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Kira found herself haunted by strange dreams that twisted her reality. The recurring voices, speaking harshly, hurled profanities at her, their disdain obvious. She couldn't comprehend this level of hatred. It felt as if these unseen tormentors wanted her dead, and the threat was all too real. It was like she was reliving these traumatic scenes, experiencing both pain and fear as if they were imminent. Each morning, she fought to push it aside and focus on the present, but the feeling of impending doom clung to her like a dark cloud over every waking moment.
Koa, true to his word, stayed close, his watchful eyes always on her. He never pressed her for details, knowing that pushing her to talk before she was ready would only make things worse. Instead, he offered silent support, a steady presence that anchored her to reality.
Each night, the same voices came back, repeating cruel words that deepened the wounds in her heart. Kira would wake up drenched in sweat and tears, her pulse racing, only to find Koa there, ready to be her peace.
"You had another one, didn't you?" he asked gently one night after she bolted awake.
"Yeah," she said, her voice trembling.
"The same voices?" he pressed softly.
"Yes! They hate me, Koa! I could feel their hatred. It's...scary... so scary," she confessed, tears brimming in her eyes.
Anyone who hates you is blind. You are such a lovable person; why would anyone hate you?'' he caressed her hair, speaking softly
''How about doing a research to ease your mind?'' He asked as he kissed her forehead, pulling her to lay her head on his shoulders.
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Days Later
Kira threw herself into researching, spending hours buried in books, her fingers tracing over faded ink as if the answers might leap off the pages.
One afternoon, as she walked down the library aisle for what felt like the hundredth time, a voice interrupted her search.
"What exactly are you looking for?" The library assistant, a young woman with thick glasses and a curious gaze, stood beside her, eyeing the growing stack of books on Kira's table.
Kira barely looked up, flipping through a dusty tome. "Anything about dreams and their meanings."
The assistant frowned. "You might not find an in-depth analysis here. The town's library has a wider selection—some older, rarer books that might be more useful."
Kira finally met her gaze, exhaustion lining her face. She steadied herself against the table and managed a small, weary smile. "Thank you."
But even as she said it, she knew no amount of books could truly explain what was happening to her.
Koa had noticed the change in her. It started with the sleepless nights, the restless pacing, the distant stare even when he was speaking to her. But now, it was worse. She barely ate. She barely spoke. And when she did, it was always about the dreams.
He found her curled up on the couch one evening, surrounded by open books, scribbled notes scattered around her like fallen leaves.
"Kira," he said, his voice gentle but firm.
She didn't respond.
"Kira," he repeated, sitting down beside her. "You're driving yourself crazy with this."
She finally turned to face him, and he hated what he saw—hollow cheeks, dark circles under her eyes, a haunted look that wasn't there just a few weeks ago.
"Maybe you need to let it go," he said carefully. "At least for a little while. Give yourself a break."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "I can't, Koa." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but there was a fierce determination in it. "There's something I feel I need to remember."
He reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "Don't let this consume you."
"I won't," she promised.
But they both knew it was a lie.
The dream had already taken hold, wrapping itself around her like a parasite. Sleep deprivation gnawed at her, her once-vibrant energy drained. She was losing weight. Her hair had started thinning. Their parents were terrified, desperate for a solution, but nothing worked. Therapy didn't help—Kira refused to go back after the first few sessions, claiming she could hear voices when the therapist spoke.
She shut everyone out. Except for Koa.
Their parents, though heartbroken, trusted him to look after her. They had no choice. Kira had always been attached to him, and if there was anyone who could pull her back from the edge, it was him.
But even they weren't willing to sit back and do nothing.
They reached out to specialists, scoured every resource they could find, even traveled out of the country searching for answers.
One night, as they pored over the books they had borrowed from the library, Koa looked up at his sister
"Do you think our family has any connections to these dreams you've been having?" he asked, curiosity sparking in his eyes.
Kira shrugged, tired with uncertainty clouding her expression. "I don't know. Maybe? Grandma used to talk about our ancestors a lot. She said we carry their stories within us."
