The school grounds lay in silence, heavy and unnatural, as if the very air had been drained of life. It was already past six in the evening, long after the final bell. The classrooms stood abandoned, windows locked, chairs stacked, and the playground that usually rang with laughter was empty, painted in fading orange by the dying sun.
Ralph, tall and broad-shouldered at 5'9, had stayed behind for football practice. His coach had left a half-hour earlier, and the rest of the team had already scattered to their homes. Alone, Ralph showered his face with cool water in the locker room sink. The droplets clung to his fair skin, running down his jaw before dripping onto the tiled floor. He straightened up, brushed his neatly trimmed brown hair back, and for a moment caught his own reflection—sharp cheekbones, determined eyes the shade of a summer sky. Those eyes had won him far too much attention in the corridors; girls whispered and giggled when he passed, though Ralph himself barely noticed.
He was more than just a poster boy athlete. His grades matched his sportsmanship. Teachers called him "the pride of the school." His parents called him "our responsible one." His friends called him "family."
But right now, he didn't feel like anyone's pride.
As he stepped into the deserted corridor, the sound of his cleats echoed unnaturally loud. His stomach tightened. He had been in the school late before, but something about tonight was wrong. The shadows seemed longer, darker. The silence was so thick it pressed against his ears.
And then, the feeling began—that weight in his chest, like an invisible hand squeezing his heart.
Ralph slowed. He glanced behind him. No one. Just the corridor, lockers stretching endlessly, the faint hum of lights overhead. He shook his head, muttering, "Get a grip, Ralph. You're tired, that's all."
But then—movement.
His skin prickled as four silhouettes stepped into the dim glow at the end of the corridor. They were slouched, staggering slightly. A stench wafted toward him, so foul it turned his stomach, like rotting garbage left under the summer sun. His eyes widened as the figures drew closer, their pale faces catching the light.
His heart nearly stopped.
It was Alice. Sweet, cheerful Alice, the girl who always brought him extra notes. Her face was gray, hollow, her once bright eyes replaced with a dead, milky glaze. Next to her was Berth, his loyal teammate, teeth crooked into something inhuman, lips cracked and bleeding. Akshara and Laksh followed, their movements stiff, jerky, like marionettes with strings tangled.
No… no, it can't be them.
"Guys?" Ralph's voice cracked. "This isn't funny."
They didn't answer. Their mouths opened instead, wide, wider, until the sound that came out was not human. A screech—high-pitched, metallic, so sharp it drilled into Ralph's skull. His hands flew to his ears, but it was too late.
In a blur, they leapt forward. All four of them, arms outstretched, claws where fingers should have been. Ralph staggered back, frozen by terror. He opened his mouth to scream—
And woke up.
His body jerked upright in bed, drenched in sweat. His breath came in ragged gasps. For a second, he didn't know where he was—the white walls of his room looked alien, the ticking clock too loud. Slowly, reality filtered back in. He was home. Safe. It was just a dream.
But his hands still trembled.
"Ralph!" his mother's voice carried up the stairs, warm but firm. "Wake up! You'll be late for school again."
Ralph pressed a palm against his forehead, exhaling shakily. "Just a dream," he whispered. "Just a stupid dream."
The scent of toast and coffee, usually comforting, felt thin and weak this morning. Ralph descended the stairs, his footsteps heavy. He could see his mother in the kitchen, her back to him, humming a cheerful tune as she prepared breakfast. Her movements were the same as every other morning, a familiar rhythm of life that now felt slightly out of sync. He noticed a faint smudge on the windowsill he'd never seen before, a tiny detail that his mind, hyper-alert from the nightmare, latched onto. The air seemed to hold a static charge, a feeling of being on the precipice of something.
"Finally. I thought I'd have to drag you out of bed with a bucket of water," she said, her voice a comforting balm against the strange unease.
"Wouldn't put it past you," Ralph muttered, his lips twitching into a forced smile.
He sat down, and his father appeared from the hallway, fixing the strap of his watch. His dad was taller, more weathered from years of work, but the same sharp jawline ran in the family. He clapped Ralph on the shoulder as he passed.
"Sleep in again? What's wrong, champ? Nightmares?"
Ralph froze for a second, then forced a laugh. "Nah, just tired from practice." The lie felt like a heavy weight in his mouth.
His mom raised an eyebrow but didn't press. Instead, she slid a plate in front of him—eggs, toast, and orange juice. Ralph dug in gratefully, letting the familiar routine soothe him. But as he ate, his eyes kept drifting to the TV in the corner. The cheerful morning show had been replaced by a breaking news report.
