Dom finished with the shower, the steam curling around her like a gentle mist as she stepped out, the lingering warmth slowly dissipating, leaving a drowsy weight in her limbs. She quickly slipped into a pair of military camo white pajamas, their soft fabric comforting against her skin. She took a deep breath, savoring the rare sense of peace in the quiet night.
Tired but grounded from the shower, she’d thought about letting Nile know he could stay if he wanted; she'd been on her way to bed when a soft glow flickered from downstairs, a light on in the living room. Something gentle yet persistent drew her towards it. Padding softly down the stairs, she paused, her eyes catching on a photo on the wall - a shot Nile had taken of her with her parents, all smiles and salt-crusted from a beach day. She kissed two fingers and pressed them to the frame, her touch lingering for a moment.
"Love you, Mom," she murmured into the silence.
As her fingers traced the cool glass, she could almost imagine her mother’s voice, a gentle, whispered echo answering, “I love you too, kiddo.” The sensation was so real she felt it resonate within her, like the faintest warmth brushing against her heart.
She turned, smiling softly, and continued into the living room, calling out, "Hey, Nile, sorry about the wait. When I got home, I realized you were right - I smelled like a kennel, so I took a quick shower. Hope you haven’t been waiting too... long."
Her words tapered off as she took in the scene. Nile was fast asleep, his head resting on the coffee table, his hair slightly mussed and casting shadows on his peaceful expression. His fingers curled under his chin as he slept, entirely unaware of her entrance. Beside him on the couch, Charlie, ever the faithful shadow, raised her head, giving Dom a lazy, wide yawn before curling herself back down with a little huff, clearly in solidarity with Nile’s nap.
The centerpiece of the room, an ancient bonsai, drew Dom’s gaze. The delicate little tree seemed almost radiant, each tiny leaf catching the soft light. It had been a gift from a blind old man, a friend of her father’s, given not long after her mother’s passing. Despite the odds and a near-complete lack of proper care (her dad wasn’t exactly one for plants), it had somehow thrived - growing stronger, even flourishing, especially since Dom had taken over caring for it. Plants just seemed to understand her, as though sensing a kinship.
As she moved past it, her fingers brushed the delicate branches, which trembled slightly under her touch. Though she didn't notice, the branches seemed to bend ever so subtly toward her, like reaching for a sunbeam. But Charlie noticed - her head shot up, eyes trained on the tiny tree, which she sniffed with gentle curiosity, her whiskers twitching as if trying to puzzle out its secret.
Dom stifled a chuckle, her gaze softening as she watched the little ritual. Then, she gently draped a blanket over Nile’s shoulders, letting it settle around him in a warm cocoon. He shifted slightly, pulling the blanket closer, a faint, murmured word escaping his lips - a sound that might have been her name or maybe just a fragment of a dream.
With a sigh, Dom turned toward her favorite chair, one of the few items that had survived the move intact from her childhood home. It was an old leather recliner, worn but soft, each crease and mark holding memories, a testament to her mother’s love for simple comforts. She curled into it, tucking her legs under herself, letting the familiar embrace of the chair soothe her. She could almost feel her mother’s arms around her, the warmth of her touch, the gentle weight of her hands smoothing over Dom’s hair as she read softly aloud, the words swirling around them like a lullaby.
As she closed her eyes, she felt a profound sense of safety, a connection not easily broken. Just like that, the gentle pull of sleep overtook her, wrapping her in the memory’s warmth.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Charlie, having finished her inspection of the bonsai, gave one last sniff before leaping lightly onto Dom’s lap. She circled twice, then curled herself into a tight ball, her soft fur pressed against Dom’s stomach. With a contented sigh, she, too, drifted into sleep, her gentle breathing falling in sync with Dom’s.
***
Dom dreamed. It was that dream again, the one she’d been having ever since she and her father had decided to move back to her hometown. But this was no ordinary dream. There were no nonsensical flourishes - no purple dinosaurs or rainbow arches dancing across a sky of glittering yellow diamonds. No, this was something else.
It always began in the same place, but it never quite started the same way. Each night, the dream seemed to progress, sometimes picking up exactly where it had left off, as though she were slipping back into an unbroken story that paused only when she opened her eyes. Other nights, it shifted her slightly forward, dropping her into some yet-unseen part, each scene more vivid than the last. It was like stepping into a surreal TV series where she was the main character, the events unfolding more tangibly than her own memories of breakfast.
Most nights, she found herself toying with a strange puzzle box, her fingers tracing its intricate grooves and edges. It was a compact object, cold and heavy, its surface worn smooth except for a scattering of faint symbols that hinted at a deeper mystery. She would twist it, turn it, her fingers tracing the carvings almost instinctively, until finally, a faint click echoed from within, the gears whirring to life. The dream would shift.
Now she found herself standing on the stone steps of the school auditorium, isolated in an island of solidity surrounded by a thick fog. The air was heavy, almost wet, carrying a sharp metallic tang laced with something darker - a rancid undertone like sulfur or rotting eggs, a putrid breath exhaled from the depths of some unseen void.
The light from a nearby parking lot was swallowed by the fog, only a few dull rays escaping to faintly illuminate the edges of her world. The lampposts stood like silent sentinels, their dim glow piercing the darkness in jagged beams, reminding her of will-o'-wisps suspended in still air. Dom strained to see beyond the fog, casting her senses outward, feeling more than seeing. It was like throwing an invisible net into the unknown or sending out pulses like sonar, seeking even the faintest echo of anything - anything at all - beyond her small circle of light.
But there was nothing. Just her own breaths misting in the cold, hanging in the oppressive silence. Alone on her fragile island of light, surrounded by an endless sea of dark.
She forced herself to take a step, the sound of her shoe scraping the stone loud against the quiet. And then it came - a shift, subtle yet unmistakable. The empty darkness, which moments before had felt like a hollow vacuum, was suddenly thick with a presence. She could feel it, pressing in around her, silent and watchful. A chill crept up her spine, slow and insidious, prickling her skin and settling beneath it, like an icy hand trailing up each vertebra before spreading its tendrils through every nerve ending. Her body felt drenched in cold, like she’d been submerged in a viscous sludge of decay.
She took another step, her eyes fixed on the brighter light of the nearest lamp just a few paces away. It was closer, a reprieve from the shadows stretching behind her, yet somehow, it felt impossibly far. Reaching it, she froze. Shapes flitted through the mist around her, indistinct but undeniably there - lurking, shifting. She tried to focus, but the fog seemed to thicken in response, as if hiding whatever was moving within it. She strained her senses, every instinct sharpened, but each attempt to pinpoint the forms slipping through the haze only deepened her unease.
She dared not move further. It was as if she’d stumbled into a web, sensing but unable to see the threads tightening around her. She could hear faint, almost imperceptible sounds - the scuff of something shifting against stone, the quiet intake of breath that was not her own, the muted rustle of something alive and waiting. She cocked her head, every fiber of her being tense, straining to catch some indication of where - or what - the source of her dread might be.
Yet despite her every effort, the shapes in the mist remained elusive, melting back into the fog each time she thought she caught sight of them. She knew that whatever was out there was watching her, waiting, hidden just out of reach but fully aware of her presence. She was alone, but she was not alone - and while she may be lost, whatever was out there knew exactly where she was.