**********************************************
In some other parts of the city
The cold August air swept across the evening sky, carrying with it the scent of wet grass and the soft rustle of leaves. The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm golden glow over the quiet countryside, where a charming cottage sat nestled by a glassy stream that shimmered under the fading light. It was a perfect evening, and laughter echoed from the backyard where two children played.
A boy, no older than eight or nine, stood with a ball in his hand. His sister, a year younger, was chasing after their golden retriever, Dooby, her giggles filling the air.
"Obi, throw it!" Ada called out, her dark hair bouncing as she darted across the grassy yard, Dooby following close behind her, his tail wagging in pure excitement.
With a wide grin, Obi threw the ball as hard as his small arms could manage. It soared through the air, and Dooby, a bundle of golden fur, leaped up to catch it mid-flight, barking with joy as the ball landed in his mouth.
"Good boy, Dooby!" Ada praised, rushing over to pet him. Dooby's tail wagged furiously in response, his whole body shaking with happiness.
"Throw it back, Ada!" Obi shouted, clapping his hands in anticipation.
"Here, Doobs, catch!" Ada yelled, laughing as she took the ball from the dog's mouth and flung it toward her brother. She pointed in his direction, and with a joyful bark, Dooby bounded after the ball again, his golden fur glistening in the last rays of the setting sun.
Both children erupted in gleeful screams, running toward Dooby to shower him with affection. The ball slipped from Dooby's mouth and rolled gently downhill toward the stream. Without missing a beat, the dog barked and chased after it, his paws kicking up bits of grass as he disappeared behind a patch of tall reeds growing along the water's edge.
"Dooby, wait!" Obi yelled, laughing as he started to follow. Ada quickly joined, their little feet pounding against the earth as they chased after their faithful companion.
But as they reached the edge of the stream, something made them stop in their tracks. The giggles that had filled the air moments ago were replaced by a suffocating silence. The bright smiles on their faces vanished, replaced by wide-eyed horror as they stared at the shape emerging from behind the reeds.
Dooby came back, his mouth not just holding the ball but something else. Something that, at first glance, looked like plastic skin, but eerily real. It was pale, and for a moment, they thought it was just some sort of discarded mannequin, artificial and harmless. But as the object dangled from Dooby's mouth, they noticed the hair, the faintly painted fingernails, and the unsettling absence of bones. It was soft and limp, like an empty shell of a human arm.
"Mom!" Obi screamed, his voice cracking with terror as he stumbled backward, pulling his sister by the arm.
Ada, her eyes wide with shock, stared in disbelief. The sound of frantic footsteps echoed from the house, and within seconds, a woman appeared. Tanya, their mother, in her early thirties, rushed toward them, her face already showing the strain of concern from her children's cries. Her dark braids were pulled back, and she wore a simple cotton dress, her hands still wet from the dishes she had been washing inside.
"What is it?" she asked breathlessly, her eyes scanning the yard, expecting to see some minor injury or a lost toy.
But as she neared, her gaze fell upon Dooby and the ghastly object he had dragged out of the stream. Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She stumbled backward, her hands flying to her mouth as a wave of nausea hit her. What she was seeing wasn't a trick of the light. It was flesh—human flesh, limp and lifeless, pulled taut and eerily filleted, as if it had been peeled away from its bones.
"Ugo! Get out here now!" she screamed, her voice trembling with terror. Instinctively, she reached out to her children, pulling them behind her, her hands shaking as she shielded them from the sight.
"Ugo!" she screamed again, louder this time, desperation cracking through her voice.
From inside the house came the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. Moments later, a man's irritated voice responded, "What is it now, Tanya? You're always so dramatic—"
But as he stepped outside and saw what Dooby had dragged into their yard, his words died in his throat. Ugo, a man with a slim build in his mid-thirties with short, unkempt hair, stared in disbelief, his rough-cut appearance belying the shock that overtook him. He blinked, as though trying to convince himself that what he was seeing wasn't real. But it was real—unmistakably real—and it was worse than anything he had ever imagined.
"Oh my God!" Ugo's voice trembled as he stumbled forward, his eyes locked on the grotesque figure lying on the ground. "Get in the house. Now." He spoke urgently, his voice firm but laced with panic. He fumbled for his phone, pulling it from his pocket with shaking hands.