A grim-faced reporter spoke quickly. "—disease spreading rapidly across central China. Already, over one hundred thousand cases reported. Victims are described as experiencing violent, erratic behaviour. Doctors are still struggling to identify the cause. Authorities urge calm, though citizens are being advised to remain indoors—"
Ralph's fork paused midair. His brows furrowed. The words "violent, erratic behaviour" echoed the very terror of his dream.
"Wow. Some disease," he muttered, trying to sound casual, but a chill ran down his spine.
His mother sighed. "It's terrible. Imagine the poor families…"
But Ralph only shrugged, dismissing it. "It's China. Far away. They'll figure it out." He shoved another bite of toast into his mouth. The taste of the food was suddenly bland and unappealing. The morning's tranquility was a fragile thing, shattered by the newscaster's words.
Little did he know how wrong he was.
Upstairs, as Ralph packed his bag for school, his excitement grew despite the lingering shadow of his dream. Tonight was the school's annual School Night—a tradition where students stayed overnight, celebrating with games, stories, and food. It was one of the few times the strict rules were relaxed. Last year, he and Berth had dominated the football relay under the stars. Alice had organized a midnight storytelling circle. Akshara and Laksh had stayed up all night challenging each other to arm wrestling.
For Ralph, it wasn't just about fun. It was about belonging. He loved his friends, loved the sense of family they shared. Even if his dream had twisted their faces into monsters, in reality, they were the people he trusted most.
He zipped his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and hurried outside. His mother stood by the door, arms crossed.
"Careful on the road, Ralph," she called as he revved his bike.
"Don't worry, Mom. Love you—see you later!" He shot her a grin, then sped off down the street.
Behind him, his mother shook her head, smiling softly. His father joined her at the doorway, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"He's growing too fast," she murmured.
"He'll be fine," his father reassured. "He's strong. Stronger than we think."
But neither of them knew how soon Ralph would need that strength.
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in a quarantined bio-lab in Wuhan, China—the sterile quiet of the facility was broken only by the low hum of life support systems and the frantic movements of a half-dozen scientists in Level 4 hazardous materials suits. The air, filtered and recycled, still carried a faint, acrid smell that clung to everything. Dr. Mei Ling, the lead virologist, stared at a monitor displaying a rapidly mutating viral strain. The green and blue helixes on the screen pulsed and contorted, defying all known laws of biology.
"They don't respond to sedatives," Dr. Mei Ling said, her voice muffled behind her mask, a thin tremor betraying her professional calm. "Heart rates are off the charts. The aggression levels are beyond anything we've ever recorded."
She gestured to a series of reinforced glass chambers. Inside, figures thrashed and growled, their movements jarringly unnatural. One of them, a patient who had once been a young, kind-faced boy, slammed his head against the glass with a sickening thud. The sound reverberated through the lab, causing another doctor to flinch.
"And the smell," Dr. Mei Ling whispered, pulling her gloved hand to her nose. "It's not just decay. It's... something else. Like a furnace burning wet meat."
Another scientist, a younger man named Dr. Chen, adjusted his glasses behind his visor. "It's mutating faster than we can sequence it. The rate of cellular necrosis is almost instantaneous. It's not just a virus; it's a parasite at the genetic level, hijacking the host's nervous system."
"Containment is holding, yes?" Dr. Mei Ling asked, her voice filled with a desperate hope.
Dr. Chen didn't meet her eyes. "The city-wide lockdown has been initiated. But... there are reports from the field hospitals. The infected are showing a coordinated aggression. It's not just random lashing out. It's an organized... hunt."
Suddenly, the boy in the chamber let out a terrifying shriek, a sound of pure, unadulterated rage that was unlike anything human. His pale eyes snapped open, a milky white film giving them an otherworldly glow. He stared directly at Dr. Mei Ling, a look of twisted intelligence in their depths.
"He's watching me," she breathed, taking a step back. "He knows."
Just then, an alarm blared. A red light flashed above a door at the end of the lab. "Breach!" a voice shouted over the comms system. "Patient Zero has escaped quarantine!"
Dr. Mei Ling's face went pale. Patient Zero. The first case. He was a delivery driver who had come into contact with a live animal market, a man who had seemed healthy a week ago. And now he was free.
"If it spreads..." Dr. Chen started, his voice barely a whisper.
"Don't say it," Dr. Mei Ling finished, a cold dread settling in her gut. "Containment will hold."
But even as she said it, they both knew it was a lie. The sound of chains clinking, the guttural growls, and the sudden shrieks filled the lab, a chorus of coming darkness. Back in his small town, Ralph had no idea that the nightmare he dismissed as "just a dream" was closer to reality than he could ever imagine. And it was coming for him.