*Chapter 3: Waking Fears*
*AVA' POV*
The dream hit me like a physical blow. One moment, I was sleeping soundly in my small, familiar bedroom here in Pretoria, the next, I was wide awake, my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird. My sheets were tangled around my legs, sticky with sweat, even though the night air was cool. My breath came in short, sharp gasps, and I just lay there for a long time, staring at the dark ceiling, trying to remember.
It wasn't a normal dream. This one felt different, deeper. It wasn't about flying or falling, or teeth falling out, like the silly dreams I sometimes had. This was cold. So incredibly cold, a chill that went straight into my bones, even now that I was awake and under my thick blanket. I could still smell it too – a sharp, clean smell, like a hospital, mixed with something metallic, like rusty blood. It made my stomach twist.
And there was a sound. A low, constant hum, like a giant machine running far away, but also close. And then, the thumping. A soft, steady *thump-thump*, coming from inside something hard and cold. But the worst part, the part that made a silent scream catch in my throat even now, was the cry. A tiny, weak cry. A baby's cry. So full of sadness, so desperate. It was muffled, like it came from behind thick walls, but I heard it clearly in my dream. And in my head, I still heard it.
I sat up, pulling my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around myself. The air in my room, usually so comforting, now felt heavy. My small lamp cast a soft glow, making my familiar books and clothes look strange, covered in long, shaky shadows. I tried to tell myself it was just a dream, a bad dream from eating too much late at night, but a cold certainty settled deep in my gut. This wasn't just a dream. This felt like… a memory I shouldn't have. Or something I wasn't meant to see.
It took me a long time to get out of bed. Every step felt heavy. The tiles on the bathroom floor were cold, but not as cold as the dream. I splashed water on my face, looking at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were wide, a little red, and I looked as scared as I felt. I couldn't shake the feeling of that cold, metal room, or the trapped cry.
When I finally went downstairs, the smell of my mother's strong coffee and the sound of my father humming to the radio were a small comfort. They were real,normal. I poured myself a cup of tea, wrapping my hands around the warm mug.
"Morning, Ava," my dad mumbled from behind his newspaper. "Early start today?"
"Morning," I replied, my voice a little rough. "Just… couldn't sleep much." I didn't tell them why because they never really understood. My family was practical,they believed in what they could see and touch. My feelings, my "hunches," my occasional strange "dreams" that felt too real – they just called them my "imaginings." I learned a long time ago to keep those parts of myself locked away.
But this time, it was different. This feeling, this absolute certainty that something was wrong, was too strong to ignore. My thoughts kept circling back to Avina. My older sister. She was living in her perfect new mansion in Kempton Park with her perfect architect husband, Dave. When she called me the other day, she sounded fine, mostly. But she had hinted that "something strange was happening." She sounded a little scared, even though she tried to hide it. I told her the house felt weird, that she should come stay with us. But she didn't. She never listened to my hunches.
Now, that dream… that terrible, cold room with the crying baby… a shiver ran down my spine. What if it wasn't just a dream? What if it was a warning? A picture of something real?
I tried to focus on my usual morning routine. I watered my small herb garden outside, the cool soil between my fingers a welcome distraction. I checked my emails, scrolled through social media. But nothing helped. The hum, the cold, the cry – it was all still there, in the back of my mind, a chilling echo. It felt like a knot forming deep in my chest, getting tighter with every passing minute.
*I need to call Avina,* I thought. *Right now.*
I grabbed my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I found her number. But then I stopped. What would I say? "Hey, I had a really messed-up dream about a metal room and a crying baby, so are you okay?" She'd laugh. Or worse, she'd think I was crazy. She might even get angry.
But the feeling wouldn't leave me alone. It pulsed, a low, urgent beat behind my eyes. This wasn't about logic. It was about something deeper. Something felt truly wrong. The kind of wrong that only I seemed to feel.
I walked to the kitchen window and stared out at the quiet street in Pretoria. The sun was fully up now, bright and warm, painting everything in familiar, comforting colours. But my world felt suddenly darker, colder. That dream, that memory, felt like a shadow clinging to me, a secret truth.
I had to know ,I had to see her. The phone call wouldn't be enough. I needed to go to Kempton Park. I needed to see Avina, to feel the air in that new house myself. Something was wrong there. I could feel it, deep down in my bones. And if I didn't go, if I didn't try to understand, I knew that cold, sad cry from my dream would haunt me forever.
End of Chapter.
Tbc...