Or did I?
The world around me looked... familiar.
I was in my room, or what seemed like my room. The same desk near the window, same polaroid photos of Chloe and Peter and Liam and Edward pinned neatly to the corkboard, my bookshelves... my mirror.
But something wasn't right.
There was no sound. Not even the distant hum of city life. Just silence. Thick. Smothering. It hung in the air like fog, pressing down on my chest.
I pushed the blanket aside and stepped onto the floor.
Cold.
Too cold.
I walked to the door and opened it slowly. The hallway was dark—wrong-dark. Not night-dark. Depthless. Like the light itself had abandoned this place.
"Mom?" I called out.
Nothing.
I tried again. "Mom?"
Still nothing.
I heard the faint sound of a television flickering. An old cartoon? Muffled laughter, looping like a broken tape.
I turned toward the living room.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
As I entered the living room, the air changed. Metallic. Like blood. The screen glowed blue, and static crackled faintly. And then—a shadow moved across the screen.
I froze.
A woman sat on the couch, her back to me. Long hair. Her hands resting limply on her lap.
She was watching the static.
"Ma?"
She didn't turn.
My feet began moving on their own. A few steps forward. Closer.
"Ma...?"
Her head twisted.
Not turned.
Twisted.
360 degrees.
With a sickening sound, her neck spiraled like a screw turning the wrong way. Her body didn't move, but her head kept twisting until her face was staring straight at me—upside down.
It was my mother.
But her face... her face...
Her skin was pale as paper. Her eyes rolled back. Her mouth dripping something black.
Then it fell.
Her head dropped from her neck and began to roll toward me.
No sound.
Just that awful rolling across the wooden floor.
"NO!"
I backed away, bumping into a chair. My knees buckled.
The head stopped at my feet.
Blood pooled beneath it.
Her eyes snapped open.
And whispered:
"You already know how this ends."
I screamed.
I screamed so loud it shook the walls.
And that's when I saw the others.
Chloe. Peter. Liam. Nathan.
Standing in the hallway.
Watching me.
Expressionless.
Like dolls.
Like corpses propped upright.
Then Chloe stepped forward.
"Wake up," she whispered.
"Wake up."
"WAKE UP."
But I didn't.
Because I wasn't asleep.
Was I?
The room cracked.
The walls rippled like water.
Everything turned sideways.
I was floating.
No—I was falling.
Then—
A voice.
Low. Chilling. Familiar.
"My darling..."
Amelia.
She appeared in front of me. Just like that. Not walking. Not stepping. She just existed—there—like she'd always been waiting.
Her dress flowed like smoke. Her fingers stained crimson. Her eyes...
They weren't glowing.
They were mine.
She had my eyes.
"What... what is this?" I choked out.
She grinned. "Oh, you still haven't figured it out?"
"I burned you," I hissed. "I destroyed you."
Amelia cocked her head like a curious child. "And yet, here we are."
"I did the ritual," I growled. "I collapsed. I fought you. I remember—"
"Do you?"
The air split.
Suddenly, we were in the forest.
The same forest.
My backyard.
The place where I saw her months ago—when she made my veins bleed and my legs fail.
The full moon hung above us like a sick eye.
"Why am I here?" I demanded. "WHY DO YOU KEEP COMING BACK?!"
Amelia walked around me. "Because you let me in."
"I never—!"
"You let me when you chose not to remember."
Her hand waved, and the scenery changed again.
This time, I was back in Liam's house.
That same nightmare.
The one I never spoke of.
Mom's head... rolling.
Stopping at my feet.
I remembered now.
It wasn't just a dream.
It wasn't isolated.
It was a warning.
Amelia smiled. "Your mind has cracks, my dear. And I slip through them. Again... and again... and again."
Then she leaned in close to my face.
"You thought I was gone after the ritual. But while you slept, while you healed, I stitched myself into your dreams."
"Stop," I whispered. "Stop—"
Her voice dropped lower. "It's already begun."
Suddenly, everything turned black.
A single spotlight.
Amelia stepped back into the shadows.
And from above, my mother's body dropped.
Limp.
Neck broken.
Face twisted in pain.
"NOOOOO!"
I fell to my knees, clutching her.
But her face morphed.
Twisted into my own.
I was holding myself.
My dead body.
Eyes wide.
Blood pouring from the mouth.
"WAKE UP, EMMA," a distant voice cried. "EMMA, WAKE UP—NOW!"
I gasped.
My lungs filled like I hadn't breathed in minutes.
I was on my bed.
In my room.
Drenched in sweat. Sheets tangled. My own nails had left marks on my arms.
My heart slammed against my ribcage.
The sun was rising.
Light filtered in.
It felt warm.
Too warm.
I sat up, trying to breathe.
But then—
I looked down.
My feet.
There was a faint trail of black dust leading to the window.
And on my mirror, scratched faintly into the glass....
You remembered
"Emma," I heard my mom's soft voice, warm and familiar, just like always. "Time to get up, baby."
I groaned lightly and turned my face away from the window. The sun was peeking through the curtains like it was too excited to wait for permission. My mother pulled the blanket down slightly and ruffled my hair, just like she used to when I was little.
But the moment I blinked—
She was lying on the floor.
Lifeless.
Her neck twisted at an unnatural angle. Blood. Her face… rolled—
I gasped.
My eyes snapped open.
She was right there, standing by my side, alive, eyes gentle and concerned, holding a cup of warm water like nothing had happened.
I blinked again.
She was dead. Pale. Blood dripping.
I blinked again—alive. Confused. "Emma?"
My stomach churned. My breathing picked up.
I sat up abruptly, trying to steady myself before she noticed anything strange.
"Just... had a weird dream," I mumbled, forcing a smile I didn't feel.
Her brows furrowed immediately. "Was it one of those again?"
I shook my head. "No. I'm fine, really." Lie. Always a lie.
She looked unconvinced, but she didn't push. I think she could see the tiredness painted across my face. Maybe she could feel how much I didn't want to talk about it.
Instead, she placed the cup in my hands, gently. "You've been through so much, Emma. You don't always have to act okay, you know that?"
"I know," I whispered. "But I am okay."
She sat down beside me, brushing my hair back with her fingers like she used to do before school. I wanted to believe this was real—that she was safe. That I wasn't going to blink and see her body again.
But I did.
When I closed my eyes for just a second—she was gone again.
The flashes wouldn't stop.
I clutched her hand suddenly, tighter than I meant to.
She flinched slightly. "Em…?"
"Sorry," I whispered. "Just… hold on for a second."
She did. Without a word. She just held my hand and kept brushing my hair like I hadn't just acted like a lunatic. Like she didn't see the way I was trembling.
"Mama," I whispered, eyes wide, "you'll tell me, right? If something… ever feels wrong? You'll tell me first?"
She looked surprised for a second, then nodded with a tired but loving smile. "Of course. Always."
I nodded, letting go of her hand slowly. I didn't want her to worry, not more than she already was. The bags under her eyes weren't just from her night shifts at the station. I knew that. I had caused them too.
She got up and handed me my uniform.
I got dressed slowly. Careful. Nervous.
I could feel her watching me in the mirror, like she was trying to read between every step and analyzing if I am okay.
And then I left for school...