The next morning, Ruth found me already dressed in black.
She stopped in the doorway.
"You're going to the funeral?"
"I have to," I said quietly.
"You're sure? After last night—"
"I'm fine."
It was a lie. But if my nightmares meant nothing, then I needed proof. I needed to see it with my own eyes.
The church was packed. Too many young faces. Too much grief for someone so young.
Eric's name echoed between sobs and broken voices. People called him kind. A good son. A loyal friend.
I stared at the large framed photograph beside the altar.
He looked normal. Alive. Smiling.
Not a monster.
My skin prickled.
A sudden gust of icy air tore through the church, knocking hats from heads and sending candles flickering wildly. A sharp ringing exploded inside my ears, so loud I cried out and clapped my hands over them.
"Eliza!" Ruth grabbed my arm. "What's wrong?"
"You didn't hear that?"
"Hear what?"
The ringing faded as quickly as it had come. Everyone was staring at me.
"I—I need air," I said.
Outside, I pulled Ruth aside. "I'm not going to the burial. My head hurts."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
"No. Please. I just need rest."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Call me if you need anything."
I walked home alone, my thoughts racing.
I needed to talk to the old woman.
She knew things she shouldn't—about my nightmares, my guilt, my father.
Whatever was happening to me, she was part of it.
The police cars were impossible to miss.
Yellow tape wrapped around the decaying house like a warning. Neighbors whispered. Ambulance doors slammed.
An elderly woman had been found dead.
My heart sank.
She had been alive yesterday.
I turned away before anyone noticed me and ran home, shaking.
That evening, Ruth came back pale and unsettled.
"The funeral was… disturbing."
"What happened?"
"A girl started screaming Eric's name. She tried to open the coffin."
My breath caught. "What?"
"She was covered in blood. They had to call the police."
The room felt suddenly too small.
"What did she look like?" I asked.
"Blonde. Very pale. Maybe fifteen?"
My knees almost gave out.
That night, I didn't sleep.
The therapist's office smelled like antiseptic and old books.
Dr. Fausto looked ancient—his face deeply lined, his eyes sharp and unsettlingly bright.
"Tell me about your nightmares," he said.
I did.
He nodded, scribbling notes. "Nightmare Disorder. Trauma-induced. Treatable."
Relief washed over me.
"So I'm not… crazy?"
"No," he said calmly. "Just haunted by your past."
He prescribed medication. Promised peace.
But as I stood to leave, his voice changed.
"Some things," he added quietly, "are not meant to be understood."
The warning in his eyes followed me all the way out.
I saw the cat that night.
Standing across the street.
Watching me.
It followed me home.
Didn't eat. Didn't leave.
And somehow—impossibly—it was inside my apartment when I returned.
***
I woke up calm for the first time in weeks.
No blood.
No screaming.
No faceless shadows.
Relief settled in my chest—until I opened my eyes.
The cat was sitting at the foot of my bed.
I screamed.
It sprang away in one smooth motion and vanished through the open window.
"What the—" My heart slammed against my ribs.
I scrambled upright, staring at the curtains swaying in the cold morning air. I was sure I'd closed the window before going to sleep.
A good night's rest didn't mean safety.
It meant I'd lowered my guard.
The medication had worked—but at what cost?
When I stepped into the hallway, Pedro emerged from the bathroom like he belonged there.
Ruth's boyfriend.
The one I never trusted.
"Morning," he said, smiling too easily.
"What are you doing here?" I snapped.
Ruth appeared behind him, hair a mess, clearly just awake. "We fell asleep on the couch."
My jaw tightened.
Pedro leaned down and kissed her—too long, too deliberately—like he wanted me to see it. Then he grabbed his jacket.
"I'll see you later," he said.
As soon as the door closed, I turned on her.
"This isn't okay."
"I know," she said quickly. "I'm sorry."
She didn't understand.
She couldn't.
I left before I said something unforgivable.
That evening, the apartment was silent.
Too silent.
"Hello?" I called.
A sound came from the living room.
Pedro was sitting on the couch.
My blood ran cold.
"How did you get in?" I demanded.
"Through the door," he said casually.
"You need to leave."
He stood slowly, smiling like he'd been waiting for this moment.
"I've been watching you, Eliza," he said. "You're… special."
My heart raced. "Get out. Now."
"You don't even know what you are," he whispered.
Then his eyes changed.
They emptied—black and endless. His skin rippled, twisting into scales. His tongue split, hissing as it slid from his mouth.
I screamed.
He grabbed my hair and slammed me onto the couch.
"You have something I need," he snarled.
Pain exploded through my arm as his teeth sank into my skin.
Then—
He was gone.
Thrown across the room by something fast and powerful.
A man stood between us.
Tall. Dark-haired. Fierce.
Pedro snarled, no longer human, and lunged again. The two collided, crashing into furniture, claws and fists blurring together.
I crawled backward, clutching my bleeding arm.
Pedro fled.
The man rushed to me. "Stay with me. Look at me."
His eyes—
Yellow.
Like the cat's.
Everything spun. Darkness swallowed me whole.
I woke up in my bed.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains.
My arm ached—but there were no wounds.
A man stood by the window.
"You're awake," he said.
"Who are you?" My voice shook.
"My name is Santiago."
"That thing last night—was it real?"
"Yes."
"What was Pedro?"
"A snake-human."
"And you?"
He hesitated.
Then his eyes changed. His form blurred.
A heartbeat later, the cat stood where Santiago had been.
My scream died in my throat.
He shifted back before I could collapse.
"I won't hurt you," he said softly. "I'm here to protect you."
I stared at him, trembling.
"Is it possible," I whispered, "to kill someone in a dream—and have them die in real life?"
Santiago didn't answer right away.
Then he nodded.
The room felt like it was tilting.
Eric.
I had killed Eric.