REBIRTH
Ten years had passed, yet there was still no trace of Mike.
His disappearance continued to haunt me, a shadow always lingering at the back of my mind. I knew—one day—he would return. The uncertainty of when and how made every passing moment more unsettling.
What worried me most was the threat he could pose to my children, Ashley and Jude. That fear kept me awake on many nights, my mind playing through countless worst-case scenarios.
My wife often sensed something was troubling me. Each time, she would gently ask what was wrong—but I would deflect with excuses, brushing her concerns aside.
Still, she never gave up on me. "If you're in danger," she once said, "I would risk my life to save you."
Her loyalty, her optimism, her unwavering presence—these things made me love her even more. That love pulled me into a memory from years ago. I had once sneaked into my father's room and discovered the letter my mother had written to him—its contents stayed with me ever since. That day, I silently vowed to honor my parents for as long as I lived and to cherish every moment we shared together.
As I sat lost in thought, the sound of footsteps drew my attention. My wife entered the room and smiled. "Breakfast is ready," she said warmly. "We're waiting for you."
I hesitated, then replied, "You can go ahead without me. One day, you might have to eat alone anyway."
She paused, her face falling into a quiet confusion. My words had troubled her, but the more she tried to make sense of them, the more lost she seemed.
I whispered softly to myself, "The breakfast smells wonderful."
Just then, our five-year-old daughter Ashley looked up at me with curious eyes and asked, "Daddy, what happened to our grandfather?"
I hesitated, then lied: "He died of old age."
But something about that didn't sit right—not with her. A twenty-eight-year-old man claiming both parents had died of old age? I could see the doubt flicker in her eyes. It was subtle, but it was there.
After breakfast, I took the kids to the conservatory, trying to clear my thoughts. As we drove, I silently prayed that this joy, this moment of peace, would last forever.
But peace, as I've come to learn, rarely lasts.
Suddenly, a black van swerved and struck us from behind. The vehicle sped up, overtook us, and forced us to a stop. Four masked figures, wearing disturbing, demonic masks, stepped out and approached us.
One of them threw a small box onto the windshield. Inside was a card, and on it, the chilling words were written:
"The war has just begun."
The voice that followed—calm, yet full of menace—was unmistakably familiar. It sent a wave of dread through me.
I had heard that voice before.
But how did they know where I was?How did they know I was taking my children to school?
These were no ordinary criminals. Someone had been watching.
And I feared… the past had finally caught up with me