The sharp scent of blood hit me before my eyes adjusted to the shadows.
The gym doors creaked open with a low, haunted groan, like the building itself didn't want me to enter. Inside, the moonlight cut through the broken glass windows, painting pale rectangles across the polished floor. It should have been empty. Silent.
Just another after-hours gym in a sleepy town.
But it wasn't.
The air was thick–too thick–like it clung to my skin, smothering me. And then I saw it.
Bodies.
Not one. Not two. Dozens. Stream across the floor in ways the human mind wasn't meant to process. Limbs were scattered like discarded dolls. Faces–
Some twisted in fear, others frozen mid-scream–stared at nothing. I couldn't tell whose blood belonged to who.
And in the center... Alden.
Or what was left of him.
His once-bright eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, a pool of dark crimson swallowing the gym's faded lines. His body was torn apart in ways that shouldn't be possible.
His body was scattered in pieces–an arm tossed near the bleachers, his head lying under the basketball hoop. When I walked toward the basketball hoop–his glassy eyes were staring straight at me. Blood painted the floor in broken streaks, seeping into the grain of the wood, still wet enough to shine under the single swinging light above. My legs locked, refusing to move forward.
My stomach churned, the metallic stench clawing down my throat.
And then I saw him.
The man from before.
The man who had killed me.
The serial killer stood in the middle of the carnage, hunched over as if admiring his work. A slow smile crept across his face when his gaze found me.
My voice cracked, trembling, the words barely escaping my lips.
"W-why are y-you h-h-here?"
He took a step toward me–
And suddenly, everything went black.
I shot up in bed, drenched in sweat. My heart was pounding like it wanted to break free from my ribs. My eyes darted around the dimly lit room, searching for shadows that weren't there.
A dream.
It had to be a dream.
But... my hands were trembling. Too much. My breathing was uneven, shallow. And for some reason, my clothes clung damp against my skin as if I'd really been there.
Shaking it off, I told myself it was nothing. Just stress. Just my overactive brain.
The next day, Alden greeted me at the school gates like nothing was wrong.
"Yo, Hangout later?"
I hesitated for a moment but forced a smile.
"Sure."
We went to the plaza after school, wandering past street vendors and old buildings. At one point, as we passed a particular alleyway, I froze.
A sudden chill wrapped around me. I'd been here before. Not just here–I'd walked this exact path, looked at that same flickering streetlight, even smelled the faint oil from the food stall nearby.
And I wasn't alone.
Alden had been right there with me.
My vision blurred for a moment, flashes of something–blood? A scream?–rushed through my mind, and then it was gone.
"You good?" Alden asked, tilting his head.
"Yeah. Just... Spaced out," I replied quickly.
We kept walking, but it happened again. A passerby in a dark coat caught my eye, and for a second, I felt a rush of pure dread.
I stared too long. Too hard.
Alden waved his hand in front of my face.
"Yo, dreamer, back to Earth."
I shook my head and laughed it off.
"Sorry. Let's go."
As we passed an electronics store, a row of TV screens blared the news. My eyes landed on the image instantly–a mugshot of the man from my dream. The serial killer.
WANTED flashed in bold letters beneath his face.
My chest tightened, sweat dripped down my temple.
My breathing turned ragged, my hands cold and clammy.
"Yo? You're pale, man. What's wrong?" Alden asked, stepping closer.
"Nothing," I muttered, forcing my legs to move. "Let's keep going."
Later, while eating snacks at a bench, Alden suddenly grinned. "Oh, by the way–seven nights from now, our middle school's holding the Cultural Night Festival. It's huge, man. Food stalls, performances, haunted house–
you name it. You're coming, right?"
I didn't answer immediately. Last time... I didn't even know such an event existed. But now, with Alden by my side, I couldn't help but wonder–would this change anything?
"Yeah," I said finally. "I'll be there."
Seven nights.
That was all the time I had before... something happened.
And somewhere deep down, I already knew this "normal life" was about to end again.
That night, the streetlights outside my window flickered.
A faint whisper bled into my thoughts.
"Seven nights... "
I froze.
"Seven nights until you die again."
I turned toward the voice, my eyes scanning the shadows of my room.
No one was there.
But the whisper's chill stayed with me long after the night had swallowed the sound.
–S. Yusuf