First message
I lie awake, the darkness pressing against my eyelids, and there he is again—Ben Harris, his hazel eyes flickering like twin lanterns in the fog of my mind, his smile a whispered promise I can’t quite grasp. It began on the night of October 31st, when the veil between worlds seemed thinnest, and every night since my subconscious has summoned him without fail, as if some unseen hand is tugging at the threads of my dreams. I’m a psychic, I’ve always known the currents that sweep through other people’s thoughts, but this—this feels like a signal, a message encoded in the very breath of his presence. The day I finally see him in the coffee shop on Main, his aura crackles the moment our eyes meet, and an electric familiarity hums between us; yet there’s an unnerving coldness to his skin, a faint metallic sheen that betrays his humanity. My heart races, my intuition screams that he’s not meant for this world, and I can’t help but wonder: is he a messenger from the beyond, a specter haunting my sleep, or something far older and far more terrifying?