Chapter I: One Stormy Night
Alaira opened her eyes, but in vain. A murky blue-green screen masked everything except her own brunette hair, swirling slowly around her. She breathed out; the air bubbled up past her face and disappeared. Pale fingers clawed—searching for the surface—finding nothing but swirling currents. The water churned and yanked her down. Forceful. Claiming her. Frantic now, she thrashed—a wasted effort with no escape in sight.
She was drowning. No one even knew where she was. The harder she struggled, the faster she sank. The water pulled again. She descended deeper and deeper into the familiar void. She had been here before; the memory was lodged somewhere in the recesses of her mind. Some instinct told her this was all right. She would be dead soon; she knew that as well, but that didn’t frighten her.
The water turned colder. Darker. Entombing her in its crushing embrace. Finally, she closed her eyes as it all unfolded around her. Pressure built in her ears. Somewhere, she was vaguely aware of her thoughts. Distant now. She was worlds away from everyone.
Family and friends flashed like a grainy film. One by one, they left her, floating away like ghost ships in the night. She stretched out her hand, as though she might snatch them back. Collect them to her. All just out of reach.
Time was drawing short. Her lungs were screaming at her now. Breathe. She couldn’t fight the urge much longer. But there was something she was supposed to do. Something she couldn’t remember, no matter how hard she tried. A persistent tap, tap, tap in the back of her mind. Something important.
She only knew she was sorry. So very sorry for how things turned out. A well within her overflowing with remorse. But it was too late.
Her lungs burned. Demanded. A sharp inhale—reflex. Air rushed in, and the scene changed. Choppy. Disorienting. She was no longer in the water but, strangely, beside it. Caws echoed in her ears as her eyes shot open at last.
Alaira bolted upright, panting and gulping down as much air as her lungs could manage. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness blanketing her room, the mocking cries of the crow faded. Her blankets were thrown off to the side in a jumbled heap. She brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek and wiped her sticky face with the inside of her shirt.
Rain lapped at her window as the wind howled, tapping the tips of a tree branch against the glass. She fell back and let her head come to a soft thud against her pillow. A deep sigh escaped her lips as she blinked up at the ceiling. Her heavy breathing subsided, but the images washed over her, tangled in an order that didn’t make sense.
She had been drowning, but she couldn’t remember how she had gotten there or where there was. The idea of drowning unsettled her, but the fact that she had resigned herself to that fate, that she always resigned herself to that fate by the end of the dream, was what disturbed her the most.
Alaira shook her head and closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. She rolled over, but nothing would ease her restlessness. Her bed no longer felt soft, and the blankets were not welcoming. A gust battered the house. Fat raindrops spattered the window, rattled around her skull. She willed them to drown out her thoughts.
A thud froze her limbs—subtle, scarcely discernible from the storm. Something fell to the floor, or perhaps it was a footstep. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. Each inhale was now as loud as the wind hissing past the window.
Goosebumps broke out across her arms even before the hushed footsteps fell across the carpet. The feeling of someone watching her. Palpable. She squeezed her eyes shut. Tried to swallow quietly. Her body was paralyzed. Time passed—maybe just a minute—though each second felt longer to her in that moment.
Her first instincts made her want to grab her blankets and pull them over her face, like the reasoning of a small child hiding from an imagined monster. The rational part of her took hold. Gritting her teeth, she peeked across the room. The dark expanse seemed much larger than ever before.
The vague outline of the furniture rose along all sides. Towering. Conspiring against her. Dresser, desk, and chair—they all took on foreign shapes, instilling new fear. She scanned the room, searching for any shadowy silhouettes in human form.
A floorboard creaked outside her door. Her heart was a hurricane of violent wind and water surging against her chest. The board released with a low groan.
“Hello?” she called weakly. “Willow?” she added in a hoarse whisper. Never before had she hoped so desperately that her younger sister was snooping around her room.
Her hand fumbled around the nightstand for her phone, patting blindly. A brilliant streak of lightning forked. Electric white. No phone. Worse—now her vision was filled with purple spots that took precious seconds to blink away.
She abandoned the search for her phone, creeping across her room to the door that was ajar. She pushed it until the latch clicked. Locked it for good measure. Carefully, she pressed her ear to the panel.
The hall was quiet now. But if she listened hard enough, she thought the back door groaned, quietly protesting on its hinges. She shut her eyes. Was that the click of the door shutting downstairs or her imagination?
She wanted to tell herself it was Liam. Her brother frequently slipped out the back door late at night. But sitting out in a thunderstorm was pure insanity. And there was something more—a peculiar feeling she couldn’t place—a still, small voice whispering that someone had been in her house. She shivered. Someone had been in her room.
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Janine Eaby is the author of Beyond the Water’s Edge—a Young adult fantasy book series influenced by her faith, love of nature, and desire for adventure. Ideal for fans of portal fantasies to other worlds like The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
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Janine Eaby – Author | Beyond the Water’s Edge Portal Fantasy Series 
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