Despite the strange occurrences whispered across the world — the flickering skies, the voices in the static — nothing ever happened near Angelo. Not a flicker in the lights. Not a gust of wind out of place. Not even a strange dream. It was as if something surrounded him — something quiet, invisible — keeping the strange world at bay.
Years passed. Angelo turned twelve, and life in the Walker household was normal.
His older brother, Alex, now seventeen, was in his final year of high school — smart, responsible, and the kind of guy who always woke up before his alarm. He was popular but never bragged, protective but never overbearing. If Angelo got into trouble, Alex was the first to show up — usually with a lecture and a snack in hand.
Their father, James, worked as a civil engineer, often leaving early and coming home late, his shirt wrinkled and his smile tired. But he always made time to check in — even if it was just a quiet knock on the bedroom door and a simple, "How was your day, champ?"
Olivia, their mother, managed the home and ran a small bakery out of their kitchen. She filled the house with the smell of warm bread and cinnamon, humming old songs as she kneaded dough and packed orders. She had the rare gift of making even silence feel safe.
They also had a new member in their family — Emma, Alex and Angelo's newborn sister. Everyone was so happy. She would grab Angelo's finger every time he held her hand, and that small gesture made him so happy. He would spend hours with her.
One day, while Angelo was holding Emma in his arms, he asked Olivia, "Mom? Was I this little when I was born?"
Olivia gave a small laugh and replied, "Yes, Angelo. You were small when you were born."
From the side, Alex chimed in, "You were fat."
Angelo frowned. "I wasn't fat." He turned to Olivia. "Mom, Alex is making fun of me."
Alex laughed. "It's the truth. Ask Mom if you don't believe me."
"Was I fat?" Angelo asked.
Olivia shook her head. "You weren't fat. You were healthy."
"See?" Angelo said, pointing at Alex. "I wasn't fat. I was healthy."
"Yeah," Alex smirked, "fat and healthy."
Angelo's face turned red. He handed Emma back to Olivia and started chasing Alex around the house.
"No running, you two," Olivia called after them. "You'll get hurt."
"Then tell Alex to stop running and apologize!" Angelo shouted.
"What for?" Alex said between laughs. "I'm telling the truth. I have proof." He pulled out his phone and showed Angelo a baby picture of him from their old album.
Angelo slowed down, looking carefully at the photo. His anger faded. He kept staring at the round baby in the picture and muttered, "Man… I was fat."
Alex placed a hand on his head. "See? You were fat. But you were healthy." He ruffled Angelo's hair before pocketing the phone.
Angelo gave him a big grin. "I must have been heavy."
"Yep. You were heavy," Alex replied.
They both returned to Emma, who was smiling from all the commotion.
Angelo leaned toward her. "Are you laughing because I was fat?"
Emma only kept smiling.
They all laughed together. Days passed peacefully.
The Walkers lived in a calm part of Silverton — no towering buildings, no blaring horns. Just clean streets, low fences, and neighbors who still waved at each other.
Angelo was in seventh grade. His grades were fine, his teachers liked him, and he had a small group of friends who mostly bonded over games and snacks.
When he was younger, he'd had a friend named Mera Dastin. She was the same age as him and was very clingy toward him, something his other friends often teased him about. But when they both turned seven, her father got transferred elsewhere, and her family moved out of Silverton. They didn't keep in touch after that.
Angelo's days fell into routine: wake up, go to school, come home, help with chores, do homework, play, sleep. Rinse and repeat.
But lately… he felt it. The sameness. The quiet. It wasn't bad. But it wasn't enough.
At night, he'd lie awake staring at the ceiling while Alex slept on the other bed. He would whisper into the dark: "I wish something exciting would happen." Sometimes he added more: "I wish I had powers. Something cool. Something real."
He never meant anything harmful by it. It was just a dream — like wishing to be a superhero or to have secret wings. But the more he dreamed it, the more it grew. It took root in his heart, and slowly, without realizing it, he began to believe it.
He'd doodle strange symbols in the margins of his notebooks without knowing why. He'd find himself lost in thought during class, imagining stopping time or bending reality. He even tried focusing really hard, hoping he could lift a pencil with his mind. Nothing ever happened.
Sometimes, though, he dreamed. Dreams where he had powers. Dreams where he fought monsters and demons, saved people, saved the world.
Other times, the dreams turned against him. He was chased by monsters, powerless, watching helplessly as people were hurt right in front of him. Sometimes, he woke up crying.
On those nights, Olivia would hold him close and whisper, "Don't cry. It was just a dream. Nobody got hurt."
"But they felt so real," Angelo sobbed. "I couldn't do anything."
She brushed his hair with her hand. "You have a good heart. Work hard and become strong. Then you can save people who are in danger." She wiped his tears and added, "No crying, okay? You're a strong boy, and the strong don't cry."
Angelo gave her a small smile. "Okay. I'll become super strong. And I'll keep everyone safe."
But one night, while he slept, a different dream came.
There was a mirror. Angelo stood before it, but his reflection was gone. He stepped closer.
Then he saw it — a mark.
The mark looked like a face, but not one born of flesh. Four slanted eyes, sharp and narrow, stacked like a predator watching from every angle. Below them stretched a jagged mouth, teeth carved into a cruel zigzag — less a smile than a warning. It wasn't human. It wasn't even alive. But it radiated menace, as if something behind it was grinning straight through the world.
It was looking at him.
Angelo froze. This wasn't just fear. It was something different. Something deeper.
The mirror cracked and shattered. The floor beneath his feet vanished, and he plummeted into darkness. Everything around him was gone. Nothing remained but the pitch-black void.
The face followed him. It grew, expanding, filling the void.
Angelo screamed for help — but no sound left his mouth.
The face came closer. Its jagged mouth opened wide.
It swallowed him whole.
He woke with a jolt, drenched in sweat, heart racing, eyes wide in terror. His body trembled, still shaking with fear.