Matteo sat in silence, his body frozen, his mind replaying that single moment again and again the flash, the sound, the scream, the weightless second before the bodies flew away like broken dolls. He didn't remember how he got home. All he knew was that his hands wouldn't stop trembling. He stared at them now, the faint tremor, the dirt caked under his nails brown, dry, almost black under the dim light.
"What the hell was that?" he muttered, voice cracking in the stillness. "Was that… me?"
He pinched his cheek hard, feeling the sting. He slapped himself once, twice, then scrubbed his face with both hands. "I've lost my mind. I've really lost it." The thought clawed through his head. "That can't be real. Superpowers? What the hell" He stopped, looking again at his palms, as though they were strangers attached to him.
The dirt. Still there. Just like that morning.
Matteo's chest tightened. He suddenly stood up, the wooden floor creaking beneath his feet. His mind screamed something he couldn't understand only a single urge: the rope. He rushed to the basement, feet slapping against the cold stairs. The smell of rust, damp wood, and dust met him. In the far corner, hanging from a nail, was a coil of old rope.
He grabbed it. His breath came fast, sharp, uneven. He ran back upstairs.
"Son? Are you still awake?" his father's voice came muffled from behind the door.
Matteo froze. His hand gripped the rope tightly. "Ah I just got thirsty, Father. Drank some water. Go to sleep," he said, forcing a normal tone.
A pause. "Alright. Don't stay up too late."
The footsteps faded down the hall.
Matteo's heart pounded in his ears. He turned to the rope. "What the hell am I doing?" he whispered. Still, he tied one end tightly around the leg of his cabinet, then wrapped the other end around his own ankle. He pulled, testing the tension. It hurt. He didn't care.
"If I sleepwalk again," he murmured, "I'll wake up before I do anything stupid."
He lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The air was heavy. Every breath he took felt like it carried dust and guilt. His eyelids drooped, slowly giving in to the exhaustion that gripped him. "What am I thinking…" he whispered one last time. His eyes closed.
Darkness.
Everything was dark.
Then came the sound.
CLANG.
A deep echo metal striking stone. Once. Twice. Again and again.
A voice came, low and hoarse, crawling from the black.
"You have sinned."
Matteo's heart stopped.
He tried to move, but his body was sinking, as though hands were pulling him down. The pounding grew louder, the voice closer, whispering from behind his ear now
"You have sinned."
He jolted awake.
The light hit his eyes hard. Too bright. He groaned and raised a hand to cover them. "Why is it so bright?"
He blinked. His breath caught.
He was lying on dirt. Real dirt rough, warm under his fingers. He looked around, heart hammering. Grass. A fence. Wooden posts. The faint smell of hay and animals. And then a sound. The bleating of sheep.
"What…" He stood up, dizzy. His legs felt heavy. He turned and saw them cows, sheep, quietly staring at him like witnesses to something he couldn't remember. His ankle burned. He looked down the rope was gone.
His throat tightened. "Where the hell am I?"
He spun around, scanning the field. A faint mist rolled between the fences. He took a step forward and froze at the sound of a cocked gun.
"Hey!"
The voice was rough, angry, human.
He turned. A man stood by the wooden gate, holding a shotgun, eyes wide with suspicion and fury. "What the hell are you doing on my farm?!"
Matteo blinked, stunned. "Farm? Wait, what"
The man raised the gun slightly, shouting louder now, "Answer me, boy! Who the hell are you?!"
Matteo's pulse quickened, and his thoughts blurred.
A moment ago, he was in his room.
Now, he was standing in the middle of a stranger's field.
The sound of crickets filled the heavy silence between them Matteo and the farmer whose trembling hands had just lowered the shotgun. The barrel still pointed toward the ground, as if unwilling to let go of its suspicion.
Matteo's throat felt dry, his voice trembling. "I-I don't know how I got here. I swear I was in my room, then… then I woke up here." His words stumbled, shaking like leaves caught in a storm. His bare feet pressed against the dirt, rough and cold, and the rope still dangled from his ankle like a cruel reminder.
The man narrowed his eyes. "You expect me to believe that? You're in the middle of my land, boy. People don't just appear here."
Matteo's mind reeled. He wanted to scream, to convince him that this wasn't a trick or madness. But what proof did he have? The night was still damp in his hair, his body trembling with confusion. So he did the only thing left he begged.
"Please," he said quietly, his voice breaking. "Please, sir. I don't even know what this place is."
The farmer's grip loosened. He looked at the boy's torn clothes, the rope around his foot, and the dirt embedded deep in his nails. Slowly, suspicion gave way to something else fear, maybe pity. He sighed and motioned toward the house.
"Come in, then. Don't touch anything."
Inside, the faint smell of smoke and hay mixed with the scent of old wood. Matteo sat at the edge of a wooden chair, hands trembling as he accepted the cup of warm tea the man offered. The liquid burned down his throat, but the warmth barely reached the cold pit in his chest.
Moments later, two officers arrived, their faces shadowed beneath their caps. One of them leaned forward, his tone thick with disbelief.
"So, let me get this straight," the man said, pen tapping against his notebook. "You were asleep in your house… which is a thousand miles away from here… and then you woke up on this man's farm?"
Matteo nodded weakly. "Yes. I I can't explain it. I was asleep."
The other officer raised a brow. "No one just wakes up across the country. You sure you weren't taken? Kidnapped? Human trafficking, maybe?"
Matteo shook his head, his heart pounding. "No, I'm sure. I wasn't taken. I just… woke up here."
They exchanged glances. There was a silence a long, judging silence before the first officer muttered, "We'll take you home, son."
The car ride was quiet. Matteo sat in the back seat, watching the dark fields pass by, his reflection ghostlike in the window. Every blink brought flashes of that dream the pounding metal, the voice whispering from the void: You have sinned.
When they arrived, his house looked smaller, lonelier. His parents had already fallen asleep. Matteo stood outside for a moment, staring at the faint glow from their window, feeling a strange distance between him and everything he knew.
He exhaled deeply. "I'm glad it's my day off," he muttered, his voice low and exhausted.
But sleep wouldn't come easy. His thoughts clawed at him, restless. He walked toward the basement, the floorboards groaning beneath his feet. Dust drifted through the dim light of the single hanging bulb.
There, beside old tools and rusted metal, lay a thick chain. Heavy. Unbreakable.
He picked it up, feeling the weight of it in his palms the cold metal biting into his skin. Maybe this time, it would hold him. Maybe this time, he'd wake up where he belonged.
Back in his room, he wrapped the chain tightly around both ankles, the sound of iron echoing faintly in the still air. He locked it, pulling until it clinked hard against the wood of his bed.
Matteo lay down slowly. His chest rose and fell with weary breaths. The moonlight spilled through the window, painting the chain in pale silver.
He whispered into the emptiness, "What's happening to me…"
And as his eyes began to close, somewhere far from his home the faint clang of a metal chain echoed again, deep within the dark.