I was five years old when my dad died. I don’t remember much about him except that Mont and I got the same pointy nose and freckles, but I was gifted his jet-black hair too. However, there was one more thing - always.

It was this dream that I’ve been getting for as long as I can remember - a strange dream. Sometimes I dream the same thing for days before it disappears.

It was probably sometime in September or October as the leaves were dried and scattered all around the yard coloring the picture with shades of red, brown, and yellow. Someone yells from behind me.

“Mind your back, Princess!” I turn in time to see Mont with a tree branch in his hand, charging at me, desperately trying to close our distance.

“How many times do we have to go through this...traitor?“. A curve played on my lips as I kick Mont in his guts, watching him fall flat on the ground with his face in the rake of leaves. I shake my head in disappointment and turn to leave.

CLASH!

HRK!

Drip. Drip. Drip.

“For the last time." A hoarse voice boomed.

With my bleeding body covered with broken shards of glass, I turn. I turn to see a man with a pointy nose, jet-black hair and dark pools of eyes that were huge and hollow. Where Mont should have been; stood... Dad.

And then I would wake up. It always ended at that, and I never could put why I dreamt that and what it all meant. I don’t even know how I knew that was Dad. Why did he hit me with the glass and those wild eyes...

“Hello.”

GASP!

I blink twice, then thrice; the vision blurred then slowly formed the shape of an old bald man.

His head stood up in a weird oval shape from the top and his ears pointed awkwardly outward at his sides.

I don’t know what it was, but the old man gave me creeps.

He held my stare and then backed away.