The dream came on the night I turned eighteen.
I was standing in a long, narrow corridor, the lights flickering like a dying pulse. At the end of it stood my stepmother, elegant and calm, her smile sharp enough to cut. Papers lay on the table beside her—my name written neatly, as if my life were already signed away.
"Don't resist," she said softly.
Behind her, a man remained hidden in shadow. I couldn't see his face, only the slow burn of a cigarette and the sound of quiet laughter.
Then the dream shifted.
Cold metal. The smell of chemicals. Hands reaching for me.
I woke up choking on air, my heart screaming danger.
Three days later, my mother vanished.
No goodbye. No trace. Just silence.
That was when I realized the truth.
The dream wasn't imagination.
It was a warning.
And if I didn't run, I would disappear next.
Author's Note
Hello, readers.I'm a Vietnamese author who has just started writing fiction. This story is my first long project, and I'm still learning with every chapter I write.
If you enjoy the plot, the mystery, or the characters, please consider supporting me by leaving a vote or a comment. Your encouragement truly means a lot and helps me continue this journey.
Thank you for reading 🤍
-Meowjin