Prologue
The nightmare. Thatâs how all of this started. I hadnât thought much of it at first. It had just been a bad dream that I couldnât even remember a few minutes after I woke up.
But it came back. More specifically, it crawled back. It didnât matter what dream took over my mindâthe nightmare sank its claws into the very depth of my subconscious and forced its way back in. Creeping slow like tendrils moving on their own accord.
Itâs dark at first. The kind of darkness where you canât see your hand in front of your face. A cold encompasses my entire body like a vice keeping me rooted in place. Chanting can be heard in the background. Itâs not loud enough for me to make out what theyâre saying, but itâs enough to send dread through my soul like a spear. Then, I see them.
A pair of eyes the color of molten gold and hidden behind a wall so thick it would take years to uncover stare straight into my soul. I canât move. I canât seem to breathe. All I can do is stare back as Iâm frozen in fear. Their owner is undoubtedly dangerous although I canât see their face.
Iâm just as mesmerized as I am terrified. Thereâs a strange beauty about those eyes that beg me to come closer. How can eyes as hard as steel seem soft at the same time? Itâs like theyâre trying to lure me into a false sense of peace before the floor is ripped out from under me.
Now, when I wake up, the feeling of dread lingers for much longer. Iâm constantly looking over my shoulder as I just know someone is watching me, yet every time I look, no one is there. It takes minutes, sometimes hours, for me to feel normal again.
Those eyes haunt me in my waking hours now too. Every so often in seemingly normal places Iâll see those eyes flash brilliantly for just a few seconds, and the next moment, theyâre gone. I have no doubt that they actually know and recognize me.
People in my daily life have commented that Iâve become more jumpy and overly cautious. Theyâd be right. I just blame it on the stress of my work. How am I supposed to explain that Iâve been having the same nightmare over and over again that itâs now spilling into my world? If I told them, itâd be a one way ticket into a mental institution.
Those eyes are dangerous, hard, and cold. There can be nothing good about them or their owner. Yet, I feel a strange sense of protectiveness over them. I canât explain it. Every fiber in my body screams at me to run, but I canât. Thereâs like a magnetic force slowly pulling me closer to them, and I find myself unwilling to turn away.















