Milan had no idea what was in there. 

He gripped the envelope, sliding his hesitant fingers between the pointed flap. It was glued shut, with no bends or creases, and Milan thought it was from a professional institution if it weren’t for his name written in red with crooked letters on it as if the person who wrote this was in a hurry. Or angry. 

Should he open it? He didn’t know anyone who would send letters. Distant family? Possible, but unlikely. Even they knew how to send messages from the internet. They were just terrible at it. Friends? Yeah, no way. Could it be someone he didn’t know?

He flicked the letter in his hand. 

“Did you open it yet?” Milan’s mother caught a glimpse of him as she forked the food in the corner of her plate. Steak with mashed potatoes and peas. Nothing unusual. “Come on, Mil, dinner’s getting cold.”

“Yeah, we wanna know what it is.” Dad’s lips curved into a crooked smile, the smile when he was excited about something but didn’t want to show it. “Perhaps from a crush? A love interest?”

Milan scoffed. “As if. No one writes letters anymore.” He pulled the flap off and his eyes scanned the letter’s contents.

Dear, dear Milan. I suspect you’ll receive this letter today.

Meet me at Hope Park at 9 p.m., or I wouldn’t sleep tonight if I were you.

No one knows what could happen.

Till we meet.

The letter was about to slip out of Milan’s hand, and his stomach clenched. His eyes darted nonstop back and forth between the words, pushing the note closer to his face. He’d gone over it ten times by now, but the more he read it, the less he understood.  

He let out a steady breath. He had to think about this rationally. What could this letter mean? Was it a prank letter? Someone trying to mess with him? But then it had to be from someone who knew him relatively well. It wasn’t that the person writing this knew his name; it was Hope Park. It was close to where he lived.

Wow, so kind, he thought. They picked somewhere close. So considerate. Or not. 

He eyed his not-so-special watch. The black bracelet encircled his wrist, and the navy crystal showed the date and year, along with the hands indicating the time. 

A few minutes to eight. If he went now, he’d have plenty of time.

“What is it?” His mother’s body tilted forward. “Who is it?”

“Nothing.” Milan stood from the table. “Got to go. I have plans with friends.”

“Suuure, with friends!” Dad’s laugh resounded throughout the house as he rapped his fist against the table, bouncing everything on it. 

“Darling, I’ve told you time and time again not to do that! You’re ruining the dinner table!” 

“Oh, sorry.” 

“You always say that!”

“Sorry!”

Milan didn’t hear the rest of their bickering. He was already out the door.

* * *

With the letter firm in his hand, Milan kept running his eyes down the page, as if something would change, that the letters and words would rearrange themselves into something that wasn’t so unfathomable, but they didn’t move. What was this letter all about? Should he stay awake if he decided not to go? Milan would only need a second to reach a conclusion; scratch that. He had an exam tomorrow morning. He’d been putting all his hard work in studying the entire semester, so flunking it wasn’t an option. But then should he go? Something dangerous could happen to him. He’d still fail if he got hurt somehow and wouldn’t be able to show up for the exam tomorrow. So going wasn’t an option either. 

Milan shrugged. Whatever. Empty threats weren’t enough to scare him. Whoever wrote this didn’t know him well enough. 

But something was off-putting about the letter, other than that. Dear, dear Milan. Could Dad be right? That it was from someone admiring him, considering the two ‘dears’? It didn’t make sense. No one would write in such a way to someone they admired, except if they were crazy. And obsessed enough to see him to the point where they would threaten him…

Milan didn’t realize how long he’d been walking until he stood in front of a wooden door, too familiar for him to keep going. His phone buzzed. 

Door’s open.

He turned the doorknob. The smell of old socks mixed with pizza trash whiffed in the air, making him gag. What met his eyes was worse. Oily card boxes were thrown on the faded green sofa and month-old dirty dishes in the sink had stacked up one after another, a sour smell erupting from the pile. 

“You still haven’t done your dishes?” Milan’s face twisted. 

“Nah.” Damien lounged on the sofa, his head in a video game and fingers flicking between the controller buttons. “Finals, ya know?”

Milan waited, observing him. Nothing seemed off about him. Not that he suspected him. Damien was one of his close… acquaintances. But he had to consider everything to find the culprit. He couldn’t leave it be, after all. No matter how many times his brain would tell him not to worry about it or it was a stupid joke, something in the pit of his stomach overturned. He couldn’t shake off the feeling.

Deep in thought, he trudged inside the open-plan kitchen and opened the refrigerator. And what was there? Cans of soda sitting on every row, as far as the eye could see. Only soda. With sugar.

“You don’t even have bottled water?” Milan asked. 

“Nah, bro. Tap water.”

Milan cast a fixed glance at the sink again. ‘Nah’ thanks. He wouldn’t be able to fit a glass between the water tap and the sink.

Milan shook his head, heading into the living room. He threw the pizza boxes off the sofa and plumped his body beside Damien.

“Why are you even gaming? We were supposed to look over our notes.” Study books, notes, and papers were scattered all over the table. How were they supposed to study like this?

“Ya, I know, ya know. Waiting on Travis.”

Milan gazed at his watch. Twenty minutes past eight. Could Travis be the culprit? Was he waiting for him in the park right now? He’d be alibi-less if he failed to show up at Damien’s house. Was he dumb enough to do that? Milan thought about it for a moment. Yes. He was.

Snatching a physics study book from the table, Milan flipped through the pages. He wasn’t going to waste his time doing nothing when he had a test coming up. Astrophysics, kinematics, electromagnetism, they were all subjects that wouldn’t hurt reexamining again. That was what Milan told himself. But as the minutes passed by, he glanced at his watch more and more, and his focus slipped. At some point, he was reading the words without them committing to his memory. It could’ve been a prank letter from Travis. But Travis wasn’t that kind of guy to pull pranks. Could Damien and Travis have planned it together?

Milan rubbed his eyebrow. Before he reached a conclusion, the door clicked open, and Travis came into sight in the doorway. 

“Sorry, I’m technically a little late!”

Milan snapped the book shut. Late. Again. But at least that meant he wasn’t the one who’d written the letter.

“I couldn’t find my game console.” Travis stepped into the living room. “But technically…” 

“Wait, what?” Milan said. “What do you need your game console for?”

“There’s this quest in Lord of the Universes. We gotta collect a million sacred tree branches by tonight, bro,” Damien said.

“Technically, we’ll be appointed a scarce award. The Time Wand!”

Milan rubbed his temples as Travis slumped on the sofa beside him. He was caught right in the middle of their rambling about this stupid game. 

“And technically, did you see my ultimate teleportation card?” Travis shoved his arm in front of Milan’s face to show Damien. 

“Yah, bro, see my time score in this last quest!”

Here we go again, Milan thought and checked his watch. 8:40. It would take ten minutes to get there. He should go early in case. 

“I’m leaving.” Milan stood. 

Damien and Travis stared at Milan, vacant-eyed, as if he had said something wrong. 

“Bro, we’ll start studying now,” Damien said in a soft voice as he threw away his console. 

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Travis nodded with gleaming eyes.

“It’s not that,” Milan said. “Just got something to do.” 

He walked out the door, leaving behind his idiot friends. Now that he was sure it wasn’t Damien or Travis playing tricks on him, he didn’t feel like sharing the letter he had received this evening. There was no point. They didn’t need to know. 

With those thoughts in mind, he trudged his way to Hope Park. 

His wristwatch showed ten minutes to nine when he arrived. Nothing was out of place. Insects flew around the lampposts, as their lights threw ugly pools of yellow on the road. A few kids screamed and ran after each other. Someone was walking their dog. The usual. But anything could happen in a second. He could be ambushed or threatened with a weapon. Good thing he’d snatched a knife from Damien’s kitchen, just in case. The tip was chipped off, but it should still work. If someone tried to assault him, he wouldn’t think twice before defending himself. He thought about calling the police, but that would mean overdoing it. He still wasn’t sure whether someone had been too bored or if they had beef with him and wanted to make him look stupid. 

The opposite could also be the case. That someone out there had written this and meant every word.

Milan’s fingers gripped the knife in his pocket. It wasn’t like him to act irrationally like this. There was something about that letter…

It was nine now. He pricked up his ears for the most insignificant sounds. Cheeps of sparrows, rattling sounds from the bush, weird cat noises in the distance. He turned his head in multiple directions. Milan expected it anytime. Crunching feet against the earth, a figure in the distance approaching. 

But nothing. 

Why? Milan remained in the center of Hope Park, so anyone should be able to see him. Could it be they were late for their own arrangement?

Milan loosened his grasp around the knife. He was willing to wait a few minutes. It wasn’t over. Yet, his muscles relaxed, and his body slouched, losing its rigid posture. 

Still nothing. 

Time went on, and before he knew it, an additional ten minutes had passed, and no one had shown. 

Milan plunged his hands into his pocket pants and scurried out of the park. He couldn’t believe how stupid he had been for taking the letter seriously. What a waste of time. All this for what? Nothing. 

Well, yeah. No one smart enough would show up and reveal themselves. They wouldn’t want Milan to find out who wrote the letter. Or it could’ve been a lame joke. He could think of a few people that didn’t like him. Not that it mattered. 

Milan snapped the door open to his house. “I’m home.”

The house was dead silent, only the empty living room welcomed him. The shiny leather couch was overspread with pillows, facing the TV mounted to the wall. Milan stepped further inside, the silky material of the rug brushing against the soles of his feet. Had his parents gone to bed? His family were early risers, including him, so it wouldn’t be unusual for them to go to bed early. But the lights were on. Mom never forgot to turn off all the lights before going to bed. 

Whatever. Waking up at five in the morning to study had drained Milan of energy. He was too tired to think about it. He darted the stairs to his room and set the alarm to the same time he woke up today. He couldn’t waste time sleeping when he had an exam. Tomorrow was his last chance. 

Milan unfastened his wristwatch and placed it on his study table. His body slumped against the bed, and he fell into a deep sleep. 

* * *

Milan’s body froze when he awoke the following day. He gawked at his phone. Seven forty-five. 

Seven forty-five?!

He sprang from the bed and rushed to get ready. It would take him a quarter just to get there. The exam started at eight. He could’ve sworn he’d set that damn alarm. He knew he had. But when he searched through his phone, it was as if the alarm had been deleted. All of them had. 

Milan clicked his tongue. By the time he left the house, it was already fifty past. He hadn’t brushed his teeth, taken a shower, or even gotten to eat breakfast. But none of those things were important now. He hopped on his bike and blitzed past the road. The Spring sun caught him in its heat, and his breaths came out in short, pained gasps. Shrubs rattled by the force of the wind as he blasted past them, his legs pumping faster and faster. 

It wasn’t right. Milan couldn’t think of one time when he’d been late for school, let alone an exam. Out of all the days he could show up late… 

Milan pushed faster. The handlebars wobbled, threatening to throw him off the bike. His thoughts flashed back to last night. He couldn’t believe he’d taken the bait. That letter had been what he initially thought; a lame joke. Someone had had a lot of time to kill. 

Wind rushed through his dark-brown hair and prickled his face. Fluffy clouds hung over the school building as it came into sight. Golden rays glinted off the metal letters, making up the words ‘Pine Hill High School’, a private high school specializing in science and mathematics. Enrolling in this high school had made him realize that physics was the subject he was going to study at the university. The laws of nature all made perfect sense logically. That was all he had to use to makes sense of his life (except the mystery of the missing alarm). His parents had insisted on enrolling him in a private high school, even though the cost was triple the cost of public high schools. Milan didn’t mind. They had the money, so he could go to the best high school there was around town. He didn’t mind, not at all. 

He fit his bike in the bike stand and dashed through the entrance. His hand clasped around the handrail, heaving himself up the stairs. 

A shooting pain hit his shoulder as someone bumped into him.

“Watch where you’re going, klutz!” Milan said in a sharp tone. He barely made out a head of shiny, black hair before continuing up. 

There it was. His classroom. He pulled the door handle and stepped in. He slumped on the chair, chest burning as he gasped for air. Two minutes left. He’d made it on a whim. Mrs. Mallory, their teacher, walked around the room, handing out the exam paper. 

“Hey, did you hear?” Two of his classmates were gossiping. “The transfer student starting in our class next year got caught up in something and was arrested.”

“What? No way!”

“She’s being held at a detention center.” A third classmate chipped in.

“No talking before the exam,” Mrs. Mallory said. She neared Milan’s table. Turned out, she liked anyone who got top scores in her class — Physics. Milan was one of them. Then again, he got top scores in all his classes. She always greeted him with a grin, revealing the space in her front teeth and exposing him to her coffee breath. But today, as she handed out the exam paper to Milan, her eyes were cold and narrowed.

“I hope you’ll at least do well in this one,” she said before moving on to the next student. 

Milan rounded his lips. ‘At least do well in this one’? What the hell did that mean? He was about to ask when the clock struck eight, and the exam began. All he needed to take was one look. One look, and he knew he was screwed.

This topic wasn’t on the syllabus. Quantum mechanics — yeah, he knew of the term and the basics, and they’d gone over it shortly once in class, but to apply the formula in the assignment without a book or the internet was impossible. He had studied the whole damn syllabus, so he knew it wasn’t in their study book. This exam question couldn’t exist. It was wrong. 

