Clay was dreaming about a hallway. Brightly lit. Endless rows of lockers. He was walking with a tray of cookies for some reason, and a penguin in sunglasses was giving him a thumbs-up from the janitor's closet.
Then, all at once, the lights blew out.
Total black.
The air turned heavy, thick like syrup. Clay turned to run, but the hallway had vanished—just darkness now, deep and endless. A sound echoed, low and guttural, like the universe clearing its throat.
And then it came.
A black skull, immense and hollow-eyed, peeled itself out of the dark. It grinned with jagged voids for teeth, and before he could even scream, it opened wide—
And devoured him whole.
Clay sat bolt upright in bed, gasping, drenched in sweat.
He blinked rapidly, heart pounding like a war drum. Sunlight filtered gently through the curtains. His room was quiet. Ordinary. Real.
He reached for his phone, hand shaking just a little, and checked the date.
August 1st.
"The day after my birthday," he muttered aloud.
So… it really did happen.
He stared at the phone for another few seconds, then, almost without thinking, thumbed Tony's contact.
The call barely rang once.
"Dude?" Tony's voice came through, slightly hoarse but alert. "You up?"
"I'm up," Clay replied. "You remember yesterday?"
" Yeah," Tony said. "I've been lying here staring at my ceiling wondering if it was all one long fever dream."
Clay ran a hand through his hair. "Same. Just… wanted to make sure you remember it too."
There was a pause on the other end.
"So it did happen," Tony finally said.
"Yup."
"Cool cool cool. We... uh, meet later to talk?"
"Yeah," Clay said. "It's still early. I'll clean up, we'll meet at noon?"
"Bet."
Click.
Clay swung his legs off the bed and stood slowly. His body still felt heavy in places, like his muscles remembered the struggle even if the world didn't. He shuffled to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, brushed his teeth, and stared at himself in the mirror a few seconds longer than usual.
He didn't look cursed. Just tired. Normal tired.
He walked out to the kitchen to find a sticky note on the counter above a microwavable breakfast bowl.
* Left early for an emergency shift. Eat this or I'll force-feed you vegetables later. Love, Mom.*
Clay chuckled and popped the bowl into the microwave. A minute and a half later, he sat down and ate while scrolling through his messages. Everything was normal. No news of shadow attacks. No portals. Just a friend tagging him in a meme and someone posting party photos from last night.
Totally normal.
Ding dong.
The doorbell.
Clay got up, licking the last of the syrup from his fork as he headed for the door.
He opened it to find the neighborhood mailman, smiling with a small parcel in hand.
"Morning, Clay. Got a little something for you."
Clay blinked. "Uh… from who?"
The mailman flipped the small package in his hands and glanced at the label. "Says it's from... Dorri? No last name. Just 'Dorri.'" He handed Clay a digital pad.
Clay signed, still puzzled, and took the box.
"Thanks," he said.
"No problem. Enjoy your… uh, tea or whatever's in there." The mailman tipped his cap and walked off.
Clay closed the door behind him and stared at the box for a second.
Just then, his phone rang again. Tony.
Clay answered, pinning the phone between his shoulder and ear while he peeled the package open. "Yo."
"You got a package?" Tony asked.
Clay froze. "A package that happens to have a starry mug, a fancy bag of tea, and… a business card?"
"Yep."
Clay pulled out the card, squinting at the cursive lettering.
" Dorri Dorris' Tea Shop
Come by."
[Address printed below in neat black ink]
"Well," Clay said, "guess it wasn't the last time we saw him."
Tony let out a breath. "Didn't expect him to send us a party favor the next morning."
Clay chuckled, running a thumb over the raised lettering on the card. "Hey, at least now we know where to find him. Beats hoping he shows up floating out of the sky again."
"True. Meet at the shop in a bit?" Tony asked.
"Bet," Clay replied. "See you there."
He hung up and placed the phone on the table.
Then looked again at the mug.
It shimmered faintly under the kitchen light, tiny stars swirling just under the ceramic glaze like the sky trapped inside.
He picked up the tea packet, sniffed it. It smelled like something he couldn't name—earthy, warm, and a little electric.
He hesitated.
"Guess one sip won't hurt," he murmured.
Clay filled the kettle, waiting as it hummed to life. He couldn't tell why, but something about the tea… called to him. As if Dorri had left a parting message not just in the card—but in the brew itself.
The kettle clicked.
He poured the hot water into the mug, watched as the leaves unfurled like petals underwater.
And then—he took sip.