I lay on the couch, exhaustion settling into my bones, the weight of memories pressing down like a heavy blanket. To distract myself, I turned on the TV, landing on Dracula, Mom’s favorite.

I recalled Halloween, We'd spend the morning trick-or-treating, Mom would emerge from her closet, resurrected as Morticia Addams, her dark hair styled in an elegant bob, her eyes gleaming with mischief. Her long, black dress would swirl around her like a dark cloud.

As the sun set, we return home, pockets heavy with the sugary loot and mom would gather us around the TV for a marathon of her beloved vintage horror films with popcorn and pretzels.

Dad would grumble, feigning disgust at the "cheesy" special effects and "ridiculous" plotlines. But his eyes would betray a hint of amusement, and he'd join us, nestled between Mom and me, as we savored the campy delights of Dracula, Frankenstein, and The Mummy.

Today marked a year since her disappearance, on the exact day, I turned 16. My father insisted on calling her dead. It still felt surreal. One moment she was there, headed to meet Dad at the hospital, and the next, she vanished without a trace. We searched everywhere—police scoured the town, neighbors rallied, but it was as if she had slipped into another dimension. After six months, the search dwindled, and the police declared her either dead or a runaway.

Dad couldn’t bear to tell our family the truth, so we buried an empty casket, and he clung to the idea that she was gone forever.

In the afternoon, we visited the cemetery where we buried her casket. I placed flowers on the grave. The cold earth felt like a cruel joke, a reminder that my mother, the vibrant woman who had filled our home with laughter, was now reduced to a memory. I felt hollow, as if the part of me that loved her had been buried alongside that empty casket. The ache in my heart matched the chill in the air, both reminding me of what was lost and the uncertainty that loomed like a shadow over my life.

I could no longer keep my eyes open so I let myself sank into the darkness that enveloped me, into a slumber.

My dreamscape twisted into a grotesque reflection of my inner turmoil. The city's neon glow cast an eerie, morgue-like pallor around me.

A deserted highway stretched before me, the asphalt glistening like polished obsidian. Streetlights cast an eerie glow, casting long shadows that twisted and writhed like living things.

The stranger stood at the road's edge, his eyes burning with an otherworldly hunger. His skin was deathly pale, his features chiseled from the shadows themselves.

As he moved, his body seemed to blur, like a watercolor painting in the rain. His eyes locked onto mine, and I felt the weight of his despair.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

The air reeked of damp earth and decay, the scent clinging to my skin like a shroud. Every breath was heavy with the stench of death.

My ears still rang with the sound of his anguished cry, a haunting melody that echoed through my mind.

The man  stumbled upon a small shop and pushed open the door. The bell above it rang out, and the shopkeeper looked up, startled.

"Water," the stranger croaked, his voice barely audible.

The shopkeeper's expression tensed, but he handed over a bottle. The stranger drank it in gulps, feeling the cool liquid soothe his parched throat.

But it didn't quench his thirst.

He asked for another bottle, and the shopkeeper's concern deepened. As he handed over the second bottle, the stranger felt a strange sensation – the sound of the shopkeeper's heartbeat, the pulsing of his blood through his veins.

The stranger's eyes locked onto the shopkeeper's, and for an instant, he saw the man's life force.

A hunger, primal and raw, surged through him. His eyes turned red and with white pupil and darkness surfaced on his face.

The shopkeeper froze, his eyes fixated on the man in front of him.  A demon, he thought.

The stranger pushed away from the counter, stumbling out into the night. The city sounds blurred together – car horns, chatter, and sirens. He held his head with his hands and gasped for air. He felt like he was drowning into a void.

Then, he caught a scent – coppery and sweet. He took a deep breath and inhaled the scent and vanished into the shadows in a blip, like a cheetah hunting its prey.

Blood.

His feet carried him toward the smell, his heart pounding in anticipation.

A deer lay on the ground, its body broken and bleeding. The stranger could feel the primal urge arise inside of  him. His face changed, red eyes, skin turned into leather, his jaw transformed, teeth descending.

The man was no longer human, a monster that would now devour the innocent animal that lay cold on the ground.

I could feel the man's transformation into my bones as if we are connected as one.

He tore into the flesh of the deer and gobbled up the raw flesh and blood. The pleasure he felt from the blood and flesh, made him feel delirious, euphoria surrounded him. The man pulled back and looked up at the night sky, darkened by the clouds that imitated the scene on earth,  blood-soaked mouth, he felt elated. As he looked down on the animal, a stench of decay pervaded his nose. Reality set in, horrified by his actions, he puked up the blood and flesh that he fed on.

My ears still rang with the sound of his anguished cry, a haunting melody that echoed through my mind.

I shuddered, my sheets tangled around my legs. Sweat dripped from my brow, chilling my skin. I jolted awake, the sound of the tv buzzing filled the room.

My ears still rang with the sound of his anguished cry, a haunting melody that echoed through my mind. Just as I thought I'd shaken off the dream, my dad's voice cut through the fog.

"Hey, kiddo. You okay? I heard the TV was still on so I came to check."

I turned to face him, my heart still racing. I checked the time, it was 3:25 in the morning.

His expression was soft with concern, his eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Yeah, just a bad dream." I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

The dim light of my room seemed to amplify every sound: the creak of the bed and and the soft rustle of Dad's clothes as he moved.

Dad's gaze lingered on mine, searching for reassurance. Seeming satisfied, he nodded.

"Alright, kiddo. If you change your mind, I'm here."

As he left my room, the shadows seemed to deepen, as if the darkness itself was listening.