Crimson Nightmares (#WATTYS2016)

Chapter One

Sometimes, I get these feelings about things, and most of the time I'm wrong. Usually my predictions are caused by fears or insecurities, never materializing into anything. But sometimes, I'm right. Sometimes, the things I foresee happen exactly the way I predicted. I'm no psychic, or at least, not that I know of. I'd rather like to think I'm sensitive.

On a humid Monday evening, exactly a week before I start the eleventh grade, I get one of my feelings. I ignore it at first of course. I'm too sad to worry about what lurks in the shadows. Stepping out of the shower after a last desperate attempt at ridding my skin of the stickiness from the day's heat, I reach for a towel and dry myself off. I sigh. I'm already feeling hot again. Summer in the Northern part of South Africa isn't a joke by any standard.

Once I finish putting on my pajamas (an oversized black t-shirt I prefer to the cute pink frilly set my mother got me for Christmas), I walk over to my computer to see if there are any messages. Catching a glimpse of the screensaver before I move the mouse, I close my eyes for a brief second. The image is one I love, but I guess it's going to take time before I can look at it without blinking back tears.

The photo is of my family, the way we used to be. In the picture, my father held me and my mother stood by his side, while my brother stands next to my mother. Both of his arms were wrapped around her slim frame. We were all smiling. Taken nearly two years ago at the last birthday we celebrated with my dad, it wasn't anything fancy. No special filters or poses, just four happy people who sometimes fought over stupid things, but loved one another and stuck together. Now we're down to three.

Three months ago, we moved from the States to sunny South Africa. At the time, it had been a little more than a year since my father's death. His long illness had depleted my parents' finances, leaving us nearly bankrupt. My mother, who was born and raised in this part of Africa, eventually decided it would be best if we came here to live on her parents' farm. It had apparently been in our family's hands for over a century.

Turning off the light, I feel my way in the dark to where my bed should be, but I misjudge the distance and bump my toe on my nightstand. My lamp hasn't been working for days, and I keep forgetting to ask my brother to look at it. Then again, I keep forgetting a lot of things these days. When I finally make it onto the bed, I flop onto it without much enthusiasm. I'll probably drown in my own sweat again.

A few minutes later, the temperature drops significantly and I inhale the scent of the impending rain – a smell I love – as a light breeze enters through my open window. Somewhere outside, an owl screeches and I can even hear the shrill wail of a jackal off in the distance. The jackal's cry sends a shiver down my spine.

Waiting for sleep to come, I debate closing the window. The last time, it rained right in, soaking my curtains and the carpet. Already too comfortable, I find it hard to get up and do the responsible thing, until I hear the soft sound of moth wings pattering gently against the tin roof as the first drops make contact. Hearing the howling of the wind through the trees, I make my way to the window, using only the faint glare of my cellphone's screen as a guiding light. I can't see much outside in the darkness, and that causes my chest to constrict for a brief moment.

It was the fear of the unknown, or something like that. An eerie sense of foreboding weighs me down as a cold draft caresses the bare skin on my arms. I shiver involuntarily. Abruptly shutting the window, I proceed to watch the raindrops trickle slowly down the glass as if they were tears.

Thunder starts cracking in the distance, first illuminating my room for brief moments, then creating deafening strikes that reverberates through the prodigious old house. The windows shake from the impact. I take a few steps back. The rain falls down from the sky, pouring down loudly against the window, sounding more like rocks than drops of water.