DREAD

The city street buzzed with restless energy as people gathered near the yellow police tape, their voices a cacophony of hushed whispers, speculation, and morbid curiosity. The sickly glow of streetlights flickered against the darkening sky, illuminating the sea of onlookers. Some held up their phones, snapping pictures or recording videos, eager to capture the grisly scene.

"Did you hear? A couple, right in their own home," a woman murmured, clutching her scarf tighter around her neck.

"They say it wasn't just a murder—it was a massacre," a young man added, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he nudged his companion.

The uniformed officers stood firm, their faces stone-like as they ushered people back, gently but firmly pushing them away from the cordoned-off area. The yellow tape stretched across the entrance of a modest two-story home, its front door ajar, revealing nothing but an eerie darkness within.

A black car rolled to a stop, and a man stepped out, his polished shoes tapping against the pavement. Inspector Harold Langley adjusted his dark brown trench coat, his sharp eyes scanning the scene before him. The flickering red-and-blue police lights cast shadows across his angular features. His uniform, crisp and well-fitted, bore the silver insignia of his rank, and the way he carried himself commanded immediate attention.

Approaching a weary-looking neighbor, Langley flipped open his notepad. The man, an elderly figure with a hunched posture and wary eyes, ran a hand through his thinning gray hair before speaking.

"It was around midnight," the neighbor began, his voice hoarse. "I heard a sound—something... awful. At first, I thought it was an animal. But then I heard screaming." He shuddered. "By the time I got up the courage to check, everything had gone quiet."

Langley scribbled notes, nodding. "Did you see anyone leaving the house? Anything unusual before the incident?"

The man hesitated, eyes darting toward the crime scene. "No, I didn't see anyone. But... the door was wide open. And the air—it smelled strange, like iron and something foul."

Langley exchanged a glance with one of the officers before looking back at the man. "We'll need you to give an official statement. For now, stay close."

The old man nodded stiffly, folding his arms as he stared at the house with an unreadable expression.

Inside the home, crime scene investigators moved carefully, their gloved hands collecting evidence. Blood splattered across the walls like a grotesque painting, and the lifeless bodies of the couple lay twisted in unnatural angles. Their expressions frozen in silent terror.

Tasha walked along the dimly lit street, the weight of her school day pressing against her shoulders.

The mini-mart was just a short walk from her boarding school, and she had taken the chance to grab a few personal supplies. She adjusted the plastic bag in her hand, its contents rustling softly as she strolled past the cracked sidewalks.

At the alley's entrance, she slowed her steps. Huddled near a garbage bin, a group of stray cats lingered, their thin bodies pressed together for warmth. A few pigeons fluttered nearby, pecking at scraps of food.

Tasha crouched down, reaching into her bag. She pulled out a small loaf of bread she had purchased specifically for them, tearing off small pieces and scattering them gently. The cats meowed softly, their wary eyes studying her before inching closer.

"There you go," she murmured with a small smile, watching as the creatures devoured the offering.

The scene was peaceful, almost comforting—until a distant commotion broke the moment.

A growing murmur of voices. A sense of unease prickled at the back of her neck.

Tasha turned her head, noticing a cluster of people gathered further down the street. The yellow police tape. The flashing lights. The restless energy in the air.

Curiosity and dread warred within her. Her feet moved before she could think.

She edged closer, slipping between the gaps in the crowd until she caught sight of the scene.

Her stomach twisted.

The bodies.

The blood.

The lifeless eyes of the victims staring blankly at nothing.

Tasha felt the breath leave her lungs, her fingers tightening around the plastic bag. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, and for a brief second, she couldn't move.

Then, instinct took over.

She turned sharply on her heel and ran.

The boarding school loomed ahead, its towering Romanesque architecture casting long shadows in the fading light.

Tasha barely registered the gateman's startled expression as she sprinted past the entrance, not stopping to acknowledge his words. Her breath came in short, panicked gasps as she hurried up the stairs, flinging the door open to her dormitory.

Inside, Lina and Naomi were lounging on the floor, giggling over something written in a magazine. The moment Tasha burst in, they looked up, startled.

"Whoa, what's with you?" Lina asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tasha shut the door behind her, pressing her back against it as she tried to steady her breathing. "I—I saw—" She swallowed hard, her hands trembling. "There was a murder. Just outside. A man and his wife—"

Naomi's face paled. "Wait, what?"

