The hurried footsteps and the clinking of a spoon against a plate jolted Dave awake. Morning light seeped through the gaps in the curtains, stabbing at his still-heavy eyelids. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust to reality.
"Dave! How many times do I have to tell you, stop sleeping in!"
The sharp voice came from the kitchen. Mrs. Ana, his mother, was stuffing a lunchbox into her bag while glancing impatiently at the wall clock.
The scent of coffee, now slightly cold, lingered in the air, mixed with the smell of slightly burnt toast.
Dave exhaled heavily. "What time is it…" he mumbled, his voice hoarse from sleep.
"What time?! It's almost eight, Dave! Do you think life is just about sleeping?"
His mother stepped closer, still wearing her slightly wrinkled work uniform from rushing. Her hair was tied back loosely, her face etched with exhaustion.
The dark circles under her eyes became more apparent as she gazed at Dave with a look of disappointment.
Dave lowered his head, avoiding her eyes. This wasn't the first time he had heard this lecture.
"Getting a job isn't that easy, Mom," he muttered.
"It won't be easy if you don't even try! Every day you just sit at home, not even trying to help me?! Your father was a hardworking man… and you…"
Mrs. Ana stopped mid-sentence, her voice catching. As if there was something she wanted to say but couldn't.
The atmosphere turned cold.
Dave lifted his head slightly, but she had already turned away, grabbing her bag and jacket in quick, sharp movements.
"I'm leaving," she said flatly before stepping out, closing the door a little harder than necessary.
Sunlight streamed through the small window of Dave's room, illuminating the messy stacks of books and clothes scattered around. The air inside was stale, mixed with the scent of old paper and dust clinging to the rickety wooden shelves in the corner.
He remained seated on the edge of his bed, his head lowered, his thoughts a chaotic mess after the argument. His mother's voice still echoed in his ears—full of exhaustion and disappointment.
"Your father was a hardworking man, and you're just an unemployed—" She had cut herself off, unable to finish.
Dave knew she didn't mean to hurt him. But those words still felt like a knife plunging into his chest.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to shake off the weight in his chest before finally stepping out of his room.
Outside, the house felt empty. His mother had already left for work, like she did every morning. A plate of rice and an omelet sat on the small dining table—the only sign that she still cared, even in the simplest way.
Dave didn't touch it.
***
The air outside was fresher than inside his cramped house. This city might have been poor, but at least its streets were still full of life. Old buildings lined both sides of the road, their paint peeling, their walls worn by time, yet they still housed small shops struggling to survive.
"Bro...."
He turned to see Alex approaching casually. He was slightly chubby, his short hair a mess, but his smile was the same as ever—like someone who had never known stress.
"Day off today?" Dave asked as Alex reached him.
Alex nodded. "The shop's closed. Figured you could use some company."
Dave sighed. "I wasn't planning on going out."
"Well, whatever. Let's go."
They walked aimlessly, passing narrow alleys and winding streets they had wandered through since high school. Kids ran along the sidewalks, while exhausted night-shift workers trudged home. This city was full of life, but also full of struggle.
Eventually, they stopped at a small roadside eatery. Its roof sagged dangerously, but the place always felt familiar.
A middle-aged man sat in the corner, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. A few other customers sat chatting, cigarette smoke hanging thick in the air.
They took a seat in the corner, and Alex immediately ordered hot tea.
"I don't get you, Dave," he said, stirring his tea. "Why don't you try getting a job too?"
Dave leaned back in his chair. "You think I haven't tried? Most jobs in this city are hard labor, Lex. Factory work, shopkeeping, or fixing cars like you. I don't mind working, but not a job that kills my body before I even figure out my future."
Alex chuckled, raising his glass before taking a sip. "Fair enough. I won't push you. But if you keep waiting, what are you gonna become?"
Dave fell silent. That question had haunted him too many times, yet the answer always felt just out of reach.
"I just… feel like there's something bigger for me, Bro. But I don't know what it is." His voice barely rose above the noise of passing cars outside.
Alex studied his friend for a moment before patting his shoulder. "Maybe one day, you'll find out. Until then, at least you've got me."
Dave gave a small smile. "Yeah, I know."
They continued talking about the things that used to matter in high school—the dreams they never really chased, the girls they had crushes on, and the future that once seemed full of possibilities but now felt smaller every day.
As the sky darkened, a strange feeling crept over Dave. A foreign sensation crawled along his spine, like something was watching from the shadows. He turned slightly, glancing at the narrow alley across the street.
A dark figure stood there, motionless, blending into the darkness.
He blinked, and it was gone.
"Dave?" Alex's voice pulled him back.
"Huh?"
"You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost."
Dave shook his head slowly, trying to dismiss the unease bubbling in his gut. "No… just tired."
But deep down, he knew something was watching.
***
The night dragged on, thick with the scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke clinging to the walls. Dave sat near the door, his back resting against the peeling wallpaper, waiting for his mother to return. He knew she would be late—she was always late.
The quiet hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the house, save for the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards as he shifted his weight.
A sudden gust of wind rattled the window. Dave frowned. The air felt oddly heavy, like the calm before a storm. He turned his gaze to the door, listening. The streets were quiet, too quiet for this part of town.
