It started like any normal, boring Tuesday at school.
I was sitting on the stone ledge near the east garden during lunch—alone for once, which was rare lately. Peter and Edward had vanished to chase down some lead about that weird rune Chloe found behind the old gym, and Chloe herself had disappeared into the library because she said her "brain was melting and needed air-conditioning and a book with zero murder."
So I sat, notebook in hand, doodling aimlessly. Swirls. Daggers. Eyes. All the usual stuff.
And then, he showed up.
"Hey."
Nathan.
He had this soft, disarming smile. Dark hair that always looked windswept, even when it wasn't windy, and a calmness that made people lean in. And for someone who had joined mid-term, he was already weirdly comfortable.
"Hey," I said, shifting over so he could sit.
He plopped down beside me, glancing at my notebook. "Creepy. But artistic."
I smirked. "I try."
"I've been meaning to ask you something." He turned, eyes twinkling with something unspoken. "Do you… believe in magic?"
My heart skipped. "Why?"
"I don't know." He shrugged. "You give off that vibe. Mysterious. Smart. Like someone who wouldn't laugh at the idea."
"I used to," I said slowly, "laugh at it."
He laughed too. "Same."
"And now?" I asked, cautious.
He looked up at the trees. "I want to believe in it. Badly. But I haven't seen anything. And I'm pretty sure Hogwarts isn't gonna send a letter at seventeen."
I chuckled.
"But you," he added, looking at me. "You feel like someone who knows stuff."
My chest ached with familiarity. That was me once. Craving something more. Desperate to be proven wrong.
I shouldn't have said anything. I should've smiled vaguely, said something cryptic, and walked off.
But his energy felt like mine. Not fake. Not calculated.
And so, before I knew it, the words started falling out of me.
"I know magic exists," I said softly.
He blinked. "Wait… what?"
"It's real."
"You're kidding."
"I wish I was." I gave a bitter smile. "Life would be simpler."
Nathan leaned in like a child being told a secret. "Tell me everything."
And I did.
I told him about the visions. The blood. The mural. The haunting. The power. The past life I didn't understand. My eyes bleeding. Amanda collapsing. Amelia. The mural. Mrs. Grace. Everything.
I told him about Edward's loyalty, Chloe's curiosity, Peter's dreams, and the way Liam was always there even if he didn't want to be "part of the Scooby-Doo gang."
I told him about the night at the hotel. The nightmares. The dance room. The photograph. The mural. The mural. The mural.
And Nathan just listened. No judgment. No laughter. Just wide-eyed wonder.
"Holy hell," he whispered when I finally stopped.
"I shouldn't have said all that," I muttered, realizing too late what I'd done.
"Are you kidding?" he breathed. "Emma, that's… incredible. It's insane. But I believe you."
"You do?"
"I mean, I want to. You're either the best liar I've ever met or the coolest person in this whole goddamn school."
I laughed. "Let's go with both."
He grinned. "Can I be a part of it?"
"What?"
"The group," he said, excitement lighting up his face. "You, Edward, Chloe, Peter—I want in."
I hesitated. "We don't… really do memberships."
"But I want to help," he said. "Even if it's just research. Or being the guy who carries snacks during dark rituals."
I laughed again. "We don't do dark rituals. Yet."
Nathan chuckled. "Come on. Please?"
And damn it, something in me said yes before my brain could protest.
"Alright. But Liam's not in. He's… different."
"Oh, I met him in the hallway yesterday. The tall broody guy who looks like he could bench press the school?"
I nodded. "That's him."
"Yeah. He gave off dad of the group energy. But also 'do not mess with my kid' vibes."
"He's not in the crew," I said firmly. "But he plays a major role."
Nathan raised his hands. "Got it. Respect the Liam."
I grinned.
Later That Day – The Introduction
I led Nathan to the library's secret study room—the one Chloe claimed we could use for "discussing things the school would definitely expel us for."
Edward looked up first. "Who's this?"
"This is Nathan," I said. "He knows."
Edward stiffened. Chloe raised an eyebrow. Peter tilted his head.
"I begged," Nathan added with a grin. "Emma folded."
Chloe leaned forward. "You believe in magic?"
"I believe Emma," he said. "That's enough."
Peter said nothing, just watched him carefully. I could almost hear the silent weighing in his mind.
Edward finally nodded. "If she trusts you, we'll give it a shot."
Nathan beamed. "Great. When do we summon a ghost?"
Chloe giggled. "Easy there, new guy."
That night, as I lay in bed at Liam's house, I stared at the ceiling.
Had I made a mistake?
Maybe.
But it felt right. Nathan reminded me of me. The curious me. The one who believed because I needed to.
