CHAPTER ONE- DREAMS
1359 Words
Irene gasped, bolting upright in the unfamiliar bed.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.
The lingering echoes of the dream clung to her like a damp shroud. Him again.
She pressed trembling fingers to her forehead, trying to dispel the lingering image of those eyes.
Deep violet, almost luminous in the shadowy depths of… where? She never saw his surroundings clearly, only the intense, unwavering gaze that seemed to pierce through her very soul.
A shiver traced its way down her spine despite the lingering warmth beneath the covers.
This dream… it had become a nightly visitor since their arrival in Wolf Valley.
A place that felt as alien as the nocturnal visions that plagued her sleep.
She sank back against the pillows, the rough texture of the unfamiliar fabric a stark contrast to the silk she was accustomed to. Wolf Valley.
The name itself held a certain wildness, a stark departure from the comfortable predictability of their old life.
A sigh escaped her lips, heavy with unspoken grief and a persistent unease.
How had she ended up here? It felt like a lifetime ago, the day her world fractured.
The memory of her father… a sharp, agonizing pang, pierced through her chest.
The image flashed in her mind, unbidden and brutal: the sterile white sheets of the hospital room, the hushed whispers, and then the stark, undeniable truth. But before that… the forest.
The frantic call from the local authorities, the yellow tape cordoning off a section of woods she knew her father loved to walk in.
And then… the blood. So much blood, staining the fallen leaves a gruesome crimson.
Animal attack, they had said. A wild animal, they’d insisted, their voices carefully neutral.
But even in her initial shock and grief, something about their explanation had felt… fundamentally wrong.
It wasn't just the sheer volume of blood, though that image was forever seared into her memory, a horrifying tapestry of red against the muted browns and greens of the forest floor.
It was the lack of any real struggle, the almost serene stillness of his expression, even in death.
Her father was a strong man, resourceful. Surely, he would have put up a fight. The idea of a creature, any creature from these local woods, overpowering him so swiftly and silently felt utterly improbable.
A knot of frustration tightened in her stomach. She remembered the weeks that followed, a blur of sorrow and unanswered questions.
Driven by a gnawing suspicion that wouldn't let her rest, her father had, in the months leading up to his death, quietly hired a private detective.
A discreet inquiry, he called it, not wanting to alarm Nalia or her.
He’d been secretive about it, only mentioning in passing that he had a few "unsettling thoughts" he wanted to explore.
Now, those words echoed in her mind with a chilling resonance.
But the detective had found nothing conclusive, only adding another layer of unsettling ambiguity to his sudden demise, a frustrating dead end that left Irene feeling adrift in a sea of unanswered questions.
Then came the will.
The stiff, formal language read by Mr. Abernathy, her father’s lawyer, in the hushed atmosphere of their old living room.
The clauses were straightforward enough, dividing his assets.
But then there was the unexpected codicil, the one that stipulated Irene and Nalia were to relocate to his ancestral home in Wolf Valley.
A place he had rarely spoken of, a sprawling, somewhat dilapidated estate nestled deep within the valley.
It felt like something out of an old gothic novel, a far cry from their modern, sun-drenched home.
Irene had argued and pleaded to stay in their familiar surroundings, close to her father’s friends and the life they had built.
The thought of leaving everything she knew, while still reeling from her loss, felt like another cruel blow.
But the will was clear, its terms binding.
Nalia, her stepmother, had been surprisingly resolute, her usually gentle demeanour hardening with a strange determination that Irene had never witnessed before.
“It’s what your father wanted, Irene,” she had said, her voice leaving no room for argument, a finality that had both surprised and slightly unnerved Irene.
It was as if Nalia held a piece of the puzzle that Irene couldn't see.
And so, they had come to Wolf Valley. To this old house filled with shadows and the scent of damp earth, a smell that seemed to cling to the very fabric of the place.
To this valley where strange dreams haunted her nights, dreams that felt more real than the waking world.
Lost in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed the soft knock on her door.
"Irene?" Nalia's voice, gentle but carrying a hint of concern, filtered through the wood.
"Are you awake, dear?"
Irene blinked, dragging herself back to the present.
"Yes, Nalia. Just… thinking."
"Everything alright?"
A wave of conflicting emotions washed over Irene.
She wanted to confide in Nalia about the dreams, about the persistent unease that clung to her.
But a strange reserve held her back, a feeling that Nalia, despite her outward kindness, was somehow… distant, holding her own secrets close.
"Just a bad dream," Irene said, forcing a lightness into her voice that she didn't feel.
"I'll be down in a little while."
"Alright, dear. Breakfast is almost ready."
Nalia's footsteps receded down the hallway.
Irene sat on the edge of the bed, the cold seeped through the thin fabric of her nightgown.
A bad dream. Such an inadequate description for the vivid, unsettling encounters that visited her each night.
The man's face, etched with a timeless sorrow, the intense violet of his eyes that seemed to hold both ancient wisdom and profound longing… they were more than just figments of her imagination, she felt it in her bones.
She stood and walked to the window, pushing aside the heavy velvet curtains.
The morning light, still soft and diffused, painted the valley in shades of grey and green.
Mist clung to the distant hills, giving the landscape an ethereal, almost otherworldly quality. Wolf Valley. It felt ancient, steeped in secrets.
Could the dreams be connected to this place? To her father's past, which remained largely a mystery to her? The ancestral home, the unexpected clause in the will… it all felt like pieces of a puzzle she couldn't quite assemble.
Her gaze drifted towards the dense woods that bordered the property, the same kind of woods where her father had taken his last breath.
A fresh wave of grief washed over her, sharp and poignant.
She missed him fiercely – his booming laugh, his comforting presence, the way he always seemed to have an answer, or at least a reassuring word.
Now, she was alone with her grief and a stepmother who, while kind, remained an enigma.
And these dreams… these persistent visions of a man with eyes thcolouror of twilight.
She wrapped her arms around herself, a sudden chill gripping her.
The dream, she realized, hadn't just been about his eyes. There was a feeling, a sense of yearning, a silent question that seemed to emanate from him.
A question that echoed in the deepest corners of her own heart, a place she hadn't even known existed until now.
What was it? What was he asking?
She closed her eyes, trying to recapture the fleeting feeling.
A sense of recognition, perhaps? A strange, inexplicable pull?
Shaking her head, she tried to dismiss it as mere stress and the lingering effects of grief.
But deep down, a seed of something else had been planted, a tiny tendril of curiosity and a growing sense that her arrival in Wolf Valley, and these haunting dreams, were more than just a coincidence.
They were the beginning of something… something unknown and potentially life-altering.
With a deep breath, Irene turned away from the window. She needed to face the day, to navigate this new reality.
But the image of those violet eyes and the unspoken question in their depths lingered in her mind, a constant reminder that her dreams held a secret waiting to be unveiled.
- Writer
