exactly like mine. I've always wondered who she was to me, but it was clear she was from the bloodline.

The sight rooted me in place, a cold shiver racing down my spine, as if I were staring at some distorted version of myself, aged and twisted by time.

Beside her, a wolf prowled around a roaring fire, the biggest I've ever seen, its coat black as ash, its golden eyes catching every flicker of flame. It moved with a slow, deliberate grace, circling the fire as if guarding it, or perhaps waiting for something to step into its path.

The fire cracked and spat sparks into the night, climbing higher than seemed possible. The air shimmered with heat, yet the moon above looked colder than ice.

On the far side of the fire, a figure chanted in a language I couldn't understand. The words were harsh, cutting, heavy with rhythm. They tumbled from the person's mouth like shards of broken glass, scattering across the clearing. Almost sounding like a ritual of some sort.

Their hands were raised to the sky, palms open, slick with blood. It dripped steadily down their wrists, spattering the dirt in dark stains.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The sound grew louder, drowning out the chant, drowning out the crackle of the fire. Each drop echoed inside my chest like a drumbeat.

I wanted to move. To scream. But I couldn't. My feet stayed rooted, my body locked, as though the forest itself was holding me in place.

The old woman's head turned then, slow and deliberate, until her eyes locked on mine. Her gaze was sharp as a blade, cutting straight through me. My body still rooted in place unwilling to move.

And then she smiled. Thin. Knowing. Terrifying.

The wolf stopped circling. It stood still, golden eyes fixed on me, ears pricked as though it had been waiting for this moment.

The chanting stopped.

The fire roared higher, the flames reaching, grasping.

And I woke with a gasp.

The room was bathed in pale moonlight, stretched across the floorboards exactly as it had in the dream. My chest heaved, my heart battering against my ribs. I pressed a trembling hand to my mouth, willing myself not to cry out.

It was just a dream. But it the details were always the same and still feels scary every single time.

I hated it.

The images clung to me, blood dripping, the wolf's eyes, the old woman's smile. Her grey hair, so much like mine.

I lay there for what felt like hours, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. The silence pressed harder, as if the dream had followed me back, curling into the corners of the room.

Finally, I sat up. My body moved before my mind caught up. I needed air. Space. Something to prove I was awake and not still trapped in that clearing.

Pulling on a hoodie, I slipped into the hallway. The house was still, Catherine and Eric asleep. The floor creaked under my weight, but I moved quickly, quietly, until I was outside.

The night air was cold against my skin, sharp enough to sting my lungs. I wrapped my arms around myself and started down the narrow street.

It was stupid. I knew it. No one sane walked around Black Hollow at this hour, not with the woods so close and shadows stretching long under the moon. But my feet kept moving.

Because staying inside felt worse. It felt as if I was gasping for air

The forest loomed at the edge of town, dark and endless. I stopped at the tree line, the branches above twisting together to block the moon. My breath fogged in the air, shallow and uneven.

That's when I heard it.

A low sound. Not quite a growl, not quite a whisper. It rose from the darkness between the trees, deep and vibrating, so soft I almost thought I imagined it.

My stomach dropped.

My hands were already shaking.

Every instinct screamed at me to run.

And for once, I listened. Not before seeing a pair of golden eyes for a split second I thought I had imagined it but I didn't.

I spun on my heel and bolted back down the street, the sound echoing after me, chasing me all the way to the house.

Only when I was inside again, door shut, back pressed to the wood, did I let myself breathe.

It had just been a sound. Just the forest.

But I knew better.

Something was out there.

Something waiting.

And it knew I had heard it.

I stayed by the front door for a long time, my back pressed hard against the wood, listening.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that makes you strain to hear something, anything just so you know the world hasn't stopped.

No footsteps. No voices. Just the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears.

After a while, I forced myself to move. My legs felt shaky, like they didn't quite belong to me anymore, but I pushed myself up the stairs and back into my room. The floorboards creaked in protest, each sound so sharp it made me wince.

Once inside, I shut the door and turned the lock. The click echoed like a gunshot in the silence.

It didn't help.

No matter how tightly I pulled the blanket around myself, no matter how much I told myself I was safe, the memory of those eyes clung to me.

Golden. Bright. Unblinking.

Exactly like the wolf's in my dream. What was in this town?

I lay on my side, staring at the window. The curtains were half open, the moonlight spilling in across the floorboards in pale ribbons. I told myself not to look, that if I kept my eyes closed long enough I'd drift back to sleep, but I couldn't.

Every time I shut my eyes, I saw them again. Those eyes in the woods. That smile on the old woman's face. The blood dripping steadily onto the dirt.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I flinched and sat up, running my hands over my face. My palms were clammy, my hair sticking to my forehead.

This was insane. Black hollow felt different cause it was worse. The peace and quiet in this town was just a facade and people learnt to look the other way. That's why it felt different.

I was letting a dream and maybe a trick of the moonlight get into my head. That's all it was. It had to be.

But then why did it feel so real?

I got up and crossed the room, pacing, wrapping my arms tight across my chest. My reflection caught in the mirror above the dresser, pale and wide eyed, and for a second my heart stopped.

Because the grey streak in my hair small, almost invisible under normal light gleamed silver under the moon. Catherine probably missed a spot when dyeing the hair.

Her grey hair were exactly like mine.

The words echoed back to me, rattling like loose stones inside my skull.

I grabbed the curtains and yanked them shut. The room plunged into shadow, but it wasn't better. It felt heavier somehow, like the darkness itself was watching me.

I turned on the lamp, but the soft yellow glow didn't chase the unease away.

Sitting on the bed, I pulled my journal out from under the pillow. The cover was worn, the spine cracked from years of me scribbling down thoughts I couldn't say out loud. Catherine thought it was just a diary. She didn't know it was the only place I could admit the truth. Only place I could say the things that felt stuck in my mouth and mind.

I flipped to a blank page, pen hovering over the paper. My hand shook, the tip scratching useless dots into the margin.

What was I supposed to write?

"I dreamed of a woman who looks like me."

"I saw wolf eyes in the woods tonight."

"I think the dream is real."

I pressed the pen down and scrawled anyway, the words uneven:

It wasn't just a dream. I saw them. I saw the eyes.

I stared at the sentence, my pulse thrumming. Reading it back made it worse, not better. Writing it down made it real.

I snapped the journal shut and shoved it back under the pillow, my chest tight.

Sleep wasn't going to happen. Not tonight. Not after this.

So I sat up in bed, knees pulled to my chest, watching the clock crawl toward morning.

I'm not a fan of black hollow that's for sure.