Tolu woke with a gasp. His eyes shot open to the familiar ceiling of his bedroom, the faint morning light filtering through the curtains.
For a moment, he lay still, chest heaving, his body trembling.
Wait… what?
He sat up slowly, his hand instinctively going to his neck. The skin was smooth. No blood. No pain. Just… nothing.
But he remembered it. The red eyes. The teeth. The searing bite. The way the life drained from him.
And now he was here. In his bed.
Alive.
Tolu shot upright, breath ragged, his hands flying to his neck. Nothing. His skin was smooth. No blood, no wound, not even a bruise. He glanced down at his shirt—clean. Not a single stain.
"What the fuck is going on…" he muttered, dragging both hands down his face. "I didn't drink a drop, so how the hell could it be a dream?"
His phone buzzed on the bedside table, the screen lighting up. A couple of unread messages blinked at him.
Leke: Where are you??
Leke: Why aren't you replying??
Leke: Bro, don't tell me you went home already—
Tolu shook his head, half-exasperated, half-amused, but before he could type a reply, another notification slid down.
Ore.
He froze, thumb hovering.
Ore: Sorry for the late reply. Okay, we'll meet on Monday, babe ❤️
A slow smile spread across his face despite the chaos of the night. "Babe, huh…" he whispered, almost laughing. He typed quickly, fingers lighter than they'd felt all night.
Tolu: Sounds like a plan.
He switched to Leke's chat, finally replying.
Tolu: I'm home. Sorry, didn't wanna disturb your date.
The three dots popped up instantly.
Leke: Good. Thought you were kidnapped or something!
Tolu laughed under his breath, shaking his head. "Dramatic as always." He typed back:
Tolu: Stop being dramatic. Let's meet later this afternoon.
Seconds later, the reply came.
Leke: Bet. I wanna hear ALL the details.
Tolu chuckled, tossing his phone onto the bed. "Sure," he muttered, but a shiver crawled down his spine at the memory of glowing red eyes.
Because dream or not… he could still feel those fangs.
---
Tolu left his room, his phone still warm in his hand, and padded down the hallway. The faint clatter of pots and the smell of oil and spices drifted from the kitchen.
He stepped inside to see his mother moving easily between the stove and counter, a soft hum on her lips.
"Good morning, Mom," Tolu said, voice steady though his mind was anything but.
She turned, her smile immediate. "Morning. I thought you'd sleep the whole day."
Tolu rubbed the back of his neck, smiling awkwardly. "Guess not."
"Go and freshen up," she said, waving the spatula at him playfully. "Breakfast will be ready soon."
He nodded and slipped into the bathroom. The cool rush of water, the familiar taste of minty toothpaste, the steam rising as he scrubbed away the fatigue—it was grounding. Ordinary. Comforting.
And yet, when he caught his reflection in the mirror, he paused. He tilted his head slightly, fingertips brushing his neck where the wolf's fangs had torn through him in the dream—or whatever it was. Smooth skin. Nothing out of place.
"Get it together," he muttered before forcing himself back into the routine.
By the time he returned to the kitchen, the table was set. A steaming pot of rice sat beside a platter of fried chicken, the smell rich enough to make his stomach growl.
His mother slid a plate in front of him, casual as always. "Eat before it gets cold."
Tolu sat, picking up his fork. He hesitated for half a second—half-expecting her to ask about last night, about the party, about anything.
But she didn't. She just moved about the kitchen, humming softly, as though nothing unusual had happened at all.
Relief and unease tangled inside him.
He forced a smile, stabbed a piece of chicken, and decided to go with the flow.
---
His mom finished her meal first, wiping her hands on a towel before standing. "I'm stepping out for a bit," she said lightly. "Don't forget to do the dishes."
Tolu nodded, still chewing. "Alright, Mom."
She kissed his forehead in passing, then slipped out the door, leaving the house unusually quiet.
By the time he cleared his plate, the rice and chicken were gone, and only a neat stack of dishes remained on the table. He carried them to the sink, rolling up his sleeves, the warmth of the morning sun spilling through the window.
He hummed to himself as he rinsed a ceramic plate, reaching for the sponge. But before he could scrub, the plate cracked sharply in his hand.
Tolu froze, staring as the dish split in two, shards clinking into the sink.
"What the—?"
His first thought was that it must've already been chipped, fragile from use. Still, his pulse quickened. He set the larger halves aside carefully, then reached to gather the broken pieces.
The sharp edge pricked his finger. He hissed, jerking his hand back instinctively.
But when he looked—
Nothing.
No blood. No cut. Not even a scratch.
His breath hitched. Slowly, cautiously, he picked up the shards one by one, dropping them gently into the trash. His movements grew deliberate, almost ritualistic, as though he could will away the unease crawling up his spine.
When the last plate was rinsed and set to dry, he wiped his hands on a towel and stared at his fingers again, flexing them.
Smooth. Unmarked.
Tolu shook his head, pushing the thought away. He grabbed a piece of chicken lap from the pot, tore into it, and let the familiar taste settle him down. Whatever just happened, he wasn't about to let it ruin a perfectly good meal.
When he finished, he glanced at the clock on the wall. 11:23.
With a quiet sigh, he wiped his hands, then wandered back into his room. The bed dipped under his weight as he sprawled across it, phone in hand.
A few swipes later, he was scrolling aimlessly through the internet—memes, random videos, the usual distractions. For a while, the weirdness of the morning dulled into the background hum of everyday life.
A few minutes of scrolling later, a headline caught his eye.
"Two People Found Dead Near Outskirts of Town—Police Suspect Wild Animal Attack."
Tolu frowned, tapping it open. The article was short, bare-bones, and full of speculation. Two men, late 30s, discovered early that morning near the forest edge. Bodies mauled beyond recognition. Locals whispering about "stray animals" or "wolves."
Wolves?
Tolu sat up a little, his heart giving a sharp, unwanted kick.
'There's no way…'
He rubbed his temples, forcing a laugh under his breath. "This is Nigeria, not Canada. Wolves? Really?"
Shaking his head, he scrolled past the story, pretending it didn't bother him. But his fingers lingered on the screen a little longer than he wanted to admit, his thoughts circling back to red eyes in the dark and the phantom ache at his neck.