"Take the kids inside!" he ordered again, his voice growing louder as he tried to maintain control over the situation.
Ada and Obi, wide-eyed and trembling, clung to their mother as she hurried them back toward the cottage, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from her chest. "Obi, Ada, go with your mom. Don't look back," Ugo commanded his words both an instruction and a plea. He fumbled with his phone, his hands shaking as he dialled the police. She ushered them inside, locking the door behind her as if the simple act could protect them from the unimaginable horror that had invaded their peaceful evening.
As soon as the call connected, Ugo's voice cracked, desperate. "You need to send someone, quick. It's—there's a body, no... not a body... by the stream. It's—it's not…. I don't know how to describe it. Please send someone one now."
He couldn't find the words to describe what he was seeing, to them. He glanced at Dooby, who stood wagging his tail innocently by the disfigured skin, as though expecting more praise for his "find."
The dispatcher's voice crackled through the phone, but Ugo barely heard it. His mind was spinning, trying to make sense of what was happening. He wanted to move, to run, but his legs felt like lead. One moment, he was enjoying a peaceful evening with the children's laughter filling the air; now, that has been replaced by the surreal nightmare unfolding in his backyard.
Inside the house, Tanya hurried the kids to their room, locking the door behind them. She tried to keep calm, but her hands trembled as she leaned against the door, closing her eyes to steady her breath. Obi clung to her leg, his small face pale and his wide eyes filled with fear. He didn't speak, but she could feel his body trembling against her. Tanya knelt down, pulling both children close to her, whispering, "It's okay. We're going to be fine. Daddy's handling it."
But even as she spoke, the image stayed in her mind like a tattoo.
Minutes passed, each one feeling like an eternity. Then, the sound of sirens in the distance cut through the tense silence. Relief washed over her, though it was tempered by the dread that still gripped her.
Outside, Ugo stood by the stream, watching as the first patrol car pulled up. Two officers stepped out, their faces a mix of concern and confusion as they approached. Ugo pointed mutely toward the full skin, unsure of how to explain what he had found to them.
The officers exchanged a look before cautiously approaching the lifeless figure Dooby had dragged onto the grass. One of them bent down, his face twisting in disgust as he examined the strange, hollow skin.
"What the hell is this?" the younger officer muttered, barely able to mask his revulsion.
The older officer stood back, a grim expression on his face. "We'll need the forensics team out here."
As they called for backup, Ugo's gaze wandered back to the stream. What else could be hiding beneath the glassy surface of the water? His stomach turned as the thought crept into his mind—
Inside the house, Ada tried to distract the children, her voice steady as she told them stories to keep their minds off the horror outside. But her thoughts kept drifting back to the image of the skin, the way it looked like something had peeled it away, leaving nothing but an empty shell.
Hours later, long after the forensics team had arrived and the area was cordoned off, Ugo and Tanya sat together in the living room, the whole fiasco going on by the stream extremely disturbing. The children were asleep, but neither of them could find rest.
"What was that?" Tanya whispered, her voice barely audible. "What could do that to a person?"
Ugo didn't answer. He didn't have an answer. All he knew was that the peaceful life they had shared had been shattered, replaced by a terrifying mystery.
The cold August air continued to blow outside, but now it carried with it an eerie chill.
*************************************************************
Meanwhile
The night had settled heavily over the city, a thick blanket of quiet tension. Ibe's voice was tense as he entered the luxurious, dimly lit apartment, breaking the silence. "Another murder has been discovered," he announced, his words sharp as they cut through the air. He looked at Frost, who sat in the corner, his ever-present dark shades perched confidently on the bridge of his nose.
Frost barely reacted. He simply nodded as though he had expected the news. His calm demeanour in the face of such a horrific revelation unsettled Ibe.
"Are the bones missing?" Frost asked, his voice calm, almost too calm, like the eye of a storm.
Ibe recoiled slightly, his face scrunching in surprise. "Oh!" he gasped, caught off guard. "How did you know?"
The room felt colder suddenly, a creeping chill that had nothing to do with the weather. Ibe stared at Frost, searching his face for answers, but the man's expression was unreadable behind the shades. With his silence, the way he carried himself, everything about Frost felt like he was hiding something—something sinister.
