Chapter One – The First Nightmare
(Raven, Age 7)
The forest was too big for me.
I was only seven, but I knew this wasn't like the other dreams. The trees towered above me, black and twisted, their branches reaching like claws. My bare feet sank into damp soil, and the air smelled of smoke and iron.
A growl cut through the silence.
I froze, clutching my nightdress with trembling hands. "Hello?" My voice was small, swallowed by the shadows.
Golden eyes blinked open between the trees. One pair. Then another. Then more. Wolves. Their bodies were massive, their fur bristling, their teeth glinting in the moonlight. They circled me, silent, their eyes burning into my skin.
I stumbled backward, whispering, "Please… don't hurt me."
The wolves growled in unison, a sound that shook the ground beneath me. And then I heard it—words, not growls, slithering through the air.
"You are ours."
The forest seemed to close in. The trees bent toward me, their branches curling like skeletal fingers. The soil beneath my feet turned slick, as if blood seeped up from the earth. Shadows writhed between the trunks, forming shapes that looked almost human—faces twisted in silent screams.
The wolves stepped closer, their breath hot and rancid, smelling of rot. Their eyes glowed brighter, until the clearing was lit by their golden fire. One opened its jaws, and inside I saw not just teeth, but rows upon rows of fangs, endless, stretching into darkness.
"You are ours," the voice repeated, louder now, echoing from every direction. It wasn't just the wolves speaking—it was the forest itself, the soil, the shadows.
I screamed.
And woke.
My sheets were tangled, damp with sweat. My throat burned, my nails split, dirt clinging beneath them. I gasped for air, trembling, the whisper still echoing in my head.
The door burst open. My mother rushed in, her hair loose, her face pale. "Raven! What happened?"
I shook my head, tears spilling down my cheeks. "The wolves," I whispered. "They were here. They said I was theirs."
Her face tightened, fear flickering across her eyes. She tried to hide it, but I saw.
She pulled me into her arms, rocking me gently. "It's just a bad dream, sweetheart. Nothing more."
"No," I sobbed. "It felt real. They were watching me. They wanted me."
My father appeared in the doorway, his voice tight. "Another nightmare?"
I nodded, trembling. "They won't stop."
He exchanged a look with my mother—quick, sharp, filled with something I couldn't name. Then he stepped closer, forcing a smile. "You're strong, Raven. You'll get through this."
I pulled away, staring at them both. "You know something. Don't you? You know why this is happening."
My mother shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "You're my daughter. That's all that matters."
But it wasn't enough.
Sunlight spilled across my room, chasing away the shadows. I dressed slowly, pulling on my school uniform, my hands still trembling.
Downstairs, the kitchen smelled of toast and jam. My mother stood at the stove, her hair tied back, her smile too tight. "Morning, Raven," she said, sliding a plate toward me.
I sat at the table, picking at the toast. "Do you think the wolves will come back?"
Her spatula froze midair. "No," she said too quickly. "They won't."
My father folded his newspaper, his voice firm. "Dreams can't hurt you."
"But they feel real," I whispered. "Like they're waiting for me."
My mother knelt beside me, brushing my hair back. "You're safe here. This is your home. Nothing can touch you."
I wanted to believe her.
The walk to school was ordinary. Kids laughed, cars honked, the sun burned bright. But I felt the shadows pressing against me, the whisper lingering in my chest.
In class, the teacher's voice droned on, chalk scratching across the board. I tried to focus, but the words blurred. My pencil scratched across the paper, but all I wrote were fragments: wolves, eyes, ours.
At recess, I sat alone, watching the other kids play. A boy ran past, pretending to be a wolf, howling at the sky. My stomach twisted.
"Why don't you play?" the teacher asked, crouching beside me.
I shrugged. "I'm tired."
She smiled gently. "Bad dreams again?"
I nodded, staring at the ground.
Dinner was quiet. Forks scraped plates, glasses clinked, but no one spoke of the nightmares.
Later, I sat at my desk, crayons scattered across the paper. I tried to draw flowers, houses, the sun—but my hand betrayed me. I drew wolves. Eyes. Teeth.
My mother entered, her voice soft. "Bedtime, Raven."
I looked up, whispering, "Will they come back?"
She hesitated, then kissed my forehead. "Not tonight."
But as I lay in bed, staring at the glow of the lamp, I felt it—the wolves waiting.
And I knew they weren't waiting for anyone else. They were waiting for me.
And though I didn't understand it yet, deep inside I felt the truth: