Chapter 1 - A normal morning

Bright sunlight stabbed through the thin curtains, harsh and unrelenting, dragging me from the comforting oblivion of sleep. I groaned, rolling over and burying my face in the pillow, wishing I could stay submerged in that fleeting escape forever. But the insistent chirping of my phone on the nightstand pulled me back to reality—a reality I had grown increasingly tired of.

I reached for it, squinting at the screen through sleep-blurred eyes. Notifications flooded in, each one a reminder of the mundane life I was trapped in: social media updates, meaningless texts, the usual barrage of digital noise that felt more suffocating than connecting.

"Another day," I mumbled, the words heavy with resignation. School, friends, the same routine day in and day out—a life devoid of excitement, of purpose. A life I desperately wanted to escape but didn't know how.

The thought triggered a cascade of memories, each one a snapshot of my monotonous existence. Me and my friends at the bowling alley, my girlfriend Amy complaining about how she chipped her nail polish during our last outing. The awkward silence in the car after a movie, Amy criticizing the plot while I just wanted to crank up the music and drive away, leaving the tension behind.

I forced myself out of bed, the cold floor sending a jolt through my system. Stumbling to the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Worick Chamnie, senior year, average in every way. Brown hair, dull eyes, a face that blended into the crowd. Just another cog in the machine. Another face to critique. "That shirt makes you look like you're five!" Amy's voice echoed in my head, sharp and cutting as ever.

My phone buzzed again, the screen flashing Amy's name. A knot formed in my stomach. Our relationship had become a tangled mess of guilt and obligation. I liked her—or at least I thought I did—but beneath the surface, resentment simmered. Her constant comparisons to other guys, her insistence that I join the debate team even though I hated public speaking, her thinly veiled criticisms of my best friend Nathe—it was all a slow, suffocating drain on my energy.

"Hey," her message read. "Are you coming to school today?"

I sighed, knowing the barrage of messages that would follow if I didn't respond immediately.

"Why are you ignoring me? Are you with someone else? You're always with Nathe. You care more about him than me." The accusations, predictable and exhausting, played out in my head before I even typed a reply.

"Yeah, I'm up," I replied, my fingers moving mechanically across the screen. "Just getting ready."

"Hurry up," she shot back. "I miss you."

The words felt hollow, devoid of genuine emotion. Did she really miss me, or was it just her way of controlling me? I pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand. Just another day. Another performance.

I showered quickly, the hot water washing away some of the stress but doing little to ease the strange unease that had settled in my chest. As I dressed, I noticed something unusual—a swirling pattern of dark lines on my arm that hadn't been there before. I rubbed at it, but it wouldn't fade. It wasn't painful, just… wrong. Like an ink stain that refused to wash off.

"Great," I muttered under my breath. "Another doctor visit."

But deep down, I knew it wasn't normal. The mark seemed alive, shifting faintly beneath my skin, pulsing with a rhythm that matched my heartbeat. I shook my head, trying to dismiss the irrational fear creeping into my mind.

Grabbing my keys, I headed out the door, the silence of the empty house a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside me. The feeling of eyes watching me prickled at the back of my neck. I quickened my pace, paranoia's icy fingers wrapping around me.

Unlocking my car, the familiar chirp of confirmation brought a wave of relief. I slid into the driver's seat, the hum of the engine grounding me. For a moment, the world outside faded—the oppressive weight of expectations, the relentless monotony of my life, the gnawing sense that something was fundamentally off .

But as I pulled out of the driveway, the sensation returned stronger than ever. Shadows seemed darker, sharper, as if they were reaching for me. Every flicker of movement in my peripheral vision made my heart skip a beat.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the feeling vanished. The road ahead stretched out, empty and quiet. Too quiet.

I glanced at the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see someone—or something—behind me. But there was nothing. Only the pale morning light filtering through the trees, casting long, distorted shadows across the pavement.

For a brief moment, I allowed myself to hope that maybe everything was fine. Maybe the strange mark on my arm, the oppressive dread clawing at my chest—it was all in my head.

But deep down, I knew better.

Something was coming.