The nightmare came first.
Emily was back in the dark street, standing on a crumbling sidewalk. The roar of an engine split the silence. A truck, massive and rust-streaked, tore through the night. Its headlights burned white, blinding. On the road ahead, a boy pedaled furiously, face twisted in panic.
There was no time.
The truck hit him square.
The impact was a thunderclap. Metal shrieked as the bike bent under the wheels, folding like tin. His body crumpled instantly — then the wheels rolled over him again, flattening him with wet, sickening cracks. His skull split like glass. Brains smeared across the asphalt in pulpy chunks. Intestines uncoiled like ropes, dragged under the tires. Bones snapped outward, jutting white through strips of skin.
The truck did not stop. It dragged him forward a few feet, until the body was nothing but a shredded sack of flesh and bone fragments, unrecognizable from what it had been seconds before.
The road steamed with blood.
Emily screamed—
—and bolted upright in bed, chest heaving. Cold sweat soaked her hair.
The room was silent. Her alarm clock glowed faintly: 5:12 AM.
It was the weekend. No school today. No crowded hallways. Just silence, heavy and watching.
Her voice trembled as she whispered into the dark:
"What a strange… terrible nightmare…"
Her heart still pounded, but she needed to breathe, to shake it off. Jogging. That always helped.
She pulled on a thick green woolen sweater, soft but heavy, its sleeves too long for her hands. Dark leggings. Worn sneakers. She slipped her headphones over her ears, untangling the cord with trembling fingers. The world dulled the instant she hit play:
🎵 "I'm on top of the world…" 🎵
Imagine Dragons' upbeat rhythm filled her head, clashing against the dread still dripping from her dream.
Her eyes flicked to the diary on the desk. Its black leather gleamed faintly. For a moment she thought of leaving it. Then the memory of Reynolds reaching for it flashed like lightning. If her parents found it—no. She couldn't risk that.
She slipped it into her backpack, tightened the straps, and slung it across her spine. Safe. Hidden. Hers.
The dawn outside was cold, but beautiful. The sky bled orange and pink, streaked with ribbons of gold. The air smelled of wet earth from last night's rain. Birds sang overhead, darting from wire to wire, their calls sharp against the sleepy silence of the town. Somewhere far off, a church bell tolled.
Emily jogged slowly, her breath rising in pale clouds. For a moment, she let herself feel… normal. Human. The music, the colors, the rhythm of her steps.
An old man crossed the street ahead of her, head bent over his phone, smiling at whatever glowed on the screen. His steps were careful, his gray cardigan flapping in the wind. Emily smiled faintly. Something about him was peaceful.
And then it shattered.
A bike whipped past her, tires screeching against the pavement. A young man leaned forward, hand snatching the phone straight from the old man's grasp. The old man gasped, stumbling, shouting after him.
Emily's chest tightened. Her nightmare. Her legs moved before her mind caught up — she ran, chasing the biker.
But then—
The growl of an engine.
Her stomach turned cold. She knew before she looked.
The truck.
The same rust-streaked beast thundered down the road, headlights blinding. The biker turned his head, phone still in his grip, and didn't see it coming.
The collision was worse than her vision.
The front bumper smashed his chest inward, bones breaking like sticks. His scream strangled into silence as the wheels hit. The body burst. His skull cracked open, spraying blood and brain across the asphalt like spilled paint. His stomach split, intestines spilling in ropes that tangled in the mangled bike frame. One wheel rolled over his pelvis, crushing it flat until his lower half was no more than pulp and shattered bone.
The phone clattered across the road, screen cracked, still glowing.
People screamed. Cars braked. A woman clutched her child and turned their face away. A man vomited into the gutter. The old man dropped to his knees, trembling hands over his mouth, unable to look.
Emily froze. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.
Her dream had come true. Exactly.
Her hands shook as she unzipped her backpack and pulled the diary free. The pages fluttered open like they had been waiting. On the fresh paper, a name glowed in ink still wet:
"Daniel Kross."
The biker.
Emily's lips parted. A shiver ran through her body. First the rules had shown her what would happen if she didn't write. Now it was showing her something more. A new power.
She could see them die.
Her fear twisted. It soured into something heavier. Darker. A laugh rose in her throat — sharp, broken, muffled behind her hand. She laughed anyway, the sound swallowed by her music.
🎵 "…been waiting for this moment…" 🎵
She slid the diary back into her bag and jogged forward as if nothing had happened.
But she wasn't alone.
From the other side of the street, hidden in the shadow of a parked car, Detective Reynolds watched her. His jaw clenched as he saw the diary in her hands. The same diary she had snatched away from him last night.
"Something's off about that book," he muttered under his breath. His badge gleamed as he pushed through the crowd gathering around the shredded body.
"Officer Reynolds. Step back, everyone!"
The crowd parted reluctantly, and Reynolds saw the wreckage up close. The boy's body was mangled beyond recognition, bones sticking white through torn flesh. Brains glistened against the pavement, intestines spread like ribbons. Reynolds' stomach churned.
His eyes flicked back to Emily, her green sweater bright against the sunrise. She jogged away, humming along to her music, as if the horror hadn't even touched her.
His suspicion hardened into something colder.
By the time Emily returned home, the sky was brighter, the world more alive.
Her father sat at the dining table, newspaper folded beside him. Her mother moved between the stove and the table, frying eggs, the smell of toast and butter thick in the air.
"Emily," her father called warmly. "Join us."
She forced a smile, slid into the chair across from him. The warmth of the kitchen felt unreal after what she had just seen.
They talked. Small things. Her father asked about school, about friends, about whether she had a boyfriend. Emily deflected with half-smiles and quiet answers. She asked about his work, nodding politely as he grumbled about long hours and stubborn clients.
Her mother finally joined them, setting plates down. They ate in silence for a while — just the scrape of spoons, the clink of glasses, the hum of the fridge.
Then her mother broke it.
"So, Emily," she said softly, eyes sharp. "Would you like to explain about last night? Why were those cops here? Are you hiding something from us? It's okay, sweetie. You can tell us."
Emily's fork froze halfway to her mouth. Her chest tightened. She forced her voice steady. "It's nothing. Just routine questions. They're doing their job. That's all."
Her father frowned, half-satisfied, half-concerned. Then he chuckled lightly. "You remind me of someone in our family. Always so secretive."
Emily's brow furrowed. "Who?"
He just shook his head, smiling. "Doesn't matter."
Emily let it drop, but the words lingered in her mind like smoke.
Later, when her parents prepared to leave for shopping, they offered for her to join. She refused, claiming exhaustion. They exchanged glances, uneasy, but let it go.
The house grew silent. Finally, peace.
Until the doorbell rang.
Emily's body went rigid. Her mind raced. The Watcher? Reynolds? Another knock. Sharper.
Her breath quickened. She crept to the door, fingers trembling on the handle. Slowly, she pulled it open.
And froze.
An old woman stood on the porch. Short, bent forward, her frame frail but unshaken. A wooden stick in one hand. Glasses perched crookedly on her nose. White hair tied back in a bun that had long since frayed.
Her eyes, though clouded with age, burned with sharp, knowing fire.
She didn't greet her. Didn't smile.
Her voice rasped, cold and accusing:
"What have you done, child?"
Emily's heart stopped.
(Fade to black.)