Ring, ring, ring...
The alarm clock didn't just ring; it shrieked.
The frantic, metallic rhythmic wail echoed through the room, a jagged blade cutting through the velvet silence of my slumber. I did what any self-respecting college student would do on a Monday morning: I rolled over, buried my face in the mattress, and attempted to retreat back into the sanctuary of blissful ignorance.
But the universe is a persistent adversary.
**RING. RING. RING.**
"Ugh..." I groaned, the sound muffled by the fabric of my sheets. I clamped a pillow over my ears, desperate to dampen the assault, but the vibration seemed to bypass my skull and rattle my very soul.
*What would a man give for just five more minutes?* After several agonizing minutes of the alarm threatening to rupture my eardrums, I finally surrendered. I kicked off the covers and sat up, the weight of the week ahead already settling onto my shoulders.
"Sigh... I truly dread Mondays."
I squinted at my phone. **7:30 AM.** There was still a decent window before my first lecture. As a freshman engineering major, skipping class wasn't just a risk; it was academic suicide. Moments like these make you appreciate youth, mostly because the transition into "real" adulthood feels like a series of increasingly loud wake-up calls.
"Well, it's not like my childhood was any better," I muttered. The thought surfaced unbidden—a flicker of unwanted memories—but I pushed it back into the dark corners of my mind where it belonged. I had a schedule to keep.
Ten minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom. The steam and cold water had done their job; the fog of sleep had completely dissipated.
I stood before the standing mirror in the corner of my room, drying my hair with a towel. The reflection looking back was familiar: dark brown hair framing light-silver eyes, a contrast sharpened by my strikingly fair skin. I stood at a solid 5'11" with a lean, toned build. I wasn't an athlete by trade, but I took enough pride in my appearance to stay fit. I had a "good enough" face—the kind that didn't stop traffic, but earned me polite smiles and the occasional compliment from the neighborhood moms at the local market.
I opted for comfort over style: a black oversized hoodie, black cargo pants, and a pair of crisp white Nikes. It was a simple, functional uniform. Contrary to my minimalist wardrobe, it wasn't a lack of funds that kept me from shopping... ok maybe it was, but I just preferred to move through the world without being noticed.
By the time I reached the living room, it was 7:50 AM. My first class was at 9:00, and the campus was a twenty-minute walk. I had time.
I flicked on the flat-screen TV for background noise and moved to the kitchen to prep a quick breakfast of toast and black coffee. I was halfway through my meal, scrolling absentmindedly through my phone, when a news segment caught my attention.
| **"Breaking News: Two more disappearances have been reported this week, bringing the total number of missing persons to six within the last twenty-one days. Authorities are urging citizens to exercise extreme caution, particularly when walking alone at night..."**|
I stared at the screen, my toast forgotten. I wasn't shocked—not really. I'd lived in this town my entire life, and "weird" was part of the local DNA. With a population of only 150,000, we were small enough for everyone to notice the disappearances, but large enough for people to disappear into the cracks. Unexplained deaths, missing persons, and whispers of the macabre had been the town's backdrop since before I was born.
*But six people in three weeks? That's an escalation.*
Even for a town as cursed as this one, the frequency was becoming impossible to ignore. A cold knot of unease tightened in my chest, but I shook it off. There was nothing I could do about it, and I had a thermodynamics quiz to worry about. I rinsed my dishes, grabbed my backpack, and headed for the door.
On my way down the stairs, I ran into my landlady, Catherine. She was in her early forties, a mature woman with sharp black hair and warm brown eyes. Despite the subtle lines at the corners of her eyes, she possessed an elegance that age hadn't managed to dim.
She was struggling with a heavy industrial-sized trash bag. I slowed my pace and moved toward her.
"Hi, Aunt Catherine. Do you need a hand with that?"
"Kyaaa!"
She jumped, the bag slipping from her fingers. She nearly lost her footing, but I moved instinctively, catching her by the arm before she hit the floor.
"Are you okay?" I asked, steadying her.
"Oh my... Llyod! You nearly gave me a heart attack," she exhaled, clutching her chest as she regained her composure.
I couldn't help but smile. Catherine wasn't just my landlady; she was the closest thing I had to a mother. After my parents died in a car accident, she was the one who took me in. My parents had eloped against their families' wishes, leaving me with no relatives to turn to. She had raised me as her own, and when I insisted on "independence" for college, she had conveniently found an open room in her own building for me.
"I'm sorry, Aunt Catherine. I didn't mean to sneak up on you," I said, reaching for the bag. "Let me take that."
"Oh, hush. This old woman still has plenty of strength left," she joked, feebly flexing an arm. It was a ridiculous gesture, and we both knew it. She tried to hoist the bag again, her effort visible. "Besides, don't you have class? You shouldn't be worrying about me."
I didn't argue. I simply reached out and took the weight from her hands. "I always have time for you."
She blushed slightly, then promptly smacked me on the back.
"Ouch!" I yelped.
"Hmm. I see your mouth has grown sharper than your wits," she teased, turning her head with a playful pout.
I laughed, shaking my head. We walked down the remaining stairs together, exchanging the usual small talk about my studies and my health. I gave her the standard "everything is fine" answers, not wanting to worry her with the stress of freshman year.
Once the trash was disposed of and I said farewells to Aunt Catherine, I stepped out onto the sidewalk and took a deep breath of the crisp morning air.
"Sigh... Mondays."