Rein Capten's eyes wandered to the clock on the classroom wall, the ticking sound growing louder with each passing second. Just three more days until his birthday. His heart raced at the thought, a mix of excitement and nerves twisting in his chest. He had worked for this moment for years — straight A's, hours of studying, and winning over every teacher he met. If he could secure the full-ride scholarship — the one only given to one student every four years — his parents had promised him a car. For a family that could barely afford the monthly bills, that promise meant everything.
When the bell finally rang, Rein practically jumped out of his seat, his backpack swinging over his shoulder. Outside, the hallway buzzed with life — laughter, gossip, the sharp slam of locker doors. His best friend called out to him, and this time, he waved back with a wide smile. He walked home with a spring in his step, already imagining the feeling of his own car keys in his hand, the freedom of the open road. For once, it felt like all his hard work might finally pay off.
But as he stepped through the front door of his cramped, old house, a sharp pain struck the back of his head. His vision blurred, a low ringing filled his ears. Then it was gone. His mother's voice called out from the kitchen, warm and sweet, telling him to wash up for dinner. Rein shook his head, brushing off the feeling as just stress. After all, he was so close to his dream — nothing was going to stop him now.
Dinner was a noisy, comforting chaos, just like always. His mother, Carly, moved between the stove and the table, serving steaming bowls of stew while his father, Clark, sat at the head of the table, his tired eyes brightening at the smell of home-cooked food. Raheem, the oldest, was cracking jokes about his new internship, and even Ref, who was usually so serious, had a small smile on his face. Only Rimen, the third brother, was missing, probably out somewhere "finding himself" again. Rein didn't mind — it meant more food for the rest of them.
Rein's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to see a notification — a reminder that the scholarship results would be announced tomorrow. His heart skipped a beat. This was it. This was his chance. He shoved the phone back in his pocket and tried to focus on his family's laughter, but his thoughts were racing. A car. His own car. A chance to drive anywhere, to not be a burden, to actually help his family. He could practically feel the cool leather of the steering wheel under his hands.
But just as he lifted his spoon, another sharp pain struck the back of his head, this time worse than before. His vision darkened, and a wave of nausea washed over him. His hand shook, causing the spoon to clatter against his bowl. His mother's voice grew distant, muffled, like she was calling to him from the other side of a thick wall. Rein's breathing quickened, his chest tightening. His father's voice cut through the haze, stern but worried. "Rein? What's wrong with you?" But just as quickly as it came, the feeling faded. Rein forced a smile, his heart pounding. "Sorry… just a headache," he lied. But deep down, he knew something was wrong.
After dinner, Rein tried to shake off the strange feeling that had washed over him. He laughed at Raheem's jokes, helped his mother clear the table, and even let Ref ramble on about some new environmental project he was working on. But even as he smiled, a dull ache lingered at the back of his head, and a heavy fatigue settled over him. His father's sharp eyes caught him rubbing his temple, but Rein forced another smile, assuring him it was just a little stress.
Upstairs, his room felt smaller than usual, the air thick and still. Rein set his phone on his desk, the notification about the scholarship results glaring back at him. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow, everything would change. He tried to focus on that excitement, imagining his parents' faces when he told them he won, the feeling of freedom when he finally had his own car. But the ache in his head only grew worse. With a sigh, he turned off the light, letting darkness swallow the room. He pulled the covers tight around him, telling himself he just needed a good night's sleep.
But sleep came to Rein like a plunge into icy water. One moment, he was sinking into the worn mattress, his mother's faint humming drifting through the hallway. The next, he stood in the middle of his living room, cold sweat clinging to his skin. But something was wrong. His mother lay crumpled beside the kitchen table, her lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. His father was slumped in his usual chair, his face pale, his chest unmoving. Raheem, Ref, and Rimen were scattered across the floor, twisted and broken, their bodies drenched in dark, sticky blood.
A heavy, suffocating silence filled the room. Rein's breath came out in sharp, desperate gasps. He tried to move, to scream, but his voice was trapped in his throat. Then he saw it — standing at the center of the room, towering over the bodies, a dark figure. It had no face, only a shifting, shadowy form. But two bloodshot eyes burned through the darkness, locked onto him. They weren't just looking at him — they were seeing through him, piercing his soul. The darkness seemed to pulse, creeping closer, and a low, distorted whisper filled the air, drowning out his frantic heartbeat.
Rein shot up in bed, gasping for air, his heart racing against his ribs. His body was drenched in cold sweat, his sheets tangled around his legs. He gripped his chest, trying to steady his breathing, his eyes darting around the dark room. Just a nightmare, he told himself, wiping his forehead with a shaky hand. Just a stupid, awful nightmare. But the image of those dead, empty eyes staring at him refused to leave his mind.
The house was quiet, too quiet. Rein's breathing slowed, but his heart still pounded like a drum. He glanced at his phone — barely past midnight. He thought about getting up, walking down the hallway to check on his family, just to make sure they were okay. But something held him back, a whisper of fear that if he checked, he would find them just like in his dream. Instead, he sank back into his pillow, staring at the ceiling, trying to force his mind to calm down. But sleep refused to come.
Morning came too quickly, the pale light of dawn spilling through Rein's bedroom window. He hadn't slept — not really. His mind kept replaying the nightmare, those bloodshot eyes staring into his soul. His body ached, his head throbbed, and even as he forced himself out of bed, everything felt distant, like he was moving through a thick fog. School was a blur. The usual buzz of the hallways, the laughter of his friends, even the teachers' voices seemed muffled. He tried to focus on his math worksheet, but the numbers danced in front of him, refusing to stay still.
"Rein?" a gentle voice pulled him from his daze. He looked up to see Ms. Ellen, his math teacher, leaning against his desk, her sharp but kind eyes studying him. "Can I speak with you for a moment?" she asked, her tone light but serious. He nodded, forcing himself to follow her out into the hallway. "Rein, I've known you for three years now. You're one of my best students. But today… you look exhausted. Is everything okay? Are you… are you worried about the scholarship results?"
"I… I guess a little," Rein lied, rubbing his eyes, trying to hide the trembling in his hands. "I just didn't sleep well. I'm fine, really." Ms. Ellen frowned, her concern deepening, but before she could say anything else, the bell rang. Rein gave her a weak smile and quickly walked away, his heart pounding. He stumbled into the nearest bathroom, gripping the cold sink, trying to wake himself up. Splashing cold water on his face, he felt a sharp, burning sensation in his left eye. Blinking rapidly, he looked up at the mirror and froze. A thin, dark red tear slowly trailed down his cheek. Blood. His own blood. Panic surged through him, but just as quickly, the bleeding stopped, leaving only a faint red streak down his face. Rein wiped it away, his breathing quick and ragged. What's happening to me?