Frost didn't answer immediately, but his fingers tightened slightly on the arm of his chair, a subtle movement that didn't escape Ibe's notice. Finally, he sighed, and a frown formed on his otherwise impassive face. His head dipped slightly, almost as if he was talking more to himself than to Ibe.
"It's happening all over again," Frost muttered softly.
Ibe blinked, confused. "Hmm? What was that?" He leaned forward, curiosity and unease tightening in his gut. There was something in Frost's tone that made him feel like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, peering into an abyss.
Frost glanced at him, hesitating, his thoughts clearly tangled in something deeper than Ibe could understand. For a moment, it looked like he might say something, something that would perhaps pull back the curtain of mystery that surrounded him. But then he leaned back, his expression hardening again. "Nothing," he said flatly, dismissing the notion.
Ibe's frustration flared briefly, but he let it slide. He knew how stubborn the man was. pressing him or digging into his cryptic remarks wasn't going to matter. Frost would speak when he was ready to. He stood up, brushing his Jacket and pacing the floor for a moment.
"It's weird," Ibe said, trying to focus on the facts. "The deaths… they're no longer weeks apart. The last three have been in a week or just a few days apart. Same M.O.: Body parts missing. I really want to catch this bastard and lock him up for good!"
Frost nodded, the barest hint of acknowledgment. His silence was infuriating, but it was also just who he was—always observing, always looking like he was a step ahead, but rarely sharing more than the bare minimum.
"I'm heading to the hospital with Nonso to await the pathologist's result found on the skin." Ibe continued, clearly hoping Frost would join him. "Do you want to come?"
Frost remained seated, his expression stoic. Ibe had invited him more out of a courtesy than an actual request. The only reason Ibe had stopped by was because Frost's apartment was on the way to the hospital, and even in the dead of night, there was a certain respect he held for Frost's insight, cryptic though it may be. But Frost had other things on his mind this evening.
"No," Frost said finally, standing with the aid of his cane, a smooth and practiced motion that belied the strength in his lean, muscular frame. His cane tapped lightly against the floor as he made his way to the door, seeing Ibe out.
Ibe paused at the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he studied Frost one last time. "Let me know if you think of anything," he said, his voice tinged with frustration and a hint of suspicion.
Frost nodded, and with that, Ibe disappeared into the night.
As soon as Ibe left, the door to the apartment opposite Frost's creaked open. Kamdi walked over and stepped inside his apartment, his eyes locking onto Frost with a knowing look.
"Why didn't you tell him?" Kamdi asked, his tone accusatory but calm, as if he already knew the answer.
Frost didn't respond immediately. He moved toward the kitchen, his cane clicking softly against the floor. He placed his dark shades on the counter, revealing those eerily white, pupil-less eyes of his. They gleamed under the soft light as he opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. His muscles rippled slightly under the tight tank top he wore, giving him the appearance of a man always ready for a fight, despite his seeming fragility.
"Tell him what?" Frost finally responded after taking a long drink of water before walking back to the living room where Kamdi waited. He lowered himself into the chair.
Kamdi crossed his arms, his eyes sharp. "Don't play games. You knew exactly what part of the body was missing this time. Without even being there, you knew. That's not a coincidence, Frost."
Frost's gaze turned distant. He stared straight ahead, his white pupils reflecting nothing but the dim light of the room. "There's nothing to tell."
Kamdi sat down across from him. He didn't need to push too hard; Frost would answer when he was ready.
"You know who's doing this," Kamdi said softly, not as a question but as a statement of fact. "You've always known. Ever since we arrived here, you've been waiting for him."
Frost didn't answer immediately. His mind wandered back to a time he had tried to forget, a time so deeply buried in his psyche that he had almost convinced himself it was a dream—a nightmare from another life. But it wasn't a dream. No, the memories were real. He could feel them pressing in on him now, demanding to be acknowledged. Faces, voices, and flashes of violence and pain. So much pain.
"I wasn't so sure at first if this was his doing or a copycat," Frost said at last, his voice low and filled with a bitterness that Kamdi had never heard before.