Then came the sound—soft, almost imperceptible. A whisper.
At first, he thought it was the wind sneaking through the cracks, but as he strained his ears, the voice became clearer. A hushed murmur, distant yet somehow close. It sent a cold shiver down his spine.
Dave stood up, his pulse quickening. He turned to the window, half-expecting to see someone standing outside. But the street was empty, bathed in the dim glow of flickering streetlights.
Maybe it was just his imagination.
With a sigh, he rubbed his temples and turned away only to freeze mid-step.
The reflection in the window had changed.
For a brief moment, he swore he saw something behind him. A shadowy figure, its presence barely distinguishable from the darkness itself. His breath caught in his throat, and when he spun around—nothing. The room was just as it had been before. Silent. Still.
A trick of the light, he told himself. Lack of sleep playing tricks on his mind.
But deep inside, he knew something wasn't right.
The air carried a weight of something unseen, something waiting. And Dave had the eerie feeling that whatever it was, it had been watching him for a long time.
Dave sat on the couch, staring blankly at the flickering television screen. The volume was low, nothing more than a whisper in the dimly lit living room. Outside, the night was quiet, broken only by the occasional barking of stray dogs and the distant hum of passing motorcycles.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost midnight.
His mother still wasn't home.
Dave had long since grown used to this waiting, never knowing what state she'd be in when she finally walked through that door.
Would she come home exhausted but sober? Or would she stumble in, reeking of alcohol, slurring words that cut deeper than she realized?
A weary sigh escaped his lips as he leaned back, rubbing his temples. He didn't even know why he still waited up for her. Maybe a small part of him still held on to the hope that just one night, one night, she'd walk through that door with a warm smile instead of hollow eyes.
The sound of keys clumsily jangling outside shattered the silence.
A moment later, the door creaked open, and there she was—Mrs. Ana, swaying slightly as she stepped inside. The sharp scent of alcohol clung to her like a second skin. Her hair was a mess, her blouse was slightly unbuttoned, and her face was flushed with the telltale redness of drunkenness.
"You're still awake…" Her voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.
Dave held his breath, trying to ignore the sharp stench surrounding her. "I was just waiting for you."
She let out a short, hollow laugh. "Waiting for me? What for? I'm fine. I'm always fine…" she muttered, staggering toward the couch before collapsing onto it with a heavy thud.
"You know, Dave… life is hard. I work day and night, breaking my back for us… and you? You just sit here, daydreaming about things that will never happen."
Dave clenched his fists, swallowing the words rising in his throat. "I know, Mom…"
"Know?" She lifted her head, eyes clouded with something unreadable.
"You don't know anything, Dave. You have no idea what it's like to lose someone you love… to watch them leave and never come back. You're too young to understand… too naive."
The words hit harder than they should have. Dave swallowed hard, choosing silence over argument. He knew this wasn't the first time she'd spoken like this in a drunken haze and it wouldn't be the last.
Mrs. Ana laughed again, but this time it was bitter, hollow. "Enough… go to bed. I'm tired."
Without waiting for a response, she turned over on the couch, shutting her eyes. Her breathing was heavy, uneven… then, slowly, it steadied. Within minutes, she was asleep.
Dave exhaled deeply. He stood up, heading toward his room, leaving her to sleep on the couch like she had so many nights before. Lying in bed, he stared at the ceiling, his thoughts tangled and restless.
It didn't take long for sleep to find him. But that night, sleep brought no peace.
***
In his dream, Dave stood in the middle of a vast field—one he had never seen before. Wild grass swayed gently in the cold night breeze, and above him, the sky stretched endlessly, black and empty, devoid of stars. The air was frigid, cutting through him like shards of ice.
A faint rustling echoed in the distance. He turned, searching for the source, but there was nothing. Just endless darkness.
Then, a whisper.
"Dave..."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere all at once—close, too close.
"Who's there?" Dave asked, his voice smaller than he had intended.
Silence. Heavy and suffocating, as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting.
Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged. Tall, cloaked in black, its face obscured by darkness. But its eyes—two burning embers—pierced through the void.
"The time is near..."
A chill ran down Dave's spine. He stepped back instinctively, but the ground beneath him tightened its grip, locking him in place.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice unsteady.
The figure said nothing. It simply raised a hand. A dim, crimson light flickered in its palm, swirling and twisting until it took shape—a half-formed key, floating in midair.
Dave's heartbeat thundered in his ears. There was something disturbingly familiar about that key, something that felt... connected to him.
Suddenly, the ground trembled. The wind howled, carrying with it a low, guttural roar. The cloaked figure parted its lips as if to speak—but before a single word could escape, everything vanished.
Dave jolted awake, gasping for breath. His room was dark, illuminated only by the faint silver glow of the moon creeping through the window. His hand shot up to his neck.
The chain was still there—his father's necklace, its metal warm against his skin.
His chest heaved, his pulse hammering. He could still feel the weight of the dream pressing down on him, as if some part of him hadn't fully returned.
A dream... or something more?
He stared at the ceiling, trying to quiet the storm inside his mind.
This wasn't just a dream. It was a warning.