The walk to school felt like it was being dragged out by something invisible—something watching me from behind every corner, every branch.
I could hear my mom's voice from this morning in my head: "Take care, okay?"
The way she smiled, the way her hands rested on the doorknob like she didn't want to let me go.
It should've comforted me.
But it didn't.
Because every time I blinked...
I saw her again.
Dead.
That face.
Blood.
Head rolling to my feet.
And me? Frozen.
I gripped my bag tighter, tried to breathe as I passed through the school gates.
People were everywhere. Laughing. Shouting. Running toward their friends like nothing was wrong with the world.
I tried to mirror them. A smile. A casual nod. My signature sarcastic eyebrow lift.
But it felt like I was mimicking a human I no longer was.
Blink.
She was standing in front of my locker.
Same position.
Same bloodied mouth.
Same eyes staring into nothingness.
Blink.
Gone.
Just students again.
Just noise.
Just lockers and schedules.
My knees nearly gave out. I leaned on my locker door for support, trying to convince myself this wasn't real.
This was just residual dream fog. It had to be.
"Emma?"
I turned around sharply.
It was Peter.
His brows were furrowed, one hand holding the strap of his bag, the other holding a packet of lemon candies—he knew they calmed me.
"You okay?" he asked, voice soft, like he didn't want to startle me.
I forced a smile. "Yeah, yeah. I just… forgot my English notebook."
He tilted his head. "You're not even taking English this semester."
Crap.
I looked down, pretending to dig through my bag. "Oh. Right. I meant… Science."
He didn't press. But his eyes didn't move from me either.
"You sure you're okay?" he said again, voice lower now, more private.
"Totally. Just a long night. You know…"
No, you don't. No one does.
He stepped closer, gently brushing a strand of hair away from my cheek. "I'm here. You know that, right?"
That one sentence.
I didn't know what to say to it.
So I nodded. "I know."
He gave me a soft smile, one that tried to break the fog I was drowning in, then stepped away to head toward class.
But the air didn't clear.
The fog didn't lift.
First Period.
The seat beside the window had never felt so isolating.
I stared outside, letting the dull clouds blur into one another.
The silver sky was so still it felt fake. And then the stillness shifted.
The clouds twisted into a shape.
A face.
Her face.
Eyes wide.
Jaw unhinging.
Whispers crawling through the glass.
"Emma."
I blinked and turned my head.
Mr. Morris was watching me. "You good?"
I straightened. "Yeah. Sorry. Zoned out."
He nodded but didn't believe me. I didn't care.
I just kept my head down the rest of the period. My fingers were ice.
Lunchtime.
I sat beneath the old tree in the school courtyard.
Chloe tossed me a granola bar and popped open her soda.
"You look like you haven't slept in three decades," she muttered, clearly trying to keep it light.
"That's because I haven't," I murmured, eyes fixed on a single bird hopping across the grass.
She unwrapped a cookie and handed it to me. "You gonna talk about it?"
I bit into the cookie and pretended to be too busy chewing to answer.
She didn't push. She just sat with me, legs stretched out, watching the clouds.
It was peaceful. But it didn't help.
Later in the hallway, Peter caught up to me.
"I've been meaning to ask…" he started, walking beside me, "What were you talking about with Nathan this morning?"
I blinked. My heart gave a strange skip. "What do you mean?"
He squinted. "You were whispering something and he looked… worried. You okay?"
"I was just telling him to help me with Math," I lied. "I blanked on the equations last night."
Peter looked unconvinced. "You sure that's all?"
I gave him my best half-smile. "You jealous?"
He laughed, but it didn't reach his eyes. "No. I just know you. Something's off."
Before I could answer, the bell rang, and the hallway flooded with students.
That night,
I lay on my bed, curled under the blanket but feeling no warmth. The ceiling above me had stopped being just a ceiling. It was now a screen—one that played flashes of things I didn't want to see. A face. A whisper. A nightmare I'd never asked for.
And then I heard it.
"Dinner is ready, come down Emma… my sweetheart."
My mom's voice. Gentle. So familiar it wrapped around me like a memory.
I blinked.
