I've been having these strange dreams lately. Every night, I see myself lying in the middle of the street, staring up at the blinding glow of streetlights. Pain engulfs every inch of my body, sharp and unrelenting, and something warm and sticky pools around me. I try to scream for help, but no sound escapes my lips. My body is too broken, too weak to move. The last thing I see before waking up is my mother kneeling beside me, tears streaking her face. She whispers apologies over and over, her voice trembling, before pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. Then, I wake up—always before I can grasp what’s happening.

There’s something familiar about these dreams, something I can’t quite place. Like an echo of a memory I’ve never lived, a story whispered in the dark. Sometimes, when I wake up, I swear I hear voices fading into the distance, speaking words I can’t remember.

I told my mom about these dreams once, but she only gave me a solemn look. “Dreams can be strange,” she said. “Sometimes they’re nonsense, and sometimes they’re warnings.” She spoke about Julius Caesar’s wife, who foresaw her husband’s death in a dream and tried to prevent it. “But he didn’t listen,” she added, her gaze distant. “And the vision came true.”

That night, I heard my mother whispering to herself. At least, I thought she was alone. The soft murmurs drifted through the walls, blending with the rustle of turning pages, the clinking of metal, and something else—a faint, hollow breath.

My mother has always been different—someone who believes in divination, tarot readings, and spirits. When I was younger, I found it fascinating, loving the way she would lay out cards and tell me stories of unseen forces. But as I grew older, things changed. My friends called her crazy, a fraud, and I let their words shape me. I distanced myself from her beliefs, embarrassed to be associated with them. I love her, but I’m in high school now. It’s time we both grew up.

“I’m heading to school,” I called out, rushing toward the door.

“Wait,” my mother said, hurrying after me. “Please, wear this.” She held out a charm, bulky and outdated, an easy target for ridicule.

“No, Mom. I’m fine,” I said, waving her off. “I’ll see you when I get home.”

I kept my head down as I walked to the bus stop, hoping to avoid attention. Almost made it. But then, I heard a familiar voice—one that sent ice through my veins.

“Where do you think you’re going, freak?”

David Cannon. My cousin, my bully. He’s tormented me for years, his hatred rooted in something far deeper than childhood cruelty. His mother—my father’s sister—blames my mom for my dad’s death. She claims my mother’s “witchcraft” drove him mad, that the whispers in his head, the ones that led him to take his own life, were planted by her. David has inherited her hatred, and I’ve borne the brunt of it ever since.

“To school, like everyone else,” I muttered, trying to step past him.

He shoved me back. “A freak like you shouldn’t be allowed here. You and your weird mother should just leave. Give us some peace of mind.”

“I wish you’d leave and give me some peace of—”

The punch came fast, knocking the words from my mouth. Stars burst in my vision. Another blow. And another. I curled up, shielding my head as best I could, waiting for it to stop. Eventually, he must’ve grown bored. The bus arrived, and he left me there, sprawled on the pavement, aching and humiliated.

I picked myself up and walked to school. Forty minutes on foot. A long, miserable journey, but I had no choice.

The school day passed in a blur. I kept my head down, slipping through the halls unnoticed. It was better that way. When the final bell rang, I decided to walk home instead of taking the bus. The walk home never felt as long as the walk to school. I always wondered why.

As I strolled, my foot hit a crumpled newspaper. I kicked it aside, but a section caught my eye—a horoscope. Cancer. My sign.

“You will lose something dear, but every loss brings a new beginning.”

I scoffed. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Dismissing it, I hurried home, stomach grumbling. When I stepped inside, the house was silent. Mom must be asleep. The scent of food lingered in the air, leading me to the kitchen. A plate of pork chops and rice sat on the counter, waiting for me. I devoured two helpings, making sure to leave some for her. Then, I cleaned up, tending to my face in the mirror. No bruises. Just pain.

Sleep came quickly. But when I woke, something was off.

The house was silent. Too silent. I checked the clock—7 PM. I’d been outfor hours.

Then, I saw her.

My mother stood in the street, motionless, facing the neighbor’s house. Something about her stance sent a chill down my spine.

“Mom?” I called, stepping outside. She didn’t move. “Mom, what are you doing? Come inside.”

She turned to me, but something was wrong. Her head tilted unnaturally, her eyes dark and vacant. When she spoke, her voice was deep, unnatural.

“You must sacrifice to atone for what she has broken.”

Ice gripped my spine. I tried to run, but my body wouldn’t move. My mother—or whatever was wearing her face—began to change. Her body cracked and stretched, limbs elongating, bones popping into grotesque shapes. The creature pointed at me with a long, gnarled finger.

Behind me, a scream rang out. I turned—my real mother stood at the doorway, terror in her eyes.

“Stop!” she begged. “Take me instead! It’s my fault! Punish me, not him!”

The thing let out a hollow laugh. “But I am.” It tilted its now boney head. “And I will continue—until the debt is paid.”

Then, everything went white.

And I was back on the street, staring at the lights.

Somewhere, far beyond my room, a voice spoke, dripping with malice.

“Why must you make me suffer like this?” my mother pleaded. “I watch my son die every night. Isn’t that punishment enough?”

A whisper slithered through the darkness. “You know what you did.” A cruel chuckle. “You tampered with forces beyond your grasp. You tried to bring your husband back from the dead. That crime cannot go unpunished. i watched over my realm for eons, but you are not the first to trespass into my realm. the endless is a place for rest for souls that have passed and you tried to disrupt that with your own selfish desires and the best part? You truly believe each time you send him these warnings, things might change.”

A pause. Then, a final, mocking whisper before fading into nothing.

“But I will never let you break the cycle.”