Grey Flame

Chapter 1

"When you stare into the mirror long enough, sometimes the monster stares back."

"Nala"

Childhood Nightmare

The darkness pressed in like a vice, thick and suffocating, swallowing everything in sight. I couldn't see—but I could hear. God, I could hear everything.

Screams tore through the blackness, sharp and ragged, each one slicing through the silence like shattered glass. But one voice rose above the chaos—a child's voice, raw with fear.

"Mom! Mom, where are you?" The cry was trembling, desperate, soaked in anguish. "Mom, please don't go! Stay—Mom, please stay!"

Her sobs echoed endlessly through the void, as if the very air was mourning with her. My pulse thundered. I tried to move toward the sound, but the darkness dragged at me, merciless and unyielding. The screams grew louder, more frantic, until it felt like the fear itself was alive—pulling me under.

And then I saw her.

A girl. So small, soaked from the rain. Thirteen years old. Shaking.

Looking similar to how I used to be in my childhood.

After staring at her for some time I realize she was none other then me.

I stood paralyzed, watching a horrifying event unspool before me like a cruel film. The road shimmered with rain, the surface slick like black glass. For a split second, everything went silent.

Then—a whit black huge truck with fast speed ran straight to a black Porsche. Time stopped. BOOM! They ran to each other.

The crash was deafening. Metal crumpled, glass shattered. Blood bloomed like a terrible painting across the pavement. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. But my feet were stone. Still I … me that child tried to save them and DASS! then the fire came.

An explosion tore through the day, flames roaring into the sky, lighting up the horror. I stumbled forward, heart in my throat—but arms grabbed me, pulling me back.

"Don't go any closer!" someone shouted, but the voices blurred together—noise, chaos, panic.

Sirens wailed. Lights flashed.

Firefighters fought the blaze, faces hardened with grim determination. Paramedics worked in urgent silence. And then—they pulled them out.

Two bodies.

Charred. Lifeless.

And on the stretcher… a hand. Limp, fingers blackened by the fire. But the bracelet—silver with blue stones—and the ring, delicate and worn from years of love and work—I knew them.

They were hers.

My mother's.

My world cracked open. Grief rose in my throat like bile.

"No," I choked, stumbling forward, my screams rising with the rain. "No, no, no! MOM! It can't be …. Please! Come back, where are you taking my mom ...don't leave me! MOM!"

I was screaming. Crying. Clawing at the night.

"Nala! Nala!"

A voice cut through the chaos. My name. Repeated. Louder now.

My eyes snapped open.

It took me some minutes to get myself together. I look here and there. It is morning. My breath came in short gasps. Sweat clung to my skin. My heart ached like the nightmare had ripped it out all over again.

Suddenly my room door opens and Andy came inside and sit beside me.

Andy sat with concern written across her face. "Nala… are you alright?"

"I… yeah," I whispered, my voice hollow. "I'm okay."

But I wasn't. It had only been a dream.

A memory.

And yet, it never left me. It haunted me like a ghost chained to my soul.

Andy's voice broke through again, quieter this time. "It was that nightmare again, wasn't it?"

I nodded slowly.

"The same one." I add. "we can never forget the past can we?".

"I understand Nala" she adds "does something happen?" I ask her. I don't wanna talk about this so, I change the topic quickly. I hate sympathy more then anything and the picture of her eyes when she look at me is terrifying .. the same look you give someone when you think they are the most precious soul that get ruined by this world.

She sighed. "Your father wants you. Right away."

I frowned. "Why? What now?"

She hesitated. "I don't know… but he's furious. He said you should come immediately."

"Okay," I muttered. "Thanks. You can go—I'll be down in a minute."

"Please, Nala… come quickly." Her voice was small, almost apologetic, before she turned and left the room.

I forced myself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Cold water splashed against my face, but it couldn't wash away the ache. I tied my hair back carelessly, slipped into a black outfit—the kind that didn't show stains, or sorrow—and descended the stairs like I was walking into battle.

My father was in the living room, surrounded by servants, his voice sharp and cutting. He was a man who never needed to raise his voice to strike fear.

"I was told you wanted to speak with me," I said softly.

He turned.

His eyes were fire.

"I told her to summon you at once!."

Before I could answer, his hand lashed out. The slap cracked across my cheek like lightning. I staggered back, the sting spreading through my skin like poison. "I was getting ready".

"I said immediately, not whenever you please."

Tears welled up—but I didn't let them fall. "I'm sorry". Word came out of my lips so low that I can barely hear my own words.

He struck me again.

"Your apologies mean nothing."

And just like that, he turned his back and walked away, his voice distant.

"Follow me."

I took a shaky breath and obeyed.

Because that's what you do with ghosts. You follow them, even if it hurts.

Especially when it hurts.