And yet… as I drifted off to sleep, Amelia's voice whispered softly in my mind:
"You're inviting shadows, Emma. And some don't leave."
I shivered beneath the blankets.
Let's see what I've done.
The silence in the house was unnerving.
It was late—1:07 a.m., to be precise. The digital clock on my bedside table glowed in eerie red. My throat was dry, and sleep clung to me like a heavy fog. I sat up, half-dazed, the warmth of the blanket still stuck to my skin. I wore nothing but a black cropped bra and a pair of grey shorts—comfort clothes, the kind I could actually breathe in while trying to survive the stress of, well, my life.
I shuffled out of bed, rubbing my eyes, and made my way through the dark hallway toward the kitchen.
The house was mostly quiet—Liam's guest room (my new room now, maybe forever?) was at the far end. I walked barefoot, the cold wooden floor making me flinch slightly.
And then I saw it.
From the corner of my eye, a flickering light—the television. It was on in the living room. Static played across the screen. And someone was sitting there.
A woman.
I froze.
She was facing the TV. Her back to me. Her long, tangled hair falling past her shoulders. Her gown—or whatever it was—looked almost translucent in the flickering light. Something inside me sank. My breath caught in my chest.
I took a step forward, heartbeat racing.
The shape… the posture… something about her felt familiar.
"Mom…?"
No response.
Another step.
The static continued buzzing softly in the background.
"Mom?" I tried again, my voice barely a whisper now.
She didn't move. But then her head did.
Not slowly—not gently—but violently. It twisted. One horrifying snap. And another. And then another—until her entire head spun 360 degrees.
My mouth dropped open.
She looked right at me.
Her face—oh God—her face was pale, drained of all color. Her lips were smeared with blood, her eyes completely red, as if she'd cried rivers of it. Her smile stretched across her face like it had been carved there with a knife.
And then—her head fell off.
Thunk.
It hit the floor with a sickening sound and began rolling toward me. Slowly. Blood smeared across the carpet like paint.
I couldn't move.
Couldn't scream.
Couldn't breathe.
It rolled… and rolled… until it hit my feet.
Her bloody mouth moved.
"Emma…"
I screamed.
Loud. Raw. Terrified.
The whole house must've heard it.
"Emma!" I heard Liam's voice thundering from the hallway. His footsteps were heavy, rushing. My bedroom door flung open and he stormed inside, eyes wide, searching for danger.
I was standing in the corner, sobbing, shaking uncontrollably. My back was against the wall, arms clutching myself. My legs had given up. I was still seeing her. The blood. Her face.
"Emma! What happened? Are you hurt?" Liam knelt in front of me, grabbing my arms gently, checking me over.
"I—she—my mom—her head—fell—it was here—I saw her, Liam—I saw her," I gasped between sobs.
Liam cupped my cheeks, forcing me to look at him. "Emma, breathe. Breathe. You're okay. It was a dream. You were dreaming."
"No—no it was real—it felt real—I swear to God, it felt like I was right there—she looked at me—and her head just—"
"Shhh… you're safe now. It's over. You're safe," he said, pulling me into his arms.
I clung to him like a child, burying my face into his chest, tears soaking his shirt. I didn't care that I was in a bra. Didn't care how messy I looked. I just needed him. I needed real.
"Water," he said gently, reaching for the glass on my nightstand. "Here. Just sip."
I nodded, hands trembling, and took the glass. It almost slipped, but he helped me hold it. The water was cold, grounding. My lips still quivered.
When I finished, he took the glass and set it down.
"You're shaking," he whispered.
"I'm scared, Liam."
"I know," he said softly. "You don't have to sleep alone tonight."
I looked up at him, still sniffling. "Will you stay?"
He didn't answer.
He just helped me back to the bed, pulled the blanket up, and slid in beside me. He pulled me into his arms again—this time tighter, warmer.
I pressed against him, curled into his chest, still crying softly.
His hand found my hair and he brushed it gently. "You don't have to be strong right now. Just let go. I'm here."
"I don't want to close my eyes again," I whispered.
"Then don't. I'll be awake with you."
My fingers clutched his shirt. "Don't leave me."
"Never."
There was something about the way he said it—so firm, so final. No teasing. No flirting. Just raw, honest protection. I felt his warmth under the blanket, the rise and fall of his chest. Slowly, my tears stopped, though my body was still trembling.
He kissed my temple. "Even dreams can't touch you here. Not when I'm around."
"Thank you," I murmured.
"I'll always be your safe place, Emma. No matter what happens."
And I believed him.
Eventually, my eyelids got heavier. I didn't want to fall asleep. But I was too tired to fight anymore. My face rested against his skin, and his arms stayed wrapped around me like armor.
That night, I didn't let him go.
And he didn't let go of me either.