The Dream

The buzzer went off at 3:00 a.m., the red alarm clock buzzing without stopping, its glow the only light in a room otherwise swallowed by dark.

A light groan escaped the brown-skinned figure lying beneath the blankets. Still half-asleep, she angrily tapped the clock.

"Go off. Go off," she mumbled.

Her clumsy movements only made things worse. The alarm clock slid off the brown table beside her bed and shattered against the floor, the sound sharp enough to cut through the last fog of sleep.

She shot upright.

"Damn."

She stared at the pieces scattered across the carpet. "My momma gonna kill me. She spent thirty dollars on this damn thing."

Maggie sat there a moment, catching her breath, her braids — long, dark, gathered loosely over one shoulder the way she always wore them to bed — falling forward as she leaned down to look at the damage. Her room told the story of exactly who she was: string lights looped along the headboard, sketchbooks stacked on the desk, band posters overlapping anime prints on every visible inch of wall. It was small and cluttered and entirely hers, the kind of room that only made sense to the person who'd built it.

Still exhausted, she climbed out of bed. Her bare foot touched the cold carpet, and she dragged herself toward the door, already wishing she could crawl back under the covers.

She opened her white bedroom door — covered head to toe in graffiti and anime stickers — and stepped into the hallway. The house was a single story, the kind with a hallway running straight down the middle like a spine, her room at one end and her parents' at the other, the kitchen and living room splitting off in between. The cold floor sent a small chill through her feet as she walked toward the kitchen, phone still in her hand, already texting her best friend, who was apparently still awake playing video games.

Of course he was.

She reached the kitchen and opened the closet tucked beside the pantry, grabbing the broom and dustpan from the bottom shelf. Cleaning supplies filled the shelves above them. She shoved her phone into her pajama pocket and headed back toward her bedroom, retracing the same stretch of hallway, past the framed family photos her mother refused to update even after the frames started to yellow.

Then—

A bright flare of light flashed above her head.

She jumped. "What the hell?"

She looked up at the ceiling. "Must be a faulty light. Andre need to change that."

She smirked a little at her own joke — she only ever called her dad by his first name when she was annoyed with him about something, and right now the flickering light was reason enough.

She shrugged it off and kept walking.

But when she reached her bedroom door, she stopped.

Her stomach tightened.

A faint red glow spilled from inside her room, pulsing faintly against the doorframe like something breathing on the other side of it. She stared at it. She didn't remember leaving any lights on.

Slowly, she dropped the broom and dustpan. Her heart began pounding.

"What the fuck…?"

She took one step backward. Then another.

Whatever was inside that room wasn't worth finding out.

She turned around and ran. She didn't know what was going on, but she sure as hell wasn't about to fuck around and find out.

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