His eyes darted between the students, but their heads were in their computer screens and fingers tapped away on their keyboards. All of them, without exception. Then, he thought he was in the wrong classroom and taking the wrong exam, but that couldn’t be. The exam was held in classroom 104, their usual classroom. That was what Mrs. Mallory had said. He had noted it down on his phone… which he couldn’t check right now. And if there was a one percent chance he was mistaken, wouldn’t Mrs. Mallory tell him? Nothing made sense. 

Milan raised his hand. Mrs. Mallory’s high heels clattered against the floor as she neared him. 

“This isn’t on the syllabus, Mrs. Mallory,” Milan said. 

Mrs. Mallory lifted her head, looking down on him. “Didn’t you study? Or listen in class? It’s the first topic on the syllabus.”

“No, the first topic is….”

“Just try not to fail,” Mrs. Mallory said, and her high heels clattered away.

Milan’s mouth was left open. His gaze intensified at the exam question, and he wrung his brain out trying to remember something, anything, about this stupid topic, but it was no use. He knew he was right about it not being in the syllabus. But if he was, then how, and why, did everyone seem to know about it? The tapping on the keyboards filled the classroom to the ceiling. It was all Milan could hear. 

He straightened his back. Milan knew he’d fail anyway, but it couldn’t hurt to at least try to write something. 

And those were the worst four hours of his life. Scratch that. It was the worst day of his life. After handing in the exam, he scanned the classroom for Damien and Travis. They could confirm he was right about the topic not being on the syllabus. And there they stood in the corner of the classroom, talking to each other. Like they always did. 

At least something’s the same, he thought. 

Milan called out to them. “Did you guys notice the first exam question wasn’t on the syllabus?”

They both stared at him, then at each other. 

“Nah, that was deffo on the syllabus, bro,” Damien said. 

“Why do you ask us?” Travis said. “You could technically ask Mrs. Mallory.”

“You’re right,” Milan said. “What would you know? You were both gaming that Lord of the Bullshit last night.” 

They shared a look again and burst into laughter. 

“It is technically called Lord of the Universes. And it comes out next week, technically.”

“Yah.”

Milan staggered backward. Next week? He could’ve sworn they played that stupid game last night. What the hell was going on? Why was everything wrong, even though he did everything right?!

Milan left the school building without looking back. He had to ask his parents. Maybe they knew something. He hadn’t seen them since yesterday, and they should still be at work. But he’d wait for them. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t normal. He’d worked his finger to the bone this semester. He knew the syllabus like the palm of his hand. He knew he’d set that alarm at five o’clock. And he was certain Travis and Damien had played that game yesterday. Had it all been a dream? 

He racked his brain to find the answer to all this nonsense, but Milan didn’t have a clue. Not even as he trudged inside his house. All thoughts vanished from his mind when a constant ringing blared in his ears. An alarm clock buzzed from his parents’ room. Milan hadn’t heard any clocks ringing before leaving the house, and his parents left before him for work. Why on earth was it ringing? 

As he slipped toward his parent’s bedroom, a pungent smell, like rotten meat, wafted into his nose. His internals somersaulted, threatening to empty his stomach.

“Mom?” 

The door was ajar, creaking, as Milan slid it open. The antique alarm clock danced on the bedside table and dropped to the floor with a clank, continuing its ringing. The duvet had curled up on the corner on the bed, and the pillows were spread out all over.

Weird, Milan thought. His parents always made sure to make the bed before leaving. They had pestered Milan about it for a long time, too, but he hadn’t done his bed this morning because of… priorities. 

Aside from that, nothing else was there. Everything was normal. The lamp on the nightstand. The TV his father had bolted on the wall to watch action movies in peace when his mother was in the living room. The frame with the red and white flower painting, which Mom insisted on buying because she loved flowers, and Dad disagreed because it was too expensive but had gotten it anyway. The bifold closet in the corner of the room… 

Wait, that wasn’t normal. Milan blinked. 

No way. This couldn’t be right.

Dark, red liquid dripped from the cracks between the closet doors, forming a puddle of crimson on the ground. 

Milan clasped his shaking hand around the handle, holding his breath. The metal felt cold against his sweaty palms. He gulped, wrenching the door open. 

Before his feet, his parents’ lifeless bodies heaped against the hard, wooden floor. Their mouths twisted into a silent scream, and their eyeballs bulged out, staring blankly into the void.

Their eyes were empty.