The moon was high in the sky, and the wind outside the family home in Queens blew with force and speed, making the trees produce a frightening sound.
That was exactly how Ethan Ashblood felt inside his dark room. No matter how hard he tried to sleep, the wind terrified him. But what frightened him more was the silence inside the house despite the stormy noise outside.
Ethan was a seven-year-old boy with brown hair, brown eyes, a heart-shaped face, and clear skin befitting a child his age. He wore blue pajamas.
He climbed out of bed and slipped on his bear-shaped cotton slippers. Thanks to their softness, Ethan's footsteps were so quiet that even he couldn't hear them—which only scared him more.
But no matter how much he thought about removing the slippers, he was afraid of disturbing his parents. That's where he was heading—he couldn't bear the silence any longer and saw no harm in checking their room.
Ethan stood in front of his parents' bedroom door. Suddenly, a strange feeling crept into him, one he didn't know the origin of.
He opened the door, and even the usual creak was absent. He stepped closer. The moonlight illuminated his parents' faces, casting an eerie glow over their stillness in sleep.
It was obvious where Ethan's looks came from—his father's brown hair, his mother's beautiful features.
Ethan approached them. He noticed his father's hand sticking out from under the blanket. Curious, he reached to touch it—only to be shocked by an unbelievable coldness that numbed his own hand. Frightened, he tried to pull away.
Or at least he tried. But he couldn't. His father's hand suddenly clenched around his arm. In an instant, his father shot upright in bed, still holding on.
The pale face, the empty white eyes staring into him—it was terrifying, especially because it was his father. With his skin drained of color and those milky eyes, his father looked ghastly. Just as he seemed about to speak, Ethan found himself falling—falling right off the bed.
Ethan jolted awake, drenched in sweat. Unlike in his dream, he wasn't a seven-year-old boy anymore, but a twenty-four-year-old man.
Another boy burst into the room, rushing to steady him as he leaned against the wall, gasping from the nightmare.
The boy was dark-skinned, named Jonothan—but everyone called him Jon. He was Ethan's best friend since the age of thirteen. To Jon, the situation almost seemed funny.
"Whoa, relax, buddy. Relax," Jon said, guiding Ethan to sit on the bottom bunk—Ethan's bed—while Jon's was the top one. This was, after all, a shared dorm room.
Jon rummaged through their mini-fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and handed it to Ethan, who looked pale, lips dry, throat parched. "Here, drink this."
Ethan grabbed the bottle and gulped it down like a man who hadn't had water in years.
Jon studied him with concern. "The same dream again?"
Ethan set the empty bottle aside and lowered his brown eyes, which no longer shone with fear—only sadness.
Seeing his reaction, Jon sighed inwardly. He already knew the contents of the nightmare. He knew it always ended with Ethan's father trying to say something before the dream twisted into horror. At least, that's how Ethan described it.
The truth was, according to the coroner's report, Ethan's parents had died in their sleep due to a gas leak, suffocating in the process. What was strange—terrifying, even—was that Ethan survived. He had been the one to call the police after finding his parents' bodies cold to the touch, before running through the storm to a neighbor's house. The neighbors called the authorities.
From that day on, a friend of his parents took care of Ethan, and now he was in college.
Ethan rose silently and walked out of the room without saying a word.
Jon considered calling after him but only sighed and let him go. Instead, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
Ethan wandered the dormitory halls until he reached the exit. Outside was a small garden for students. He walked to the farthest bench and sat there, silent.
That moment, that silence, had always haunted him.
He always wondered if his mind was just distorting the event—because in the end, the dead don't rise to speak to you.
But his memory was hazy. All he truly recalled was touching his father's hand—and then suddenly standing with the police.
The confusion left him unsure whether his nightmare was a memory or just a grotesque fabrication of his mind.
Ethan closed his brown eyes and took a deep breath, searching for calm.
He'd been having this dream for so long that he'd learned how to regain some composure, though it was never easy.
As he sat there, eyes closed, he suddenly felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turned, startled.
And met a pair of emerald-green eyes.
Before him stood a girl with short black hair, pale skin, a black shirt, a short black skirt, long black stockings that reached her thighs, and tall boots he couldn't quite name. Over her clothes, she wore a brown coat.
Ethan stared at her. He had never seen her before, not on campus, not outside it. But with a university this big, it wasn't strange to not know everyone.
Still, for her to tap him on the shoulder—she had to know him.
Finally, the girl broke the silence. "You're Ethan, right?" She pulled out her phone and showed him a picture of him.
Ethan blinked in confusion. "Uh… yeah, that's me."
The girl exhaled in relief. "Thank God. I thought I'd never find you. I need you to do me a small favor."
Ethan's confusion deepened, and she hurried to explain. "I'll pay you a hundred dollars."
His brow rose. "So, what's the job?"
"I need you to take some photos at my birthday party. A friend told me you're a good photographer. You did her birthday pictures, and they were amazing. So I'd like some too."
Ethan nodded. He'd almost forgotten—photography was his side gig for extra cash, though he didn't really need it thanks to his parents' inheritance.
He extended his hand. "Of course. I'd be happy to. Just give me the address and time, and I'll be there."
The girl smiled, taking his hand. "Oh, right—I didn't introduce myself. My name's Amanda Muller."
She dug into her bag, pulled out a slip of paper, and handed it to him. "Come on Wednesday at seven p.m., if that works for you. Here's the address."
Ethan took the paper and nodded. "I'll be there on time."
Amanda smiled—and Ethan had to admit to himself she was beautiful. With her smile, even more so. For a moment, he felt almost enchanted by it. Thank God he wasn't new to relationships.
After settling everything, Amanda turned to leave. Ethan watched her go—until she suddenly looked back and caught him staring. Instead of scolding him, she simply flashed another dazzling smile that sent a strange buzzing through his ears, pulling him toward her.
Lost in thought, Ethan barely noticed another hand clap firmly onto his shoulder.
"Hey, man!"
Ethan spun around. It was Jon, looking at him with concern. "You were totally spaced out. I've been calling you for ages. What's up?"
It was like fog clearing from Ethan's eyes. He touched his forehead, glanced down the path—and Amanda was gone. But the small slip of paper was still in his hand.
He stuffed it into his pocket and looked back at Jon. "Hey, want to grab some tacos? I'm starving."
Jon's worry vanished instantly at the mention of food, replaced by excitement. He grabbed Ethan by the arm. "Perfect! You're paying."
"Wait—why me?" Ethan protested.
Jon smirked mischievously. "Because you're the one who suggested eating first. That's the rule."
Ethan tried to argue but knew it was useless. He sighed, letting his friend drag him off in search of food.
End of Chapter One.