The hair was everywhere. It was in my mouth, thick and oily, It was wrapping around my throat, tighter with every breath I tried to take. it wasn't just hair—it was my mother's hair, but it had his hands. I could hear the nuns whispering in the background, a low, buzzing chant of sin, sin, sin, while the shadows in the orphanage hallway stretched out like claws i reminded myself that it was just a dream that I would be over soon.
I bolted upright, my chest heaving, my short, jagged black hair sticking to my forehead with sweat. My hand reached to my neck, clawing at the skin. Nothing. Just air. Just the cold, dead silence of my room.
I stared at my hands in the dark. They were shaking again. They always shake when the dreams come.
I couldn't stay here. The walls felt like they were closing in, mocking me for thinking I could ever be "normal." I threw on a hoodie and grabbed my bag. I drove for hours... My brain was a mess of static and old, rotting memories.
I ended up at the morgue. It's the only place I feel like I can breathe. The chemicals, the cold, the absolute lack of expectations—it's my sanctuary. I'm a mortuary beautician. I fix people. I take the broken, blue-tinged faces of the dead and I use wax and paint to make them look like they're just sleeping. I'm a people-pleaser, see? Even for the ones who can't speak, I need them to be "happy" with me.
I spent three hours working on a young girl who died in a accident. I stitched, I filled, I smoothed. I was so focused on the "fix" that I almost forgot I was a person. But as I reached for the setting powder, my mind drifted back to the one thing I can't fix.
The grave.
After that dream i dont know what took over me but I wanted to see it to know that he was still there.
I left the morgue, accidentally forgetting my apartment keys on the table— The drive was a blur. The orphanage looked like a skeletal remains of a giant. The wood was black with rot, the windows like empty eye sockets. I walked through the tall, dead grass toward the small, shack-like gazebo where we'd done it. The night of the fire. The night we all became murderers or victims depending on who you ask the story.
I reached the spot where he was buried — my hands trembling with fear.
The grave was empty.
The dirt had been pushed outward, not dug into. It looked like something had crawled out of the earth,he wasnt here. No charred remains. Just a hollow hole.
I screamed and ran. I didn't look back at the shack. I drove back to the morgue, my head spinning so fast I thought I'd vomit. I swiped my badge, my breath coming in jagged stabs. I needed my keys. I needed to go home and take my pills.
I walked into the cold prep room and stopped dead.
Sitting on my cold, sterile table—right where I'd left my keys—was a porcelain doll.
It was the one he gave me. The one he'd stolen for his "little sister" because Lucrecia liked me. The doll's face was smashed. One black eye was missing, and the hair—the long, synthetic hair—had been hacked off, just like mine.
I grabbed my keys and ran to my car thinking it was just a dream wishing it was all a dream.
By the time I got home i was a sobbing mess. I headed straight for the bathroom, my fingers fumbling with the orange bottle. I took some pills i needed to feel numb I needed to forget the look on that doll's face. I needed to forget that the grave was empty
I was just starting to feel the heavy, fuzzy slide into the meds when I heard pounding on my front door.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I nearly screamed and stumbled to the door, my vision trailing. I looked through the peephole and saw Lucrecia.
She looked like a mess. Her gorgeous blonde hair—the hair that literally makes her millions—was a matted, tangled bird's nest. Her eyes were wide, bloodshot, and full of a terror.
I opened the door and she practically fell into me, sobbing.
"He was there, Ciara... in the penthouse," she choked out.
I led her to the couch, my movements robotic and slow because of the pills. I saw the blood on her hands—that dark, gooey liquid that shouldn't be there. I grabbed a towel to clean it.
I thought she was talking about the man who has been stalking her and said " That's it. We're going to the police. I don't care if you dont wanna go but this is serious. This guy is a psycho. You need a psychiatrist, Lu. This isnt healthy"
Lucrecia said timidly " I think he is back "
I stopped dead in my tracks my hands shacking and yelled " No..no..no that cant happen we all buried him years ago...it cant be" trying to convince myself more than here. After I cooled down i told her what happened to me and how the grave was empty..when suddenly my phone started buzzing it was a unknown number but i still picked it up.
" I think he is back " said a familiar voice it was Asher his voice scared and worried
Looks like we all will have to meet once again to end this nightmare after all.