Touch of Darkness

Chapter 1: New Kid

That voice, it's calling me again. It beckons me closer to that figure that has become less and less hazy over time. Now, I can recognize his distinct features. His pale blue eyes, almost glasslike, that threaten to capture me completely if I dare look any closer. At first, he would only stand there as if he were studying me. But now his hand reaches out towards me, and each time I take a step towards him, it comes closer to touching me, until finally he caresses my cheek. When he speaks, I hear no real words but only a whisper that still resounds clearly to me. I don't know what he says, but I feel that he wants me to come with him. Yet everything is screaming at me to resist his calls. And then...

    I wake up, blinking at the sunlight pouring into my room. These dreams have been gradually becoming more frequent, and more intense. It is mostly the same dream -  a voice that I think is calling out to me and that man that appears. But sometimes the dreams aren't so gentle; sometimes they frighten me. They become terrifying, and the man still appears, but every morning, no matter how hard I try, I'm never sure if I should sleep anymore.

    I roll over to look at the time on my phone, 7 am. It's the first day of school today, the last year of high school, and I am so ready to be done. Since sleep is something that will not happen again, I get out of bed and into the shower. I stand for absentmindedly in the shower for a bit, watching the water glide off my brown-black hair. After rinsing away the rest of my grogginess, I massage argan oil into my hair, running my fingers through the long strands. Once it's blown-dried, the curls flow down my back. I add some face cream to moisturize and then some concealer to conceal my under eye bags. The concealer really helps my big, brown eyes stand out. I decide against eyeliner and only add some lip gloss to keep my lips from looking dry. As for my outfit, I simply wear a gray t-shirt, leggings, and white Adidas shoes. I grab my bag and head downstairs where mom has left some breakfast before she went to work. I sit at the counter, scrolling through my Instagram while enjoying some french toast.

    After I finish eating, I brush my teeth, and begin to get ready to head to school. I always walk to school. We live in a fairly small town, it's on the outskirts of New Haven, Connecticut, in a town called Bromwich which was actually established in 1692 by settlers escaping the Salem Witch Trials. As far as the town goes, it still looks like it was established in that time period. A lot of the old buildings are still standing and being run by the family that began it that many years ago. Most of the roads are cobblestone, which makes driving horrible, but there's still some modern places, we have a McDonalds and a Starbucks closer to New Haven. I actually kind of like the old time feel to it, it's a blast from the past.

    The place where we live is a place that's been in the family forever. I remember sitting with my grandmother on a porch swing that looked out into the backyard garden. Occasionally a squirrel would spring up from the hydrangeas and dart across the lawn to the very edge of the white fence, before ducking back down into the bushes. While our house is big, with more rooms than we could use, I still find it cozy. My favorite place has always been the study on the second floor. The room was centered just above the two pillars that stood on either side of the front door, so I could perfectly spot any incoming guests. Sometimes I would sit at the antique, handcrafted wooden desk to do my homework. The smell of the wood from the floors, the desk, and the bookshelves were comforting as I worked.

We were in a small gated community, with every house bearing the same reddish brown brick, but each still had enough differences in their design to have their own character. There were only five families living here, mine included, so I've  grown up with these people my whole life. School is about ten minutes away from here, fifteen if you want to cut through the town center to get coffee or something before school.

    Stepping out, I wasn't surprised to see I was one of the last people to be on my way to school. I tend to leave things until the last moment, even though it irritates my mom. But standing right next door, perched against his motorcycle is my neighbor, the infamously named "bad boy", Cain Bradshaw. I'm not sure if he's intentionally making a name for himself, but his looks aren't any better for his reputation. He has a legendary smirk that lit up his green eyes to show a mischievous glint, which made all the girls go crazy. And when he took off his helmet, the sun illuminated his brownish-blond hair as he ran his hands through it. His hair was always sort of messy, with it being just long enough to touch behind his ear and the helmet fussing it up. He's your typical bad boy, with a white t-shirt, lined by a black leather jacket he almost never took off, and baggy denim jeans. He smirks at me as I walk out.