Kamdi's eyes widened slightly. He had known Frost for years, but this was new. Frost never spoke about his past or anything personal—never. But here he was, bleeding into the present. No one could have predicted this.
"Who is he?" Kamdi pressed gently.
Frost shook his head as if trying to shake off the ghosts of his past. "He's here," he whispered, almost to himself. "And he won't stop. Not until he gets what he wants."
"What does he want?" Kamdi asked, leaning forward, his voice urgent.
Frost looked up, his white pupils glowing with an intensity that sent a shiver down Kamdi's spine. "He wants what's his. And he's not going to stop until he takes it all."
Kamdi sat back, absorbing Frost's words. He had never seen Frost like this before—so vulnerable, so haunted. Whatever this was, it was deeply personal.
"How do we stop him?" Kamdi asked quietly.
Frost's lips curled into a bitter smile. "You don't stop him. You survive him. And even that… is a gamble."
Kamdi frowned. "We've faced worse, Frost. You and I both. How about the trap? we can get him with that"
Frost shook his head again, his smile fading. "No. You don't understand. He's not like the others."
Kamdi felt a chill crawl up his spine. "Then what is he?"
Frost stood up, gripping his cane tightly, his expression dark and full of an ancient, terrible knowledge. "He used to be a man," he said quietly, "stripped of everything human. Now, he's come to collect."
Kamdi swallowed hard. "Collect?"
Frost turned, his white eyes locking onto Kamdi's. "Yes, collect."
For a moment, silence hung between them like a thick fog, Frost's words settling in. Kamdi didn't know what to say or how to respond. All he knew was that whatever darkness Frost had been running from all these years had finally caught up —and now, it was coming for them all.
Frost tightened his grip on his cane, his muscles tense. "We have to prepare," he said, his voice steady but grim. "Because when he comes, there won't be any mercy."
Kamdi stood his own resolve hardening. "Then let's make sure we're ready."
As they stood in the dim light of Frost's apartment, the shadows seemed to grow longer, darker, as if the night itself was conspiring to swallow them whole. And somewhere, out there in the city, the shadow was waiting—patiently —waiting in an eerie darkness.
*******************************************************
Later that night
It was unbearably hot—so scorching that it felt as though the flames were searing the flesh off his bones, each wave of heat more excruciating than the last.
"I didn't do it! Please believe me. I am innocent! Please!"
The voice was heart-wrenching, a desperate plea that tore through the air and gripped his heart with unbearable agony. The pain overwhelmed him, suffocating his chest as though the very air around him had turned against him. He gasped for breath, his lungs heavy with grief.
"Save me!"
The cry echoed endlessly, like a haunting melody, burrowing deep into his mind. Frost thrashed in his bed, twisting from side to side, entangled in the nightmare's unrelenting grip. His fingers gripped the bedsheets as if they could anchor him back to reality, and his body shook violently, but the voice held him captive.
"Save me!"
The voice was like an eerie lullaby, growing louder, surrounding him as the world collapsed into the chilling echoes of its despair.
"I am sorry..."
His eyes snapped open, the white of his eyes visible. He gasped for air, his chest heaving as the remnants of the nightmare lingered. With a trembling hand, he reached for the side of the bed, steadying himself before slowly pulling his legs over the edge. Every movement seemed as though each step brought him further away from the nightmare and back to the waking world.
He rose from the bed, his sweat-slicked muscles gleaming under the faint light, his lean form exposed save for the loose pyjama trousers hanging from his hips. Grasping his cane for support, he stood unsteadily, his body still vibrating with the residual heat of the nightmare.
He walked to the fridge, the floor cool beneath his feet. His hand found a glass, and he filled it with water from the dispenser, hearing the ice tumble into the glass like a lifeline. He lifted it to his lips, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat. He downed it quickly, desperate for its cooling relief.
With a heavy sigh, he rested his forehead against the cool surface of the fridge, his breath slowing as the cold metal calmed him. The chill spread through his overheated body.
For now, the nightmare had loosened its grip, but the voice—the plea for salvation—still echoed in his mind, lingering like a dark shadow that refused to fade.