Maybe I dozed off for a second? Maybe she's really calling me?
I pushed the blanket off and sat up, confused but hopeful.
"Mom?" I called, slipping my feet into the soft slippers beside the bed.
No reply.
The air was unusually quiet. Not silent. Dead quiet. Like the house itself was holding its breath.
I stepped into the hallway, glancing at the door to her room. It was half open, and I could swear I saw movement inside—but when I peeked in, it was empty. The bed made. The lamp turned off.
Okay.
Downstairs, I could still almost hear her voice echoing in the corners of the house. That gentle lilt, always slightly amused. The way she used to call me "sweetheart" when she wanted me to come quickly.
I walked to the kitchen.
And stopped.
There was nothing.
No plates.
No food.
No warmth.
Just… silence.
And a chilling, gut-wrenching absence.
The sink was dry. The stove was cold.
The table was empty.
"Mom?" I called again, a little louder now.
No answer.
"Mom, this isn't funny."
The silence replied.
Something snapped in my chest.
"MOM!" I shouted so loud it echoed.
No footsteps upstairs. No creak of the floor. No cough from the other room. Nothing.
Gone.
I scrambled to my phone with shaking fingers. There was only one name that came to mind.
Liam.
Not Peter. Not this time. Peter lived further, thirty—maybe forty minutes away.
But Liam… he was fifteen, maybe twenty minutes max.
I hit the call button. The moment he answered, I couldn't speak clearly.
"Emma? Hey—what's wrong?"
"I—She's not here. My mom. She called me but she's not here. She's not anywhere—she's not in the house—"
"Stay there," he said, voice immediately shifting to that solid, serious tone I knew so well. "I'm coming now."
Click.
I paced the living room, heart punching against my ribs like it was trying to break out. I called Peter too, just in case.
"Hey, is my mom with you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Peter sounded confused. "No? Why would she be? Is everything okay?"
"No. I—never mind. I'll call you if I need anything."
I didn't wait for a reply.
Then I called everyone—neighbors, coworkers, even a random friend of hers she hadn't seen in years. Nothing. No one had seen her.
And that nightmare—that horrible, blood-drenched nightmare—it pushed into my mind like a splinter I couldn't remove. Her face rolling on the ground. Her neck twisted. Her smile gone.
Had it been more than a dream?
I was pacing by the front door when I saw headlights slice through the window. Liam.
He barely waited for the engine to stop before rushing out, his jacket half-zipped, panic plain in his eyes.
"What happened?" he asked, grabbing my shoulders. "Start from the beginning."
"She called me," I stammered. "She said dinner was ready. But she wasn't here. I came down and there was nothing. I called everyone, and no one's seen her."
Liam cursed under his breath and pulled out his phone, scanning through something.
"We'll figure it out," he said quickly. "Let's start from here. Maybe she went to the backyard. Got distracted."
He grabbed my coat and guided me out the back door. The wind outside was sharper than usual. My skin tingled with cold and fear.
As we walked into the grass and toward the shadows of the backyard, I felt my legs shake.
And that's when I broke.
"I need to tell you something," I whispered, clutching his arm.
Liam slowed, his breath fogging in the air. "Tell me."
"This… this isn't new."
He looked at me.
"I've been seeing her. Dead. For weeks. Maybe more. I didn't say anything because I thought it was just my brain messing with me. The nightmares—her voice, her face, her rolling head—I kept thinking it would stop."
His eyes went wide. "Emma…"
"I thought it was all in my head," I said. "But now, this? What if it's not just dreams? What if something's really happening to her? What if Amelia—what if something's been planning this for months?"
He took both my hands, even though mine were shaking.
"You should've told me," he said gently.
"I didn't know how," I whispered, tears burning my eyes.
He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly. "Okay. Okay. We'll figure this out. You and me. No one disappears without a trace. Especially not your mom."
I nodded against his chest.
We searched the backyard. The trees loomed like shadows keeping secrets. We checked the garden, the shed, even the far fence.
Nothing.
But as we walked, I felt it again.
That pull.
That invisible thread tugging somewhere deep inside me.
Something was watching us.
And it wasn't just the dark.