Ethan sat on the edge of his bed, the small cardboard box resting on his lap like a ticking time bomb. The dim glow of his bedside lamp cast long shadows across the room, making the familiar space feel foreign and oppressive. His legs were chained to the bed frame, the cold metal biting into his ankles—a precaution he had insisted on, though now it felt more like a trap. The house was silent, save for the faint creak of the floorboards settling and the distant hum of the refrigerator downstairs. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat reverberating through his body with unnatural clarity. This is it, he thought, his fingers trembling as they brushed the box's rough surface. This moment could change everything—or prove that I'm still me.
He hesitated, his thumb tracing the edge of the box. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of the unknown. What if I'm not human anymore? What if I'm something worse? The questions clawed at him, but he pushed them aside. He needed answers, no matter how terrifying. With a deep breath, he tore open the box, revealing the clear plastic blood bag inside. The dark red liquid sloshed faintly as he lifted it, his senses sharpening involuntarily. Colors in the room grew vivid—the posters on his walls, the rumpled sheets—each detail stark against the shadows. His breath hitched, the faint buzz of his computer's fan swelling into a low roar in his ears.
He gripped the bag, its cold surface slick under his palms. The smell hit him like a wave as he peeled back the seal—a sharp, metallic tang that flooded his nose and curled down his throat. His stomach churned, bile rising, and he nearly gagged. The scent wasn't enticing; it was overwhelming, like rust mixed with something sour. He slammed the bag down on his desk, the plastic crinkling loudly in the quiet room. "Haaa," he exhaled, a shaky laugh escaping him. "So, I'm not attracted to blood. That's a relief. Does this mean I'm not a vampire?" His voice wavered, echoing off the walls. Relief washed over him, loosening the knot in his chest, but confusion quickly followed. If I'm not a vampire, what am I? What did Ryan do to me? The idea of needing blood to survive had terrified him, but this uncertainty was its own kind of fear—formless, creeping, and relentless.
Ethan shoved the box aside and grabbed his phone from the nightstand, his fingers fumbling over the screen as he typed a message to Jamie: "It seems I'm not attracted to blood." The reply came almost instantly, the phone buzzing in his hand. "That's very sad. I was looking forward to hunting you down, haha," Jamie texted, his words a lifeline of humor in the storm of Ethan's thoughts. Ethan smirked, typing back, "I would've bit you first." Jamie's response was quick: "Well, this does beg the question—what happened to you, though?" Ethan paused and frowned, his thumbs hovering. "I don't know, man. Guess we'll talk tomorrow." Jamie's final message popped up: "No problem. See you tomorrow." The conversation ended, leaving Ethan alone with his spiraling mind.
Exhaustion settled over him like a heavy blanket. The weight of not being a vampire was a strange comfort, but it didn't erase the questions gnawing at him. He shuffled to the bathroom, the chains clinking with each step, and splashed cold water on his face. The droplets felt sharper against his skin, another reminder of his heightened senses. He untied the chains and trudged back to his room, collapsed onto his bed, and let sleep claim him.
In his dream, fire consumed him. Flames licked across his skin, bright and relentless, yet they didn't burn. Instead, they wrapped around him like a mother's embrace—warm, protective, alive. His body felt strong, invincible, as if the fire was part of him, fueling him. The world beyond the flames faded away, and for a fleeting moment, nothing else mattered. He exhaled, the sound lost in the crackling heat, and let himself sink into the comfort of it. This feels right, he thought, the words forming without effort.
But the dream shifted. The air thickened, the flames twisting into something darker, more chaotic. The ground beneath him cracked, lava seeping through jagged fissures, casting an orange glow that pulsed like a heartbeat. The scene stretched into a hellish expanse—flames and molten rock stretching endlessly. Then, in the distance, he saw it: a massive wolf, its fur woven from fire itself. The beast lay curled, sleeping peacefully as flames danced around it, curling into its body as if it were absorbing them. Its presence was both majestic and terrifying, a primal force that made Ethan's chest tighten with awe.
Before he could study it further, the wolf's eyes snapped open—bright, burning orbs of orange-red flame. They locked onto him, piercing through the haze, and a wave of heat surged through Ethan's body. His soul felt exposed, tugged toward the creature as if it were pulling him apart. The comforting fire turned scorching, unbearable, and he jolted awake, gasping. His room was dark, the familiar shapes of his desk and posters barely visible in the moonlight. His heart pounded, sweat slicking his skin. "What was that?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. Flames and a wolf—why? The dream clung to him, the memory of the comforting fire warring with the menacing gaze of the beast.
He fumbled for his phone on the nightstand, the screen's glow harsh against his eyes. 3:00 AM. Too early to be awake, too late to shake the unease. He scrolled aimlessly, searching for a distraction—Reddit threads, random videos, anything to push the dream away. But the wolf's eyes lingered in his mind, glowing behind every swipe. Giving up, he swung his legs out of bed, and shuffled to his desk. He flipped on his computer, the screen flickering to life with a soft hum. Something normal, he thought. I need something normal.
Minecraft loaded, and he joined the server he and Jamie had built months ago—packed with their favorite mods, a world of blocky chaos and inside jokes. It had been ages since he'd played, the weirdness of his life keeping him preoccupied.
As he mined resources and crafted structures, a calm settled over him, the first peace he'd felt in days. The game's rhythm soothed his nerves. He thought of Jamie— his unwavering support, his teasing grin. Despite the jokes, Jamie was a rock, a friend Ethan could count on. Tomorrow, they'd dig into this mystery together. For now, though, he let the virtual world envelop him, its clear rules and tame dangers a stark contrast to reality. He began constructing a fortress, tall and unyielding, as if he could build a sanctuary not just in-game, but in his mind— a refuge from the unknown. Yet, even as the walls rose, he knew they were only pixels. They couldn't shield him from whatever awaited in the real world. He played on, losing track of time, until the clock hit 5 am time to face the day ahead.