"Slow down," Lina said, sitting up straighter. "What do you mean, a murder?"

Tasha exhaled shakily, rubbing her arms as if to chase away the lingering chill. "Their bodies were... They were torn apart. Blood everywhere. People were just standing there, taking pictures like it was some show."

Lina and Naomi exchanged glances, the lighthearted air in the room dissipating.

"That's awful," Naomi murmured, moving closer. "Are you okay?"

Tasha hesitated before nodding, though the image of the lifeless bodies still burned behind her eyelids.

Lina reached out, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "You're safe here, alright? Whatever happened out there, you're not alone."

Tasha swallowed the lump in her throat. The weight of their presence grounded her, pushing back the lingering fear.

Before another word could be said, the sharp chime of the dinner bell echoed through the halls.

Naomi sighed, stretching. "Guess it's time to eat."

Lina stood, offering Tasha a reassuring smile. "Come on. Some food might help you feel better."

Tasha hesitated before nodding, forcing herself to take a deep breath. The world still felt a little darker than before, but at least she wasn't facing it alone. Her friends is there for her always.

The dining hall buzzed with voices, the long wooden tables lined with students clattering their utensils against porcelain plates. The scent of mashed potatoes, roasted chicken, and spiced soup hung in the air, yet Tasha barely registered it. She poked at her food absentmindedly, her stomach twisting at the memory of the mangled corpses she had seen. Every bite felt like chewing on something rotten, something wrong.

Lina sat beside her, stuffing a forkful of vegetables into her mouth before leaning in. She nudged Tasha's arm, her voice playful yet hushed. "Hey, look who's staring at you."

Tasha barely lifted her head. "Huh?"

Lina sighed, dramatically rolling her eyes. "Collins, dummy. Over there." She gestured subtly toward the far end of the hall, where Collins sat with a few other boys. He was laughing at something, his deep dimples flashing as he rested his elbow on the table. He looked effortlessly composed, as always, but Tasha couldn't bring herself to care.

"Not now, Lina," she muttered, pushing her plate away.

Lina frowned. "You're still shaken up, huh?"

Naomi, sitting across from them, chewed on a bread roll and observed Tasha closely. "It's written all over her face," she murmured.

Tasha inhaled sharply, forcing herself to straighten. "I'll be fine."

Lina and Naomi exchanged glances but didn't press further. They continued eating, while Tasha sat in silence, her mind replaying the lifeless eyes and twisted limbs she had seen on the street.

The meal ended with the usual clatter of trays and murmurs of students filing out of the hall. Tasha moved like a ghost among them, her feet carrying her forward, but her mind remained trapped in the horror she had witnessed.

Sleep didn't come easily.

Tasha tossed and turned in her bed, her body rigid beneath the blanket. The room was quiet except for Lina's faint breathing and Naomi's occasional sleepy murmurs. The dorm was dark, the only light coming from the moon seeping through the tall, frosted windows.

She shut her eyes, but the moment she did, the scene played again. The streetlights flickering. The crowd murmuring. The police tape fluttering.

And the bodies.

Blood pooling beneath them, reflecting the flashing red and blue lights. The man's chest was torn open, his ribs cracked like a shattered cage. His wife's face was twisted in eternal terror, her mouth frozen mid-scream, her throat slit so deeply that her head hung at an unnatural angle. Their hands, stretched toward each other, fingers barely touching.

Tasha gasped awake, her throat dry, her heart hammering.

She wiped a cold sheen of sweat from her forehead, exhaling shakily.

It wasn't just a nightmare—it was a memory. Real. Raw. And it wouldn't leave her alone.

She curled up tighter, trying to shut it out. But every time she closed her eyes, the corpses awaited her.

She needed warmth.

Slowly, she peeled the blanket off and slipped out of bed, her bare feet pressing against the cold wooden floor. She tiptoed toward Lina and Naomi's bunk, their forms barely visible beneath their covers.

"Lina," she whispered.

Lina grumbled something incoherent, shifting slightly. Tasha hesitated, then climbed in between them, squeezing herself into the small space. Naomi groaned at the sudden intrusion but, half-asleep, instinctively wrapped an arm around Tasha. Lina, still drowsy, mumbled, "Bad dream?"

Tasha buried her face against the pillow. "Yeah."

Neither of them asked questions. They simply adjusted, their warmth wrapping around her like a shield against the horrors lurking in her mind.

For the first time that night, she felt safe.

And finally, she slept.