ALIANOR’S POV

---

I walk along the sidewalk, window shopping. There are all sorts of things in the shop windows, like books, dresses, shirts, skirts, toys, candy, cakes, cupcakes, and even tablecloths. I put my hands in my hoodie pocket, my naturally straight brown hair waving in the wind. I shiver, the chill seeping through the thin fabric of my clothes. 

‘Is someone watching me?’ I think, feeling quite peculiar, the sensation of knowing eyes are watching me foreign.

I continue walking, getting to a pier. The waves crash against the wall. 

I lean against the railing, looking out into the horizon. Suddenly, my surroundings fade to black, and I see a room. A room covered in what seems like red paint.

‘Blood?’ I think, before focusing on the more important mystery on hand. Panic sets in.

I frantically look around. There’s a canopy bed, a window seat, a dollhouse, an armchair, a vanity, and a nightstand. 

But the scariest thing was the eyes. The glowing yellow eyes peeking out of the shadows. The eyes move forward, until black translucent arms and legs become visible. A feminine like figure, black like shadows, like the figure is a shadow. It moves toward me swiftly.

 I run out of the room, through a gaping hole in the wall that could have been a door, along the edge of a forest, looking behind my shoulder constantly. The shadow-like figure is now walking slowly behind me, as if it knows it’s going to catch me, and is taking its time. Suddenly, unexpectedly, the figure lunges, long black fingers outstretched, inches from touching my face.

“Alianor,” It hisses, “Alianor!” 

Then it reaches me. 

I wake up, gasping for air, cold sweat dripping down my back and adrenaline pumping through my veins, making me feel unusually warm.

“It’s okay, it was just a dream, Alianor,” I whisper.

I look at the clock on my nightstand. 8:04 it reads. I look up at the ceiling. Then I snap my head down, eyes wide. 

‘Wait, it’s Monday! School!’ I think, panicking.

I throw my covers aside and go to my closet. I pull out some jeans and a hoodie, then stop. I look at the hoodie and think of my dream. I shake my head, close my eyes for a moment, and put the hoodie back into the closet. 

My mind flashes to the outstretched fingers inches away from my face…I push the remains of the dream away and grab a plain white t-shirt instead of the hoodie. I put on socks and my beat up red Converse. Then I grab my backpack from the chair next to my door.

 I turn off the lights in my room and close the door as I exit. I walk straight to the front door, ignoring my father, who sits at the kitchen bar with a mug of some liquid-probably coffee. He ignores me too, like he had for the past six years. 

Dad split his time between his seat at the kitchen bar and the darkened room dedicated to my mother, un-officially called her room, complete with a framed picture of her smiling her signature bright smile, a stark contrast to the dark and normally gloomy candle-lit atmosphere of the family-deemed sacred room.

Ever since Mom had disappeared, Dad had retreated into a shell, coming out of his room every morning, and sitting at the kitchen bar, staring out the window, as if watching for something–or someone. When I was younger, I told myself that the reason he kept staring out the window was because he was waiting, and hoping, that my mom would appear. Maybe a part of me still believes that. 

After I exited the house, I  shut the door behind me and locked it. Feeling a single raindrop hit my head, I looked up. The sky was gray and gloomy, matching my mood. 

“Have a good day, Dad,” I whisper to myself as I walk to the school. I hesitate before leaving, my hand lingering a moment longer on the door handle than necessary. 

‘Should I go back in and say good morning?’ I ask myself in my mind, before shaking my head and leaving.

I walk in the building and head to my locker, putting my books in, leaving only my laptop, reading book, science notebook, and wallet. 

 I didn’t have a phone like most kids my age because my mother had always told me that I didn’t need one. That I could get one after I turned eighteen, which was weird. Especially how she would get this faraway weird look in her eyes, something like fear.

‘But what would Mom have to be scared of?’ I am pulled out of my thoughts and I begin walking to my class, eyes on the floor, my hands on the straps of my backpack.

I bumped into something and fell onto the floor. I looked up and saw a boy. I was about to say sorry, when the boy said his piece first.

“Watch it!” He snaps, glaring down on me.

“Sorry,” I say, taken aback by his attitude.

The boy scoffs. 

“You better be,” he says. 

“Hey! I said sorry. It was an accident! You don’t need to be so snappy,” I say. 

“Whatever.” The boy walks away. 

I get up, dust myself off, and continue walking to my class, huffing annoyedly. I roll my eyes.

“Who does he think he is?” I growl under my breath. 

I walk into my classroom and sit. Just afterwards, the bell rings. The teacher stops writing on the whiteboard and starts teaching. Like every day, I tune it out and tap my pencil lightly on my desk, waiting for the bell to ring.

A bell does ring, but not the expected one. 

Brinnnnngggg! The fire alarm rings loudly throughout the classroom. 

“Alright everybody,” Mr. Robert, the first period science teacher says, “quietly get in line please.” 

Everybody gets into line, but not quietly. There’s girls chatting about boys, and boys chatting about girls. It’s weird and annoying. 

“Everyone, Mr. Robert said to get into line quietly!” 

It takes me a moment to realize that the person who had spoken wasn’t me. It was the same boy who had bumped into me earlier. I rolled my eyes again. 

“Alright Cole, thank you. That’s enough,” Mr. Robert says. 

He says ‘alright’ a lot. 

“I was just helping,” Cole holds his hands up in mock surrender. Emphasis on mock.

“Alright Cole,” Mr. Robert says.

After I get out of the building with my class, (finally), I sense a chill in the air. My skin tingles uncomfortably. I feel the familiar eerie sensation as if someone was watching me.

‘Like my dream,’ I think before shaking off the feeling but not quite letting it go.

 I look around for only a moment. All I see are other classes and faculty. Then, only for a moment, there’s a sliver of black shadow that slips through the crowd. 

Like the one from my dream.