I remember a thunderous sound, followed by a strong impact. Our car seemed to fly through the air. I don't remember anything my parents said, and I don't recall hearing my sister cry. It was as if the silence was louder than the screams. But that sound wasn't terrifying—it felt like someone was asking for help.
Two months have passed, but I'm still stuck in that moment. My family disappeared, yet somehow I was found alone and without a single scratch. The police assumed they died, and the only thing I can think is: "Why only me?"
At sixteen, with no one left, I have to live with my grandmother. She lives in Havenmere—a town that feels as empty as I do. The trip was long, and the closer we got to the city, the grayer the sky became. The radio hissed, then went silent. As if even sound was afraid. The driver was a friend of my grandmother's—she insisted I go with him.
His name is Oswald. He looks about sixty, with a crooked spine, but the real problem is that he can't speak without spitting.
"Kobba! You have no idea how excited your grandma is to show you the town!"
I wiped my face before replying.
"Yeah, sure."
At one point, he stopped looking at the road and stared at me, trying to make conversation. Every word came with a liquid punctuation. I was soaked in welcome. To avoid the spray, I turned my head to the window and watched the landscape grow more deserted. The trees thinned out, the sky darkened, and the road seemed to forget it led anywhere.
Oswald kept talking about random things, trying to lighten the mood, but I was lost in thought. The atmosphere felt familiar, even though I'd never set foot here. The scent of old wood, a light mist, and people avoiding eye contact didn't exactly create a welcoming vibe. But what stuck in my mind was the sign at the entrance to the town: "Everything is possible in Havenmere."
"Why do they say everything is possible in this town?"
Oswald suddenly turned serious for the first time during the ride.
"Are you the type who believes in the Tooth Fairy?"
"Of course not."
"Then you shouldn't worry about that kind of thing."
But that's exactly when I started to worry.
…
I hadn't spoken to my grandmother in a long time, but I remembered her being extravagant—and that was confirmed the moment I saw her house. It was painted purple, with an orange and white roof. Worst of all, there was a giant banner that read "Welcome James" with a photo of me at six years old. Nothing says "welcome home" like your childhood face plastered on a purple façade.
I rang the doorbell and noticed a sign next to it: Mysticism Shop.
Of course. Because what I needed now was a grandma who owned a store full of crystals and spirits. Before I could finish processing that, she opened the door, hugged me tightly, and shouted:
"It's been so long, James! We have so much to talk about!"
Her hug was too tight, like she was trying to hold me together with her arms. Too bad I was still kind of broken inside.
"Look how different you are! That big curly hair just like your grandfather's. And you haven't been getting much sun, have you?"
It wasn't just a house with crystals. It was a walking catalog of esotericism. A sweet incense smell filled the air, and the shelves were lined with potions, amulets, totems, and all sorts of strange things.
While looking around the shop, I came across a mirror that seemed to call to me. When I looked into it, my reflection blinked—and for a second, it wasn't me. It was that day. There was a monster, or maybe a ghost? All I know is that it was completely white, slightly taller than a normal human. Its mouth was crooked, and its eyes were full of tears. It looked like it was being forced to do something. It was sobbing as it carried my family away.
"You okay, James? I guess you've seen a lot of my work already. But don't worry, it's all just themed merchandise."
I was terrified, but I tried to pretend nothing had happened. It had to be my mind playing tricks.
"Sure, everything's fine. Where am I sleeping?"
If I pretended well enough, maybe the fear would pass. Or at least let me sleep.
…
The inside of the house was "more normal," but there were still strange markings above the doors.
"What are these symbols on the doors?"
"They're for good luck. To attract a rich and muscular man for this old lady here."
If those symbols really worked, she'd be married to Thor by now. Well, despite being sixty-three, my grandma was still pretty lively—so I'll try to believe her.
"I already enrolled you in the local school. Classes start tomorrow. After school, you'll work with me here in the shop. I need to teach you a few things."
School by day, witchcraft by night. Just what a traumatized teenager needs.
I looked her straight in the eyes with the most uninterested expression I could muster and simply nodded.
I was still thinking about what I saw in the mirror. Am I going crazy? What are the chances it was real? Well, I figured sleep was my best option.
She led me to my room, and the incense smell faded the closer we got—like she had cleaned it beforehand. The shelves were filled with books with strange titles and languages I'd never seen. One read "Souls and Traces."
The door to my room had a different symbol—blue and larger than the others. Still lost in thought, I said goodnight and went straight in.
It was a pretty empty room: a bed, a nightstand, and a TV. I dropped my stuff on the floor and tried to sleep.
I closed my eyes, but the mirror's reflection was still with me. That white creature, crying, carrying my family... It didn't look like a monster. It looked like someone who didn't want to be there.
…
The window... There was something glowing in the window. A pink light. I approached, and with each step, it became clearer. It was something incomprehensible—but this time, I wouldn't let it escape.
I'm sure of what I saw. It looked like a fox, its fur a mix of pink and gray, and its eyes were the brightest blue I'd ever seen. As I got closer, it immediately backed away.
I jumped out the window and grabbed its arm like it was my last chance to see the truth. Its fur was soft, but soon I felt something like human skin. Its arm was completely untransformed, and its nails were pastel orange. It was like holding a secret—soft, warm, and slipping away as if the world didn't want me to know.
I couldn't hold on for long. As its arm slipped away, I dug my nails in, desperate not to lose it.
I don't know if it was real. Everything felt like a dream—or maybe it really was.