The Storm Within

Rain had begun to fall suddenly, draping the city in a silver haze. The streetlights cast long, distorted shadows across the pavement, their glow reflecting off the slick cobblestones. The clouds above were a muted gray, almost the same shade as my hair.

I opened my umbrella and walked at an unhurried pace, one hand buried deep in my pocket, the other gripping the handle of the umbrella.

I was lost in thought. The bitter taste of the bar's whiskey still lingered on my tongue, and the woman's words played on repeat in my mind:

"You'll believe it when you see it."

And then. I saw something.

Across the street, standing just at the edge of the lamplight,

A figure dressed in white, motionless beneath the glow.

No shadow.

Long, crimson hair swayed in the wind.

And a pair of piercing green eyes stared at me from the darkness.

My breath caught in my throat.

A whisper cut through the rain, barely audible but unmistakable.

"Writer..."

Her voice slithered through the storm, a mere breath between the raindrops.

"You were born a writer, and a writer you shall remain."

A phrase both familiar and foreign, echoing from somewhere deep within my past.

I took a step back.

It wasn't possible.

It couldn't be her.

It couldn't be my mother.

Impossible.

But sometimes, even the impossible finds a way to exist.

Then, visions struck me like lightning.

Images flooded my mind, chaotic and overwhelming.

Scenes from stories I had written.

Characters I had brought to life.

I saw a knight kneeling in the middle of a merciless storm, the wind so fierce it could carve through flesh.

His hands, caked in mud.

Tears, blending with the rain cascading from the heavens.

He lifted his face toward the sky and screamed.

"Oh, God, make my reality a resting place for this writer!"

And then, he closed his eyes.

Afraid of death.

I blinked

And the vision shattered.

Had it been a dream? A stray thought lost in an endless loop?

When I opened my eyes again, the woman was gone.

Only the rain remained.

I quickened my pace, my mind a storm of tangled thoughts, locked away in a place I couldn't reach.

When I finally arrived home, my apartment felt emptier than ever.

The bed was cold.

I had no will left for anything else.

As I lay down, exhaustion claimed me.

And then,

The storm began.

A dream. Or perhaps, my reality unraveling.

I was behind the wheel, driving alone.

Rain pounded against the windshield like an endless barrage, the wipers struggling to keep up with the speed I was going.

I had no idea where I was heading.

Or if the road even had an end.

Then..., out of the darkness, caught in the headlights.

A house.

Old, broken.

Its walls cracked, its windows shattered.

The door creaked open ever so slightly, swaying with the wind.

I killed the engine.

The wind stirred the branches.

Crows took flight.

And on the wet ground before me.

A tarot card lay, half-submerged in a puddle.

I picked it up, my fingers trembling.

Fear clawed at me.

Fear of something unknown.

Or fear of what I would come to know.

A jester was drawn on the card, his eyes empty, hollow, as if nothing stirred behind them.

His mouth curled into a grotesque smile.

Above the image, a set of eerie block letters read:

"A Broken House and Dead Bodies."

My heart pounded in my chest.

But when my gaze lifted from the card.

The blood in my veins ran cold.

Because it wasn't just any jester.

It was me.

My own face, distorted into an unnatural grin, dressed in a circus performer's costume.

I tried to throw the card away.

But my hands refused to move.

Something held me.

And then,

Laughter.

It came from within the house.

A laugh that gnawed at my mind.

A laugh... heavy.

I jolted awake, gasping for air.

My chest heaved, my breaths uneven.

I stumbled out of bed, my legs barely holding me up as I ran to the bathroom.

I collapsed over the toilet, my stomach tightening painfully.

I threw up until there was nothing left, sinking to the cold tile floor.

Dragging myself to the sink, I let ice-cold water spill over my face, hands still shaking.

"A broken house and dead bodies..."

I lifted my head.

Stared into the mirror.

Pale. As white as the snow outside.

Was I losing my mind?

Then, the time had come.

Morning struck like a hammer against my skull.

I raked a hand through my disheveled hair, grabbed my bag, and slung it over my shoulder.

As I reached for my car keys, my heart slammed against my ribs.

"I have to get to the cabin."

The words left my lips, bitter as ash.

One last glance in the mirror.

I looked exhausted. Hollow.

But I knew now—I had no other choice.

I stepped out the door.

And headed toward the haunted house.